diff options
Diffstat (limited to '9195-8.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | 9195-8.txt | 9797 |
1 files changed, 9797 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/9195-8.txt b/9195-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8ea97b8 --- /dev/null +++ b/9195-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9797 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Slave Of The Lamp, by Henry Seton Merriman + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Slave Of The Lamp + +Author: Henry Seton Merriman + + +Release Date: October, 2005 [EBook #9195] +This file was first posted on September 14, 2003 +Last Updated: May 5, 2013 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SLAVE OF THE LAMP *** + + + + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Véronique Durand, and the +Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + + + + + + + + +THE SLAVE OF THE LAMP + +By Henry Seton Merriman + + + + +PREFACE + + +Henry Seton Merriman published his first novel, "Young Mistley," in +1888, when he was twenty-six years old. Messrs. Bentley's reader, in his +critique on the book, spoke of its "powerful situations" and +unconventionality of treatment: and, while dwelling at much greater +length on its failings, declared, in effect, its faults to be the right +faults, and added that, if "Young Mistley" was not in itself a good +novel, its author was one who might hereafter certainly write good +novels. + +"Young Mistley" was followed in quick succession by "The Phantom +Future," "Suspense," and "Prisoners and Captives." Some years later, +considering them crude and immature works, the author, at some +difficulty and with no little pecuniary loss, withdrew all these four +first books from circulation in England. Their republication in America +he was powerless to prevent. He therefore revised and abbreviated them, +"conscious," as he said himself in a preface, "of a hundred defects +which the most careful revision cannot eliminate." He was perhaps then, +as he was ever, too severe a critic of his own works. But though these +four early books have, added to youthful failings, the youthful merits +of freshness, vigour and imagination, their author was undoubtedly right +to suppress them. By writing them he learnt, it is true, the technique +of his art: but no author wishes--or no author should wish--to give his +copy-books to the world. It is as well then--it is certainly as he +himself desired--that these four books do not form part of the present +edition. It may, however, be noted that both "Young Mistley" and +"Prisoners and Captives" dealt, as did "The Sowers" hereafter, with +Russian subjects: "Suspense" is the story of a war-correspondent in the +Russo-Turkish War of 1877: and "The Phantom Future" is the only novel of +Merriman's in which the scene is laid entirely in his own country. + +In 1892 he produced "The Slave of the Lamp," which had run serially +through the _Cornhill Magazine_, then under the editorship of Mr. +James Payn. + +To Mr. Payn, Merriman always felt that he owed a debt of gratitude for +much shrewd and kindly advice and encouragement. But one item of that +advice he neglected with, as Mr. Payn always generously owned, great +advantage. Mr. Payn believed that the insular nature of the ordinary +Briton made it, as a general rule, highly undesirable that the scene of +any novel should be laid outside the British Isles. + +After 1892 all Merriman's books, with the single exception of "Flotsam," +which appeared serially in _Longman's Magazine_, and was, at first, +produced in book form by Messrs. Longman, were published by the firm of +Messrs. Smith, Elder, & Co. + +His long and serene connection with the great and honourable house which +had produced the works of such masters of literature as Thackeray, +Charlotte Bronte, and Robert Browning, was always a source of sincere +pleasure to him. He often expressed the opinion that, from the moment +when, as an inexperienced and perfectly unknown author, he sent "Young +Mistley" to Messrs. Bentley, until the time when, as a very successful +one, he was publishing his later novels with Messrs. Smith, Elder, he +had invariably received from his publishers an entirely just and upright +treatment. + +Also in 1892 he produced "From One Generation to Another": and, two +years later, the first of his really successful novels, "With Edged +Tools." It is the only one of his books of which he never visited the +_mise-en-scène_--West Africa: but he had so completely imbued +himself with the scenery and the spirit of the country that few, if any, +of his critics detected that he did not write of it from personal +experience. Many of his readers were firmly convinced of the reality of +the precious plant, Simiacine, on whose discovery the action of the plot +turns. More than one correspondent wrote to express a wish to take +shares in the Simiacine Company! + +"With Edged Tools" was closely followed by "The Grey Lady." Some +practical experience of a seafaring life, a strong love of it, and a +great fellow-feeling for all those whose business is in great waters, +helped the reality of the characters of the sailor brothers and of the +sea-scenes generally. The author was for some years, and at the time +"The Grey Lady" was written, an underwriter at Lloyd's, so that on the +subject of ship insurance--a subject on which it will be remembered +part of the plot hinges--he was _en pays de connaissance_. For the +purpose of this story, he travelled in the Balearic Islands, having, +earlier, made the first of many visits to Spain. + +One of the strongest characteristics in his nature, as it is certainly +one of the strongest characteristics in his books, was his sympathy +with, and, in consequence, his understanding of, the mind of the +foreigner. For him, indeed, there were no alien countries. He learnt the +character of the stranger as quickly as he learnt his language. His +greatest delight was to merge himself completely in the life and +interests of the country he was visiting--to stay at the mean +_venta_, or the _auberge_ where the tourist was never seen--to +sit in the local cafés of an evening and listen to local politics and +gossip; to read for the time nothing but the native newspapers, and no +literature but the literature, past and present, of the land where he +was sojourning; to follow the native customs, and to see Spain, Poland +or Russia with the eyes and from the point of view of the Spaniard, the +Pole or the Russian. + +The difficulties--sometimes there were even serious difficulties--of +visiting places where there was neither provision nor protection made +for the stranger, always acted upon him not as deterrent but incentive: +he liked something to overcome, and found the safe, comfortable, +convenient resting-places as uncongenial to his nature as they were +unproductive for the purposes of his work. + +In 1896 "The Sowers" was published. Merriman's travels in Russia had +taken place some years before--before, in fact, the publication of +"Young Mistley"--but time had not at all weakened the strong and sombre +impression which that great country and its unhappy people had left upon +him. The most popular of all his books with his English public, Merriman +himself did not consider it his best. It early received the compliment +of being banned by the Russian censor: very recently, a Russian woman +told the present writers that "The Sowers" is still the first book the +travelling Russian buys in the Tauchnitz edition, as soon as he is out +of his own country--"we like to hear the truth about ourselves." + +In the same year as "The Sowers," Merriman produced "Flotsam." It is +not, strictly speaking, a romance: some of its main incidents were taken +from the life of a young officer of the 44th Regiment in Early Victorian +days. The character of Harry Wylam is, as a whole, faithful to its +prototype; and the last scene in the book, recording Harry's death in +the Orange Free State, as he was being taken in a waggon to the +missionary station by the Bishop of the State, is literally accurate. +Merriman had visited India as a boy; so here, too, the scenery is from +the brush of an eye-witness. + +His next novel, "In Kedar's Tents," was his first Spanish novel--pure +and simple: the action of "The Grey Lady" taking place chiefly in +Majorca. + +All the country mentioned in "In Kedar's Tents" Merriman visited +personally--riding, as did Frederick Conyngham and Concepcion Vara, from +Algeciras to Ronda, then a difficult ride through a wild, beautiful and +not too safe district, the accommodation at Algeciras and Ronda being at +that time of an entirely primitive description. Spain had for Merriman +ever a peculiar attraction: the character of the Spanish +gentleman--proud, courteous, dignified--particularly appealed to him. + +The next country in which he sought inspiration was Holland. "Roden's +Corner," published in 1898, broke new ground: its plot, it will be +remembered, turns on a commercial enterprise. The title and the main +idea of the story were taken from Merriman's earliest literary venture, +the beginning of a novel--there were only a few chapters of it--which +he had written before "Young Mistley," and which he had discarded, +dissatisfied. + +The novel "Dross" was produced in America in 1899, having appeared +serially in this country in a well-known newspaper. Written during a +period of ill-health, Merriman thought it beneath his best work, and, +true to that principle which ruled his life as an author, to give to the +public so far as he could of that best, and of that best only, he +declined (of course to his own monetary disadvantage) to permit its +publication in England in book form. + +Its _mise-en-scène_ is France and Suffolk; its period the Second +Empire--the period of "The Last Hope." Napoleon III., a character by +whom Merriman was always peculiarly attracted, shadows it: in it appears +John Turner, the English banker of Paris, of "The Last Hope"; an +admirable and amusing sketch of a young Frenchman; and an excellent +description of the magnificent scenery about Saint Martin Lantosque, in +the Maritime Alps. + +For the benefit of "The Isle of Unrest," his next book, Merriman had +travelled through Corsica--not the Corsica of fashionable hotels and +health-resorts, but the wild and unknown parts of that lawless and +magnificent island. For "The Velvet Glove" he visited Pampeluna, +Saragossa, and Lerida. The country of "The Vultures"--Warsaw and its +neighbourhood--he saw in company with his friend, Mr. Stanley Weyman. +The pleasure of another trip, the one he took in western +France--Angoulême, Cognac, and the country of the Charente--for the +scenery of "The Last Hope," was also doubled by Mr. Weyman's presence. +In Dantzig--the Dantzig of "Barlasch of the Guard"--Merriman made a stay +in a bitter mid-winter, visiting also Vilna and Königsberg; part of the +route of the Great Retreat from Moscow he traced himself. He was +inclined to consider--and if an author is not quite the worst judge of +his own work he is generally quite the best--that in "Barlasch" he +reached his high-water mark. The short stories, comprised in the volume +entitled "Tomaso's Fortune," were published after his death. In every +case, the _locale_ they describe was known to Merriman personally. +At the Monastery of Montserrat--whence the monk in "A Small World" saw +the accident to the diligencia--the author had made a stay of some days. +The Farlingford of "The Last Hope" is Orford in Suffolk: the French +scenes, as has been said, Merriman had visited with Mr. Weyman, whose +"Abbess of Vlaye" they also suggested. The curious may still find the +original of the Hôtel Gemosac in Paris--not far from the Palais d'Orsay +Hôtel--"between the Rue de Lille and the Boulevard St. Germain." + +"The Last Hope" was not, in a sense, Merriman's last novel. He left at +his death about a dozen completed chapters, and the whole plot carefully +mapped out, of yet another Spanish book, which dealt with the Spain of +the Peninsular War of 1808-14. These chapters, which were destroyed by +the author's desire, were of excellent promise, and written with great +vigour and spirit. His last trip was taken, in connection with this +book, to the country of Sir Arthur Wellesley's exploits. The plot of the +story was concerned with a case of mistaken identity; the sketch of a +Guerilla leader, Pedro--bearing some affinity to the Concepcion Vara of +"In Kedar's Tents"--was especially happy. + +It has been seen that Merriman was not the class of author who "sits in +Fleet Street and writes news from the front." He strongly believed in +the value of personal impressions, and scarcely less in the value of +first impressions. In his own case, the correctness of his first +impressions--what he himself called laughingly his _"coup +d'oeil"_--is in a measure proved by a note-book, now lying before the +writers, in which he recorded his views of Bastia and the Corsicans +after a very brief acquaintance--that view requiring scarcely any +modification when first impressions had been exchanged for real +knowledge and experience. + +As to his methods of writing, in the case of all his novels, except the +four early suppressed ones, he invariably followed the plan of drawing +out the whole plot and a complete synopsis of every chapter before he +began to write the book at all. + +Partly as a result of this plan perhaps, but more as a result of great +natural facility in writing, his manuscripts were often without a single +erasure for many pages; and a typewriter was really a superfluity. + +It is certainly true to say that no author ever had more pleasure in his +art than Merriman. The fever and the worry which accompany many literary +productions he never knew. + +Among the professional critics he had neither personal friends nor +personal foes; and accepted their criticisms--hostile or +favourable--with perfect serenity and open-mindedness. He was, perhaps, +if anything, only too ready to alter his work in accordance with their +advice: he always said that he owed them much; and admired their +perspicuity in detecting a promise in his earliest books, which he +denied finding there himself. His invincible modesty made him ready to +accept not only professional criticism but--a harder thing--the advice +of critics on the hearth. It was out of compliance with such a domestic +criticism that the _dénouement_ in "The Sowers" was re-written as +it now stands, the scene of the attack on the Castle being at first +wholly different. + +The jealousy and bitterness which are supposed to be inseparable from +the literary life certainly never affected Merriman's. He had no trace +of such feelings in his nature. Of one who is known to the public +exclusively through his writings, it may seem strange--but it is not the +less true--to say that his natural bent was not to the life of a +literary man, but to a life of action, and that it was fate, rather than +inclination, which made him express himself in words instead of deeds. A +writer's books are generally his best biography: the "strong, quiet +man," whose forte was to do much and say nothing; who, like Marcos +Sarrion, loved the free and plain life of the field and the open, was a +natural hero for Merriman, "as finding there unconsciously some image of +himself." + +To any other biography he was strongly opposed. His dislike of the +advertisement and the self-advertisement of the interview and the +personal paragraph deepened with time. He held strongly and +consistently, as he held all his opinions, that a writer should be known +to the public by his books, and by his books only. One of his last +expressed wishes was that there should be no record of his private life. + +It is respect for that wish which here stays the present writers' pen. + +E.F.S. + +S.G.T. + +_July_ 1909. + + + + + +CONTENTS + + + +CHAPTERS + + I. IN THE RUE ST. GINGOLPHE + II. TOOLS + III. WITHOUT REST + IV. BURDENED + V. A REUNION + VI. BROKEN THREADS + VII. PUPPETS + VIII. FALSE METAL + IX. A CLUE + X. ON THE SCENT + XI. BURY BLUFF + XII. A WARNING WORD + XIII. A NIGHT WATCH + XIV. FOILED + XV. ROOKS + XVI. FOES + XVII. A RETREAT + XVIII. AN EMPTY NEST + XIX. FOUL PLAY + XX. WINGED + XXI. TRUE TO HIS CLOTH + XXII. GREEK AND GREEK + XXIII. STRICKEN DOWN + XXIV. BACK TO LIFE + XXV. BACK TO WORK + XXVI. SIGNOR BRUNO + XXVII. IN THE RUE ST GINGOLPHE AGAIN +XXVIII. THE MAKING OF CHRISTIAN VELLACOTT + + + + + + +CHAPTER I + + +IN THE RUE ST. GINGOLPHE + + +It was, not so many years ago, called the Rue de l'Empire, but +republics are proverbially sensitive. Once they are established they +become morbidly desirous of obliterating a past wherein no republic +flourished. The street is therefore dedicated to St. Gingolphe to-day. +To-morrow? Who can tell? + +It is presumably safe to take it for granted that you are located in the +neighbourhood of the Louvre, on the north side of the river which is so +unimportant a factor to Paris. For all good Englishmen have been, or +hope in the near future to be, located near this spot. All good +Americans, we are told, relegate the sojourn to a more distant future. + +The bridge to cross is that of the Holy Fathers. So called to-day. Once +upon a time--but no matter. Bridges are peculiarly liable to change in +troubled times. The Rue St. Gingolphe is situated between the Boulevard +St. Germain and Quai Voltaire. One hears with equal facility the +low-toned boom of the steamers' whistle upon the river, and the crack of +whips in the boulevard. Once across the bridge, turn to the right, and +go along the Quay, between the lime-trees and the bookstalls. You will +probably go slowly because of the bookstalls. No one worth talking to +could help doing so. Then turn to the left, and after a few paces you +will find upon your right hand the Rue St. Gingolphe. It is noted in the +Directory "Botot" that this street is one hundred and forty-five mètres +long; and who would care to contradict "Botot," or even to throw the +faintest shadow of a doubt upon his statement? He has probably measured. + +If your fair and economical spouse should think of repairing to the +Bon-Marché to secure some of those wonderful linen pillow-cases (at one +franc forty) with your august initial embroidered on the centre with a +view of impressing the sleeper's cheek, she will pass the end of the Rue +St. Gingolphe on her way--provided the cabman be honest. There! You +cannot help finding it now. + +The street itself is a typical Parisian street of one hundred and +forty-five mètres. There is room for a baker's, a café, a bootmaker's, +and a tobacconist who sells very few stamps. The Parisians do not write +many letters. They say they have not time. But the tobacconist makes up +for the meanness of his contribution to the inland revenue of one +department by a generous aid to the other. He sells a vast number of +cigarettes and cigars of the very worst quality. And it is upon the +worst quality that the Government makes the largest profit. It is in +every sense of the word a weed which grows as lustily as any of its +compeers in and around Oran, Algiers, and Bonah. + +The Rue St. Gingolphe is within a stone's-throw of the École des +Beaux-Arts, and in the very centre of a remarkably cheap and yet +respectable quarter. Thus there are many young men occupying apartments +in close proximity--and young men do not mind much what they smoke, +especially provincial young men living in Paris. They feel it incumbent +upon them to be constantly smoking something--just to show that they are +Parisians, true sons of the pavement, knowing how to live. And their +brightest hopes are in all truth realised, because theirs is certainly a +reckless life, flavoured as it is with "number one" tobacco, and those +"little corporal" cigarettes which are enveloped in the blue paper. + +The tobacconist's shop is singularly convenient. It has, namely, an +entrance at the back, as well as that giving on to the street of St. +Gingolphe. This entrance is through a little courtyard, in which is the +stable and coach-house combined, where Madame Perinère, a lady who +paints the magic word "Modes" beneath her name on the door-post of +number seventeen, keeps the dapper little cart and pony which carry her +bonnets to the farthest corner of Paris. + +The tobacconist is a large man, much given to perspiration. In fact, one +may safely make the statement that he perspires annually from the middle +of April to the second or even third week in October. In consequence of +this habit he wears no collar, and a man without a collar does not start +fairly on the social race. It is always best to make inquiries before +condemning a man who wears no collar. There is probably a very good +reason, as in the case of Mr. Jacquetot, but it is to be feared that few +pause to seek it. One need not seek the reason with much assiduity in +this instance, because the tobacconist of the Rue St. Gingolphe is +always prepared to explain it at length. French people are thus. They +talk of things, and take pleasure in so doing, which we, on this side of +the Channel, treat with a larger discretion. + +Mr. Jacquetot does not even wear a collar on Sunday, for the simple +reason that Sunday is to him as other days. He attends no place of +worship, because he acknowledges but one god--the god of most +Frenchmen--his inner man. His pleasures are gastronomical, his sorrows +stomachic. The little shop is open early and late, Sundays, week-days, +and holidays. Moreover, the tobacconist--Mr. Jacquetot himself--is +always at his post, on the high chair behind the counter, near the +window, where he can see into the street. This constant attention to +business is almost phenomenal, because Frenchmen who worship the god of +Mr. Jacquetot love to pay tribute on fête-days at one of the little +restaurants on the Place at Versailles, at Duval's, or even in the +Palais Royal. Mr. Jacquetot would have loved nothing better than a +pilgrimage to any one of these shrines, but he was tied to the little +tobacco store. Not by the chains of commerce. Oh, no! When rallied by +his neighbours for such an unenterprising love of his own hearth, he +merely shrugged his heavy shoulders. + +"What will you?" he would say; "one has one's affairs." + +Now the affairs of Mr. Jacquetot were, in the days with which we have to +do, like many things on this earth, inasmuch as they were not what they +seemed. + +It would be inexpedient, for reasons closely connected with the +tobacconist of the Rue St. Gingolphe, as well as with other gentlemen +still happily with us in the flesh, to be too exact as to dates. Suffice +it, therefore, to say that it was only a few years ago that Mr. +Jacquetot sat one evening as usual in his little shop. It happened to be +a Tuesday evening, which is fortunate, because it was on Tuesdays and +Saturdays that the little barber from round the corner called and shaved +the vast cheeks of the tobacconist. Mr. Jacquetot was therefore quite +presentable--doubly so, indeed, because it was yet March, and he had not +yet entered upon his summer season. + +The little street was very quiet. There was no through traffic, and +folks living in this quarter of Paris usually carry their own parcels. +It was thus quite easy to note the approach of any passenger, when such +had once turned the corner. Some one was approaching now, and Mr. +Jacquetot threw away the stump of a cheap cigar. One would almost have +said that he recognised the step at a considerable distance. Young +people are in the habit of considering that when one gets old and stout +one loses in intelligence; but this is not always the case. One is apt +to expect little from a fat man; but that is often a mistake. Mr. +Jacquetot weighed seventeen stone, but he was eminently intelligent. He +had recognised the footstep while it was yet seventy mètres away. + +In a few moments a gentleman of middle height paused in front of the +shop, noted that it was a tobacconist's, and entered, carrying an +unstamped letter with some ostentation. It must, by the way, be +remembered that in France postage-stamps are to be bought at all +tobacconists'. + +The new-comer's actions were characterised by a certain carelessness, as +if he were going through a formula--perfunctorily--without admitting its +necessity. + +He nodded to Mr. Jacquetot, and rather a pleasant smile flickered for a +moment across his face. He was a singularly well-made man, of medium +height, with straight, square shoulders and small limbs. He wore +spectacles, and as he looked at one straight in the face there was a +singular contraction of the eyes which hardly amounted to a +cast--moreover, it was momentary. It was precisely the look of a hawk +when its hood is suddenly removed in full daylight. This resemblance was +furthered by the fact that the man's profile was birdlike. He was +clean-shaven, and there was in his sleek head and determined little face +that smooth, compact self-complacency which is to be noted in the head +of a hawk. + +The face was small, like that of a Greek bust, but in expression it +suggested a yet older people. There was that mystic depth of expression +which comes from ancient Egypt. No one feature was obtrusive--all were +chiselled with equal delicacy; and yet there was only one point of real +beauty in the entire countenance. The mouth was perfect. But the man +with a perfect mouth is usually one whom it will be found expedient to +avoid. Without a certain allowance of sensuality no man is +genial--without a little weakness there is no kind heart. This +Frenchman's mouth was not, however, obtrusively faultless. It was +perfect in its design, but, somehow, many people failed to take note of +the fact. It is so with the "many," one finds. The human world is so +blind that at times it would be almost excusable to harbour the +suspicion that animals see more. There may be something in that instinct +by which dogs, horses, and cats distinguish between friends and foes, +detect sympathy, discover antipathy. It is possible that they see things +in the human face to which our eyes are blinded--intentionally and +mercifully blinded. If some of us were a little more observant, a few of +the human combinations which we bring about might perhaps be less +egregiously mistaken. + +It was probably the form of the lips that lent pleasantness to the smile +with which Mr. Jacquetot was greeted, rather than the expression of the +velvety eyes, which had in reality no power of smiling at all. They were +sad eyes, like those of the women one sees on the banks of the Upper +Nile, which never alter in expression--eyes that do not seem to be busy +with this life at all, but fully occupied with something else: something +beyond to-morrow or behind yesterday. + +"Not yet arrived?" inquired the new-comer in a voice of some +distinction. It was a full, rich voice, and the French it spoke was not +the French of Mr. Jacquetot, nor, indeed, of the Rue St. Gingolphe. It +was the language one sometimes hears in an old _château_ lost in +the depths of the country--the vast unexplored rural districts of +France--where the bearers of dangerously historical names live out their +lives with a singular suppression and patience. They are either biding +their time or else they are content with the past and the part played by +their ancestors therein. For there is an old French and a new. In Paris +the new is spoken--the very newest. Were it anything but French it would +be intolerably vulgar; as it is, it is merely neat and intensely +expressive. + +"Not yet arrived, sir," said the tobacconist, and then he seemed to +recollect himself, for he repeated: + +"Not yet arrived," without the respectful addition which had slipped out +by accident. + +The new arrival took out his watch--a small one of beautiful +workmanship, the watch of a lady--and consulted it. His movements were +compact and rapid. He would have made a splendid light-weight boxer. + +"That," he said shortly, "is the way they fail. They do not understand +the necessity of exactitude. The people--see you, Mr. Jacquetot, they +fail because they have no exactitude." + +"But I am of the people," moving ponderously on his chair. + +"Essentially so. I know it, my friend. But I have taught you something." + +The tobacconist laughed. + +"I suppose so. But is it safe to stand there in the full day? Will you +not pass in? The room is ready; the lamp is lighted. There is an agent +of the police always at the end of the street now." + +"Ah, bah!" and he shrugged his shoulders contemptuously. "I am not +afraid of them. There is only one thing to be feared, Citizen +Jacquetot--the press. The press and the people, _bien entendu_." + +"If you despise the people why do you use them?" asked Jacquetot +abruptly. + +"In default of better, my friend. If one has not steam one uses the +river to turn the mill-wheel. The river is slow; sometimes it is too +weak, sometimes too strong. One never has full control over it, but it +turns the wheel--it turns the wheel, brother Jacquetot." + +"And eventually sweeps away the miller," suggested the tobacconist +lightly. It must be remembered that though stout he was intelligent. Had +he not been so it is probable that this conversation would never have +taken place. The dark-eyed man did not look like one who would have the +patience to deal with stupid people. + +Again the pleasant smile flickered like the light of a fire in a dark +place. + +"That," was the reply, "is the affair of the miller." + +"But," conceded Jacquetot, meditatively selecting a new cigar from a box +which he had reached without moving from his chair, "but the +people--they are fools, hein!" + +"Ah!" with a protesting shrug, as if deprecating the enunciation of such +a platitude. + +Then he passed through into a little room behind the shop--a little room +where no daylight penetrated, because there was no window to it. It +depended for daylight upon the shop, with which it communicated by a +door of which the upper half was glass. But this glass was thickly +curtained with the material called Turkey-red, threefold. + +And the tobacconist was left alone in his shop, smoking gravely. There +are some people like oysters, inasmuch as they leave an after-taste +behind them. The man who had just gone into the little room at the rear +of the tobacconist's shop of the Rue St. Gingolphe in Paris was one of +these. And the taste he left behind him was rather disquieting. One was +apt to feel that there was a mistake somewhere in the ordering of human +affairs, and that this man was one of its victims. + +In a few minutes two men passed hastily through the shop into the little +room, with scarcely so much as a nod for Mr. Jacquetot. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +TOOLS + + +The first man to enter the room was clad in a blouse of coarse grey +cloth which reached down to his knees. On his head he wore a black silk +cap, very much pressed down and exceedingly greasy on the right side. +This was to be accounted for by the fact that he used his right shoulder +more than the left in that state of life in which he had been placed. It +was not what we, who do not kill, would consider a pleasant state. He +was, in fact, a slayer of beasts--a foreman at the slaughter-house. + +It is, perhaps, fortunate that Antoine Lerac is of no great prominence +in this record, and of none in his official capacity at the +slaughter-house. But the man is worthy of some small attention, because +he was so essentially of the nineteenth century--so distinctly a product +of the latter end of what is, for us at least, the most important cycle +of years the world has passed through. He was a man wearing the blouse +with ostentation, and glorying in the greasy cap: professing his +unwillingness to exchange the one for an ermine robe or the other for a +crown. As a matter of fact, he invariably purchased the largest and +roughest blouse to be found, and his cap was unnecessarily soaked with +suet. He was a knight of industry of the very worst description--a +braggart, a talker, a windbag. He preached, or rather he shrieked, the +doctrine of equality, but the equality he sought was that which would +place him on a par with his superiors, while in no way benefiting those +beneath him. + +At one time, when he had first come into contact with the dark-eyed man +who now sat at the table watching him curiously, there had been a +struggle for mastery. + +"I am," he had said with considerable heat, "as good as you. That is all +I wish to demonstrate." + +"No," replied the other with that calm and assured air of superiority +which the people once tried in vain to stamp out with the guillotine. +"No, it is not. You want to demonstrate that you are superior, and you +cannot do it. You say that you have as much right to walk on the +pavement as I. I admit it. In your heart you want to prove that you have +_more_, and you cannot do it. I could wear your blouse with +comfort, but you could not put on my hat or my gloves without making +yourself ridiculous. But--that is not the question. Let us get to +business." + +And in time the butcher succumbed, as he was bound to do, to the man +whom he shrewdly suspected of being an aristocrat. + +He who entered the room immediately afterwards was of a very different +type. His mode of entry was of another description. Whereas the man of +blood swaggered in with an air of nervous truculence, as if he were +afraid that some one was desirous of disputing his equality, the next +comer crept in softly, and closed the door with accuracy. He was the +incarnation of benevolence--in the best sense of the word, a sweet old +man--looking out upon the world through large tinted spectacles with a +beam which could not be otherwise than blind to all motes. In earlier +years his face might, perhaps, have been a trifle hard in its contour; +but Time, the lubricator, had eased some of the corners, and it was now +the seat of kindness and love. He bowed ceremoniously to the first +comer, and his manner seemed rather to breathe of fraternity than +equality. As he bowed he mentioned the gentleman's name in such loving +tones that no greeting could have been heartier. + +"Citizen Morot," he said. + +The butcher, with more haste than dignity, assumed the chair which stood +at the opposite end of the table to that occupied by the Citizen Morot. +He had evidently hurried in first in order to secure that seat. From his +pocket he produced a somewhat soiled paper, which he threw with +exaggerated carelessness across the table. His manner was not entirely +free from a suggestion of patronage. + +"What have we here?" inquired the first comer, who had not hitherto +opened his lips, with a deep interest which might possibly have been +ironical. He was just the sort of man to indulge in irony for his own +satisfaction. He unfolded the paper, raised his eyebrows, and read. + +"Ah!" he said, "a receipt for five hundred rifles with bayonets and +shoulder-straps complete. 'Received of the Citizen Morot five hundred +rifles with bayonets and shoulder-straps complete.--Antoine Lerac.'" + +He folded the paper again and carefully tore it into very small pieces. + +"Thank you," he said gravely. + +Then he turned in his chair and threw the papers into the ash-tray of +the little iron stove behind him. + +"I judged it best to be strictly business-like," said the butcher, with +moderately well-simulated carelessness. + +"But yes, Monsieur Lerac," with a shrug. "We of the Republic distrust +each other so completely." + +The old gentleman looked from one to the other with a soothing smile. + +"The brave Lerac," he said, "is a man of business." + +Citizen Morot ignored this observation. + +"And," he said, turning to Lerac, "you have them stored in a safe place? +There is absolutely no doubt of that?" + +"Absolutely none." + +"Good." + +"They are under my own eye." + +"Very good. It is not for a short time only, but for some months. One +cannot hurry the people. Besides, we are not ready. The rifles we +bought, the ammunition we must steal." + +"They are good rifles--they are English," said the butcher. + +"Yes; the English Government is full of chivalry. They are always ready +to place it within the power of their enemies to be as well armed as +themselves." + +The old gentleman laughed--a pleasant, cooing laugh. He invariably +encouraged humour, this genial philanthropist. + +"At last Friday's meeting," Lerac said shortly, "we enrolled forty new +members. We now number four hundred and two in our _arrondissement_ +alone." + +"Good," muttered the Citizen Morot, without enthusiasm. + +"And four hundred hardy companions they are." + +"So I should imagine" (very gravely). + +"Four hundred strong men," broke in the old gentleman rather hastily. +"Ah, but that is already a power." + +"It is," opined Lerac sententiously, "the strong man who is the power. +Riches are nothing; birth is nothing. This is the day of force. Force is +everything." + +"Everything," acquiesced Morot fervently. He was consulting a small +note-book, wherein he jotted down some figures. + +"Four hundred and two," he muttered as he wrote, "up to Friday night, in +the _arrondissement_ of the citizen--the good citizen--Antoine +Lerac." + +The butcher looked up with a doubtful expression upon his coarse face. +His great brutal lips twitched, and he was on the point of speaking when +the Citizen Morot's velvety eyes met his gaze with a quiet smile in +which arrogance and innocence were mingled. + +"And now," said the last-mentioned, turning affably to the old +gentleman, "let us have the report of the reverend Father." + +"Ah," laughed Lerac, without attempting to conceal the contempt that was +in his soul, "the Church." + +The old gentleman spread out his hands in mild deprecation. + +"Yes," he admitted, "we are under a shadow. I do not even dare to wear +my cassock." + +"You are in a valley of shadow, my reverend friend," said the butcher, +with visible exultation, "to which the sun will never penetrate now." + +The Citizen Morot laughed at this pleasantry, while the old man against +whom it was directed bowed his head patiently. + +"And yet," said the laugher, with a certain air of patronage, "the +Church is of some use still. She paid for those rifles, and she will pay +for the ammunition--is it not so, my father?" + +"Without doubt--without doubt." + +"Not to mention," continued the other, "many contributions towards our +general fund. The force that is supplied by the strong right arm of the +people is, one finds, a force constantly in need of substantial +replenishment." + +"But," exclaimed the butcher, emphatically banging his fist down upon +the table, "why does she do it? That is what I want to know!" + +The old priest glanced furtively towards Morot, and then his face +assumed an air of childish bewilderment. + +"Ah!" he said guilelessly, "who can tell?" + +"Who, indeed!" chimed in Morot. + +The butcher was pleased with himself. He sat upright, and, banging the +table a second time, he looked round defiantly. + +"But," said Morot, in an indifferent way which was frequently +characteristic, "I do not see that it matters much. The money is good. +It buys rifles, and it places them in the hands of the Citizen Lerac and +his hardy companions. And when all is said and done, when the cartridges +are burnt and a New Commune is raised, what does it matter whose money +bought the rifles, and with what object the money was supplied?" + +The old gentleman looked relieved. He was evidently of a timid and +conciliatory nature, and would, with slight encouragement, have turned +upon that Church of which he was the humble representative, merely for +the sake of peace. + +The butcher cleared his throat after the manner of the streets--causing +Morot to wince visibly--and acquiesced. + +"But," he added cunningly, "the Church, see you--Ach! it is deep--it is +treacherous. Never trust the Church!" + +The Citizen Morot, to whom these remarks were addressed, smiled in a +singular way and made no reply. Then he turned gravely to the old man +and said-- + +"Have you nothing to report to us--my father?" + +"Nothing of great importance," replied he humbly. "All is going on well. +We are in treaty for two hundred rifles with the Montenegrin Government, +and shall no doubt carry the contract through. I go to England next week +in order to carry out the--the--what shall I say?--the loan of the +ammunition." + +"Ha, ha!" laughed the butcher. + +Morot smiled also, as he made an entry in the little note-book. + +"Next week?" he said interrogatively. + +"Yes--on Tuesday." + +"Thank you." + +The butcher here rose and ostentatiously dragged out a watch from the +depths of his blouse. + +"I must go," he said. "I have committee at seven o'clock. And I shall +dine first." + +"Yes," said Morot gravely. "Dine first. Take good care of yourself, +citizen." + +"Trust me." + +"I do," was the reply, delivered with a little nod in answer to Lerac's +curt farewell bow. + +The butcher walked noisily through the shop--heavy with +responsibility--weighted with the sense of his own importance to the +world in general and to France in particular. Had he walked less noisily +he might have overheard the soft laugh of the old priest. + +Citizen Morot did not laugh. He was not a laughing man. But a fine, +disdainful smile passed over his face, scarce lighting it up at all. + +"What an utter fool the man is!" he said impatiently. + +"Yes--sir," replied the old man, "but if he were less so it would be +difficult to manage him." + +"I am not sure. I always prefer to deal with knaves than with fools." + +"That is because your Highness knows how to outwit them." + +"No titles--my father," said the Citizen Morot quietly. "No titles here, +if you please. Tell me, are you quite sure of this scum--this Lerac?" + +"As sure as one can be of anything that comes from the streets. He is an +excitable, bumptious, quarrelsome man; but he has a certain influence +with those beneath him, although it seems hard to realise that there are +such." + +"Ha! you are right! But a republic is a social manure-heap--that which +is on the top is not pleasant, and the stuff below--ugh!" + +The manner of the two men had quite changed. He who was called Morot +leant back in his seat and stretched his arms out wearily. There is no +disguise like animation; when that is laid aside we see the real man or +the real woman. In repose this Frenchman was not cheerful to look upon. +He was not sanguine, and a French pessimist is the worst thing of the +kind that is to be found. + +When the door had closed behind the departing Lerac, the old priest +seemed to throw off suddenly quite a number of years. His voice, when +next he spoke, was less senile, his movements were brisker. He was, in a +word, less harmless. + +Mr. Jacquetot had finished his dinner, brought in from a neighbouring +restaurant all hot, and was slumberously enjoying a very strong-smelling +cigar, when the door of the little room opened at length, and the two +men went out together into the dimly-lighted street. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +WITHOUT REST + + +Half-way down Fleet Street, on the left-hand side, stands the church of +St. Dunstan-in-the-West. Around its grimy foundations there seethes a +struggling, toiling race of men--not only from morning till night, but +throughout the twenty-four hours. Within sound of this church bell a +hundred printing-presses throb out their odorous broadsheets to be +despatched to every part of the world. Day and night, week in week out, +the human writing-machines, and those other machines which are almost +human (and better than human in some points) hurry through their +allotted tasks, and ignore the saintly shadow cast upon them by the +spire of St. Dunstan. This is indeed the centre of the world: the hub +from whence spring the spokes of the vast wheel of life. For to this +point all things over the world converge by a vast web of wire, +railroad, coach road, and steamer track. Upon wings that boast of +greater speed than the wind can compass come to this point the voices of +our kin in farthest lands. News--news--news. News from the East of +events occurring in the afternoon--scan it over and flash it westward, +where it will be read on the morning of the same day! News in every +tongue to be translated and brought into shape--while the solemn church +clock tells his tale in deep voice, audible above the din and scurry. + +From hurried scribbler to pale compositor, and behold, the news is +bawled all over London! Such work as this goes on for ever around the +church of St. Dunstan. Scribblers come and scribblers go; compositors +come to their work young and hopeful, they leave it bent and poisoned, +yet the work goes on. Each day the pace grows quicker, each day some new +means of rapid propagation is discovered, and each day life becomes +harder to live. One morning, perhaps, a scribbler is absent from his +post--"Brain-fever, complete rest; a wreck." For years his writings have +been read by thousands daily. A new man takes the vacant chair--he has +been waiting more or less impatiently for this--and the thousands are +none the wiser. One night the head compositor presses his black hand to +his sunken chest, and staggers home. "And time too--he's had his turn," +mutters the second compositor as he thinks of the extra five shillings a +week. No doubt he is right. Every dog his day. + +Nearly opposite to the church stands a tall narrow house of dirty red +brick, and it is with this house that we have to do. + +At seven o'clock, one evening some years ago--when heads now grey were +brown, when eyes now dim were bright--the Strand was in its usual state +of turmoil. Carriage followed carriage. Seedy clerks hustled past portly +merchants--not their own masters, _bien entendu_, but those of +other seedy clerks. Carriages and foot-passengers were alike going +westward. All were leaving behind them the day and the busy city--some +after a few hours devoted to the perusal of _Times_ and +_Gazette_; others fagged and weary from a long day of dusty books. + +Ah! those were prosperous days in the City. Days when men of but a few +years' standing rolled out to Clapham or Highgate behind a pair of +horses. Days when books were often represented by a bank-book and a +roughly-kept day-book. What need to keep mighty ledgers when profits are +great and returns quick in their returning? + +As the pedestrians made their way along the narrow pavement some of them +glanced at the door of the tall red-brick house and read the inscription +on a brass plate screwed thereon. This consisted of two mystic words: +_The Beacon_. There was, however, in reality, no mystery about it. +The _Beacon_ was a newspaper, published weekly, and the clock of +St. Dunstan's striking seven told the end of another week. The +publishing day was past; another week with its work and pleasure was to +be faced. + +From early morning until six o'clock in the evening this narrow doorway +and passage had been crowded by a heaving, swearing, laughing mass of +more or less dilapidated humanity interested in the retail sale of +newspapers. At six o'clock Ephraim Bander, a retired constable, now on +the staff of the _Beacon_, had taken his station at the door, in +order to greet would-be purchasers with the laconic and discouraging +words: "Sold hout!" + +During the last two years ex-constable Bander had announced the selling +"hout" of the _Beacon_ every Tuesday evening. + +At seven o'clock Mrs. Bander emerged from her den on the fourth floor, +like a portly good-natured spider, and with a broom proceeded to attack +the dust shaken from the boots of the journalistic fraternity, with +noisy energy. After that she polished the door-plate; and peace reigned +within the narrow house. + +On the second floor there was a small room with windows looking out into +a narrow lane behind the house. It was a singularly quiet room; the door +opened and shut without sound or vibration; double windows insured +immunity from the harrowing cries of such enterprising merchants as +exercised their lungs and callings in the narrow lane beneath. A certain +sense of ease and comfort imperceptibly crept over the senses of persons +entering this tiny apartment. It must have been in the atmosphere; for +some rooms more luxuriously furnished are without it. It certainly does +not lie in the furniture--this imperceptible sense of companionship; it +does not lurk in the curtains. Some mansions know it, and many cottages. +It is even to be met with in the tiny cabin of a coasting vessel. + +This diminutive room, despite its lack of sunlight, was such as one +might wish to sit in. A broad low table stood in the middle of the +floor, and on it lay the mellow light of a shaded lamp. At this table +two men were seated opposite to each other. One was writing, slowly and +easily, the other was idling with the calm restfulness of a man who has +never worked very hard. He was rolling his pencil up to the top of his +blotting-pad, and allowing it to come down again in accordance with the +rules of gravity. + +This was Mr. Bodery's habit when thoughtful; and after all, there was no +great harm in it. Mr. Bodery was editor and proprietor of the +_Beacon_. The amusing and somewhat satirical article which appeared +weekly under the heading of "Light" was penned by the chubby hand at +that moment engaged with the pencil. + +Mr. Morgan, sub-editor, was even stouter than his chief. Laughter was +his most prominent characteristic. He laughed over "Light" when in its +embryo state, he laughed when the _Beacon_ sold out at six o'clock +on Tuesday evenings. He laughed when the printing-machine went wrong on +Monday afternoon, and--most wonderful of all--he laughed at his own +jokes, in which exercise he was usually alone. His jokes were not of the +first force. Mr. Morgan was the author of the slightly laboured and +weighty Parliamentary articles on the first page. He never joked on +paper, which is a gift apart. + +These two gentlemen were in no way of brilliant intellect. They had +their share of sound, practical common-sense, which is in itself a +splendid substitute. Fortune had come to them (as it comes to most men +when it comes at all) without any apparent reason. Mr. Bodery had +supplied the capital, and Mr. Morgan's share of the undertaking was +added in the form of a bustling, hollow energy. The _Beacon_ was +lighted, so to speak. It burnt in a dull and somewhat flickering manner +for some years; then a new hand fed the flame, and its light spread +afar. + +It was from pure good nature that Mr. Bodery held out a helping hand to +the son of his old friend, Walter Vellacott, when that youth appeared +one day at the office of the _Beacon_, and in an off-hand manner +announced that he was seeking employment. Like many actions performed +from a similar motive, Mr. Bodery's kindness of heart met with its +reward. Young Christian Vellacott developed a remarkable talent for +journalistic literature--in fact, he was fortunate enough to have found, +at the age of twenty-two, his avocation in life. + +Gradually, as the years wore on, the influence of the young fellow's +superior intellect made itself felt. Prom the position of a mere +supernumerary, he worked his way upwards, taking on to his shoulders one +duty after another--bearing the weight, quietly and confidently, of one +responsibility after another. This exactly suited Mr. Bodery and his +sub-editor. There was very little of the slave in the composition of +either. They delighted in an easy, luxurious life, with just enough work +to impart a pleasant feeling of self-satisfaction. It suited Christian +Vellacott also. In a few weeks he found his level--in a few months he +began rising to higher levels. + +He was an only son; the only child of a brilliant father whose name was +known in every court in Europe as that of a harum-scarum diplomatist, +who could have done great things in his short life if he had wished to. +It is from only sons that Fortune selects her favourites. Men who have +no brothers to share their amusements turn to serious matters early in +life. Christian Vellacott soon discovered that a head was required at +the office of the _Beacon_ to develop the elements of success +undoubtedly lying within the journal, and that the owner of such a head +could in time dictate his own terms to the easy-going proprietor. + +Unsparingly he devoted the whole of his exceptional energies to the work +before him. He lived in and for it. Each night he went home fagged and +weary; but each morning saw him return to it with undaunted spirit. + +Human nature, however, is exhaustible. The influence of a strong mind +over a strong body is great, but it is nevertheless limited. The +_Beacon_ had reached a large circulation, but its slave was worn +out. Two years without a holiday--two years of hurried, hard brain-work +had left their mark. It is often so when a man finds his avocation too +early. He is too hurried, works too hard, and collapses; or he becomes +self-satisfied, over-confident, and unbearable. Fortunately for +Christian Vellacott he was devoid of conceit, which is like the +scaffolding round a church-spire, reaching higher and falling first. + +There was also a "home" influence at work. When Christian passed out of +the narrow doorway, and turned his face westward, his day's work was by +no means over, as will be shown hereafter. + +As Mr. Bodery rolled his pencil up and down his blotting-pad, he was +slowly realising the fact that something must be done. Presently he +looked up, and his pleasant eyes rested on the bent head of his +sub-editor. + +"Morgan," he said, "I have been thinking--Seems to me Vellacott wants a +rest! He's played out!" + +Mr. Morgan wiped his pen vigorously upon his coat, just beneath the +shoulder, and sat back in his chair. + +"Yes," he replied; "he has not been up to the mark for some time. But +you will find difficulty in making him take a holiday. He is a devil for +working--ha, ha!" + +This "ha, ha!" did not mean very much. There was no mirth in it. It was +a species of punctuation, and implied that Mr. Morgan had finished his +remark. + +"I will ring for him now and see what he says about it." + +Mr. Bodery extended his chubby white hand and touched a small gong. +Almost instantaneously the silent door opened and a voice from without +said, "Yess'r." A small boy with a mobile, wicked mouth stood at +attention in the doorway. + +"Has Mr. Vellacott gone?" + +"No--sir!" In a tone which seemed to ask: "Now _is_ it likely?" + +"Where is he?" + +"In the shop, sir." + +"Ask him to come here, please." + +"Yess'r." + +The small boy closed the door. Once outside he placed his hand upon his +heart and made a low bow to the handle, retreating backwards to the head +of the stairs. Then he proceeded to slide down the banister, to the +trifling detriment of his waistcoat. As he reached the end of his +perilous journey a door opened at the foot of the stairs, and a man's +form became discernible in the dim light. + +"Is that the way you generally come downstairs, Wilson?" asked a voice. + +"It is the quickest way, sir!" + +"Not quite; there is one quicker, which you will discover some day if +you overbalance at the top!" + +"Mr. Bodery wishes to see you, please sir!" The small boy's manner was +very different from what it had been outside the door upstairs. + +"All right," replied Vellacott, putting on the coat he had been carrying +over his arm. A peculiar smooth rapidity characterised all his +movements. At school he had been considered a very "clean" fielder. The +cleanness was there still. + +The preternaturally sharp boy--sharp as only London boys are--watched +the lithe form vanish up the stairs; then he wagged his head very wisely +and said to himself in a patronising way: + +"He's the right sort, he is--no chalk there!" + +Subsequently he balanced his diminutive person full length upon the +balustrade, and proceeded to haul himself laboriously, hand over hand, +to the top. + +In the meantime Christian Vellacott had passed into the editor's room. +The light of the lamp was driven downwards upon the table, but the +reflection of it rose and illuminated his face. It was a fairly handsome +face, with eyes just large enough to be keen and quick without being +dreamy. The slight fair moustache was not enough to hide the mouth, +which was refined, and singularly immobile. He glanced at Mr. Bodery, as +he entered, quickly and comprehensively, and then turned his eyes +towards Mr. Morgan. His face was very still and unemotional, but it was +pale, and his eyes were deeply sunken. A keen observer would have +noticed, in comparing the three men, that there was something about the +youngest which was lacking in his elders. It lay in the direct gaze of +his eyes, in the carriage of his head, in the small, motionless mouth. +It was what is vaguely called "power." + +"Sit down, Vellacott," said Mr. Brodery. "We want to have a +consultation." After a short pause he continued: "You know, of course, +that it is a dull season just now. People do not seem to read the papers +in August. Now, we want you to take a holiday. Morgan has been away; I +shall go when you come back. Say three weeks or a month. You've been +over-working yourself a bit--burning the candle at both ends, eh?" + +"Hardly at both ends," corrected Vellacott, with a ready smile which +entirely transformed his face. "Hardly at both ends--at one end in a +draught, perhaps." + +"Ha, ha! Very good," chimed in Mr. Morgan the irrepressible. "At one end +in a draught--that is like me, only the draught has got inside my cheeks +and blown them out instead of in like yours, eh? Ha, ha!" And he patted +his cheeks affectionately. + +"I don't think I care for a holiday just now, thanks," he said slowly, +without remembering to call up a smile for Mr. Morgan's benefit. +Unconsciously he put his hand to his forehead, which was damp with the +heat of the printing-office which he had just left. + +"My dear fellow," said Mr. Bodery gravely, emphasising his remarks with +the pencil, "you have one thing in life to learn yet--no doubt you have +many, but this one in particular you must learn. Work is not the only +thing we are created for--not the only thing worth living for. It is a +necessary evil, that is all. When you have reached my age you will come +to look upon it as such. A little enjoyment is good for every one. There +are many things to form a brighter side to life. +Nature--travelling--riding--rowing----" + +"And love," suggested the sub-editor, placing his hand dramatically on +the right side of his broad waistcoat instead of the left. He could +afford to joke on the subject now that the grass grew high in the little +country churchyard where he had laid his young wife fifteen years +before. In those days he was a grave, self-contained man, but that +sorrow had entirely changed his nature. The true William Morgan only +came out on paper now. + +Mr. Bodery was right. Christian had yet to learn a great lesson, and +unconsciously he was even now beginning to grasp its meaning. His whole +mind was full of his work, and out of those earnest grey eyes his soul +was looking at the man who was perhaps saving his life. + +"We can easily manage it," said the editor, continuing his advantage. "I +will take over the foreign policy article. The reviewing you can do +yourself, as we can always send you the books, and there is no pressing +hurry about them. The general work we will manage somehow--won't we, +Morgan?" + +"Of course we will; as well as and perhaps better than he could do it +himself, eh? Ha, ha!" + +"But seriously, Vellacott," continued Mr. Bodery, "things will go on +just as well for a time. When I was young I used to make that mistake +too. I thought that no one could manage things like myself, but in time +I realised (as you will do some day) that things went on as smoothly +when I was away. Depend upon it, my boy, when a man is put on the shelf, +worn out and useless, another soon fills his place. You are too young to +go on the shelf yet. To please me, Vellacott, go away for three weeks." + +"You are very kind, sir--" began the young fellow, but Mr. Bodery +interrupted him. + +"Well, then, that is settled. Shall we say this day week? That will give +you time to make your plans." + +With a few words of thanks Christian left the room. Vaguely and +mechanically he wandered upstairs to his own particular den. It was a +disappointing little chamber. The chaos one expects to find on the desk +of a literary man was lacking here. No papers lay on the table in +artistic disorder. The presiding genius of the room was +method--clear-headed, practical method. The walls were hidden by shelves +of books, from the last half-hysterical production of some vain woman to +the single-volume work of a man's lifetime. Many of the former were +uncut, the latter bore signs of having been read and studied. The +companionship of these silent friends brought peace and contentment to +the young man's spirit. He sat wearily down, and, leaning his chin upon +his folded arms, he thought. Gradually there came into his mind pictures +of the fair open country, of rolling hills and quiet valleys, of quiet +lanes and running waters. A sudden yearning to breathe God's pure air +took possession of his faculties. Mr. Bodery had gained the day. In the +room below Mr. Morgan wrote on in his easy, comfortable manner. The +editor was still thoughtfully playing with his pencil. The sharp little +boy was standing on his head in the passage. At last Mr. Bodery rose +from his chair and began his preparations for leaving. As he brushed his +hat he looked towards his companion and said: + +"That young fellow is worth you and me rolled into one." + +"I recognised that fact some years ago," replied the sub-editor, wiping +his pen on his coat. "It is humiliating, but true. Ha, ha!" + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +BURDENED + + +Christian Vellacott soon descended the dingy stairs and joined the +westward-wending throng in the Strand. In the midst of the crowd he was +alone, as townsmen soon learn to be. The passing faces, the roar of +traffic, and the thousand human possibilities of interest around him in +no way disturbed his thoughts. In his busy brain the traffic of thought, +passing and repassing, crossing and recrossing, went on unaffected by +outward things. A modern poet has confessed that his muse loves the +pavement--a bold confession, but most certainly true. Why does talent +gravitate to cities? Because there it works its best--because friction +necessarily produces brilliancy. Nature is a great deceiver; she draws +us on to admire her insinuating charms, and in the contemplation of them +we lose our energy. + +Christian had been born and bred in cities. The din and roar of life was +to him what the voice of the sea is to the sailor. In the midst of +crowded humanity he was in his element, and as he walked rapidly along +he made his way dexterously through the narrow places without thinking +of it. While meditating deeply he was by no means absorbed. In his +active life there had been no time for thoughts beyond the present, no +leisure for dreaming. He could not afford to be absent-minded. Numbers +of men are so situated. Their minds are required at all moments, in full +working order, clear and rapid--ready, shoes on feet and staff in hand, +to go whithersoever they may be called. + +Although he was going to the saddest home that ever hung like a +mill-stone round a young neck, Christian wasted no time. The glory of +the western sky lay ruddily over the river as he emerged from the small +streets behind Chelsea and faced the broad placid stream. Presently he +stopped opposite the door of a small red-brick house, which formed the +corner of a little terrace facing the river and a quiet street running +inland from it. + +With a latch-key he admitted himself noiselessly--almost +surreptitiously. Once inside he closed the door without unnecessary +sound and stood for some moments in the dark little entrance-hall, +apparently listening. + +Presently a voice broke the silence of the house. A querulous, +high-pitched voice, quavering with the palsy of extreme age. The sound +of it was no new thing for Christian Vellacott. To-night his lips gave a +little twist of pain as he heard it. The door of the room on the ground +floor was open, and he could hear the words distinctly enough. + +"You know, Mrs. Strawd, we have a nephew, but he is always gadding +about, I am sure; he has been a terrible affliction to us. A frothy, +good-for-nothing boy--that is what he is. We have not set eyes on him +for a month or more. Why, I almost forget his name!" + +"Christian, that is his name--a most inappropriate one, I am sure," +chimed in another voice, almost identical in tone. "Why Walter should +have given him such a name I cannot tell. Ah! sister Judith, things are +different from what they used to be when we were younger!" + +The frothy one outside the door seemed in no great degree impressed by +these impartial views upon himself, though the pained look was still +upon his lips as he turned to hang up his hat. + +"He's coming home to-night, though, Miss Judith," said another voice, in +a coaxing, wheedling tone, such as one uses towards petulant children. +"He's coming home to-night, sure enough!" It was a pleasant voice, with +a strong, capable ring about it. One instinctively felt that the +possessor of it was a woman to be relied upon at a crisis. + +"Is he now--is he now?" said the first speaker reflectively. "Well, I am +sure it is time he did. We will just give him a lesson, eh, sister +Hester?--we will give him a lesson, shall we not?" + +At this moment the door opened, and a little woman, quiet though +somewhat anxious looking, came out. She evinced no surprise at the sight +of the good-for-nothing nephew in the dimly-lighted passage, greeting +him in a low voice. + +"How have they been to-day, nurse?" he asked. + +"Oh, they have been well enough, Master Christian," was the reply, in a +cheerful undertone. + +"Aunt Judith has 'most got rid of her cold. But they've been very +trying, sir--just like children, as wilful as could be--the same +question over and over again till I was fit to cry. They are quieter +now, but--but it's you they're abusing now, Master Chris!" + +The young fellow looked down into the little woman's face. His eyes were +sympathetic enough, but he said nothing. With a little nod and a +suppressed sigh he turned away from her. He laid his hand upon the door +and then stopped. + +"As soon as you have brought up tea," he said, looking back, "I will +take them for the evening, and you can have your rest as usual." + +From the room came, at intervals, the ring of silver, as if some one +were moving the spoons and forks from the table. Christian waited until +these sounds had ceased before he entered. + +"Good evening, Aunt Judith. Good evening, Aunt Hester," he said +cheerily. + +They were exactly alike, these two old ladies; the same marvellously +wrinkled features and silver hair; voluminous caps and white woollen +shawls identical. With exaggerated marks of respect he kissed each by +turn on her withered cheek. + +"May I sit down, Aunt Judith?" he asked, and without waiting for an +answer drew a chair towards the fireplace, where a small fire burnt +though it was the month of August. + +"Yes, Nephew Vellacott, you may take a seat," replied Aunt Judith with +chill severity, "and you may also tell us where you have been during the +last four weeks." + +Poor old human wreck! Only ten hours earlier her nephew had bid her +farewell for the day. Christian began an explanation in a weary, +mechanical way, like an actor tired of the part assigned to him, but the +old ladies would not listen. Aunt Hester interrupted him promptly. + +"Your shallow excuses are wasted on us, Nephew Vellacott. You have +doubtless been away, enjoying yourself and leaving us--us who support +you and deprive ourselves in order to keep a decent coat upon your +back--leaving us to the mercy of all the thieves in London. And tell us, +pray--what are we to do for spoons and forks to-night?" + +"What?" exclaimed Christian with perfunctory interest, "have the spoons +gone--?" he almost said "again," but checked himself in time. He turned +to look at the table, which had been carefully denuded of every piece of +silver. + +"There, you see!" quavered Aunt Judith triumphantly; and the two old +ladies rubbed their hands, nodded their palsied old heads at each other, +and chuckled in utter delight at their nephew's discomfiture, until Aunt +Judith was attacked by a violent fit of coughing, which seemed to be +tearing her to pieces. Christian watched her with the ready keenness of +a sick-nurse. + +"How did it occur?" he asked, when the old lady had recovered. + +"There, you see," remarked Aunt Hester, with the precise intonation of +her accomplice. + +"I _am_ sure!" panted Aunt Judith triumphantly. + +"I _am_ sure!" echoed Aunt Hester. + +They allowed their nephew's remorse full scope, and then proceeded +laboriously to extract the missing articles from the side of Aunt +Judith's arm-chair. This farce was rehearsed every night, nearly word +for word. A pleasant recreation for an intellectual man, assuredly. The +only relief to the monotony was the occasional loss of a spoon in the +crevice between the arm and the seat of Aunt Judith's chair. Then +followed such a fumbling and a "dear me-ing" until the worthless nephew +was perforce called to the rescue, to fish and probe with a paper-knife +till the lost treasure was recovered. + +"We only wished, Nephew Vellacott, to show you what might have happened +during your unconscionable absence. Servants are only too ready to talk +to the first comer of their mistresses' wealth and position. They have +no discrimination." said Aunt Judith in a reproving tone. The old ladies +were very fond of boasting of their wealth and position, whereas, in +reality, their nephew was the only barrier between them and the +workhouse. + +"Well, Aunt Judith," replied Christian patiently, "I will try and stay +at home more in future. But you know it is time I was doing something to +earn my own livelihood now. I cannot exist on your kindness all my +life!" + +He had learnt to humour these two silly old women. During the two years +which had just passed he had gradually recognised the utter futility of +endeavouring to make them realise the true state of their affairs. They +spoke grandiloquently of the family solicitor: a man who had been in his +grave for nearly a quarter of a century. It was simply impossible to +instil into their minds any fact whatever, and such facts as had +established themselves there were permanent. They belonged to another +generation, and their mode of thought was a remnant of a forgotten and +unsatisfactory period. To them Napoleon the First was a living man, +Queen Victoria unheard of. The decay of their minds had been slow, and +it had been Christian Vellacott's painful task to watch its steady +progress. Day by day he had followed the gradual failing of each sense +and power. + +There is something pathetic about the decay of a mind which has been +driven to death by constant work, but there is a compensating thought to +alleviate the sadness. It may rattle and grow loose, like some worn-out +engine, where the friction presses; but it will work till it collapses +totally, and some of the work achieved is good and permanent. It is +bound to be so. Infinitely sadder is the sight of a mind which is +falling to pieces by reason of the rust that has eaten into its very +core. For rust must needs mean idleness--and no human intellect +_need_ be idle. So it had been with these two old ladies. Born in a +wofully unintellectual age, they had never left a certain groove in +life. When their brother married Christian Vellacott's grandmother, they +had left his house in Honiton to go and live in Bodmin upon a limited +but sufficient income. These "sufficient incomes" are a curse; they do +not allow of charity and make no call for labour. + +When Christian Vellacott arrived in England, an orphan with no great +wealth, he made it his first duty to visit the only living relations he +possessed. He was just in time to save them, literally, from starvation. +It was obvious that he could not make a literary livelihood in Bodmin, +so he made a home for the two old wrecks of humanity in London. Their +means, like their minds, were simply exhausted. Aunt Judith was +ninety-three; Aunt Hester ninety-one. During that vast blank (for blank +it was, so far as their lives were concerned) stretching away back into +a perspective of time which few around them could gauge--they had never +been separated for one day. Like two apples they had grown side by side, +until their very contact had engendered disease--a slow, deadly, +creeping rot, finding its source at the point of contact, reaching its +goal at the heart of each. They had _existed_ thus with terrible +longevity--lived a mere animal life of sleeping and eating, such as +hundreds of women are living around us now. + +"Of course, you must learn to make your daily bread, Nephew Vellacott!" +answered Aunt Hester. "The desire does you credit; but you should be +careful into what society you go without us. Girls are very designing, +and many a one would like to marry a nephew of mine--eh, Judith?" + +"Yes, that they would," replied the old lady. "The minxes know that they +might do worse than catch the nephew of Judith and Hester Vellacott!" + +"Look at us," continued Aunt Hester, drawing up her shrunken old form +with a touch of pride. "Look at us? We have always avoided marriage, and +we are very nice and happy, I am sure!" + +She waited for a confirmation of this bold statement, but Christian was +not listening. He was leaning forward with his hands clasped between his +knees, gazing into the fire. He was recalling the conversation which had +passed in the little room in the Strand. Could he leave these two +helpless old creatures. Could he get away from it all for a little +time--away from the maddening prattle of unguided tongues, from the +dread monotony of hopeless watching? He knew that he was wasting his +manhood, neglecting his intellectual opportunities, and endangering his +career; but his course of duty was marked out with terrible +distinctness. He never saw the pathos of it, as a woman would have seen +it, gathering perhaps some slight alleviation from the sight. It never +entered his thoughts to complain, and he never conceived the idea of +drawing comparisons between his position and that of other young men +who, instead of being slaves to their relatives, made very good use of +them. He merely went on doing his obvious duty and striving not to look +forward too eagerly to a release at some future period. + +Fortunately, Mrs. Strawd was not long in bringing in the simple evening +meal; and the attention of the old ladies was at once turned to the +mystery hidden beneath the dish-cover. What was it, and would there be +enough for Nephew Vellacott? + +Deftly, Christian poured out the tea. Two cups very weak and one +stronger. Then two thin slices of crustless bread had to be buttered. +This operation required great judgment and impartiality. + +"Excuse me, Nephew Vellacott!" said Aunt Judith, with dangerous +severity. "Is that first slice intended for Aunt Hester? It appears to +me that the butter is very thick--much thicker than on the second, which +is doubtless intended for me!" + +"Do you think so, Aunt Judith?" asked Christian in a voice purposely +loud in order to drown Aunt Hester's remonstrance. "Then I will take a +little off!" He passed the knife harmlessly over the faulty slice, and +laid the two side by side upon a plate. Then the old ladies promptly +held a survey on them--that declared to be more heavily buttered being +awarded to Aunt Judith in recognition of her seniority. + +With similar fruitful topics of conversation the meal was pleasantly +despatched. The turn of Dick and Mick followed thereon. Dick, the +property of Aunt Judith, was a canary of thoughtful temperament. The +part he played in the domestic economy of the small household was a +contemplative rather than an active one. Mick, Aunt Hester's bird, was +of a more lively nature. He had, as a rule, something to say upon all +subjects--and said it. + +Now Aunt Hester, in her inmost heart, loved a silent bird, and secretly +coveted Dick, but as Mick was her property, and Dick the silent was +owned by Aunt Judith, she never lost an opportunity of enlarging upon +the stupidity and uselessness of silent birds. Aunt Judith, on the other +hand, admired a lively and talkative canary; consequently she was +weighed down with the conviction that her sister's bird was the superior +article. Altogether, birds as a topic of conversation were best avoided. +Dick and Mick were housed in cages of similar build--indeed, most things +were strictly in duplicate in the whole household. Every evening +Christian brought the cages, and Aunt Judith and Aunt Hester carefully +placed within the wires a small piece of bread-and-butter, which Nurse +Strawd as carefully removed, untouched, the next morning. + +When the birds' wants had been attended to, it was Christian's duty to +settle the old ladies comfortably in their respective arm-chairs. This +he did tenderly and cleverly as a woman, but it was not a pleasant sight +to look upon. The man, with his lean, strong face, long jaw, and +prominent chin, was so obviously out of place. These peaceful duties +were never meant for such as he. His somewhat closely-set eyes were not +such as wax tender over drowning flies, for even in repose they were +somewhat direct and stern in their gaze. In fact, Christian Vellacott +was so visibly created for strife and the forefront of life's battle, +that it was almost painful to see him fulfilling a more peaceful +avocation. + +As a rule he devoted himself to the amusement of his aged relatives for +an hour or so; but this evening he sat down to the piano at once, with +the deliberate intention of playing them off to sleep. Ten o'clock was +their hour for retiring, and before that they would not move, although +they dozed in their chairs. + +He was no mean musician, this big West-countryman, with a true ear and a +touch peculiarly light and tender for a man. He played gently and +drowsily for some time, half forgetting that he was not alone in the +room. Presently he turned round, letting his fingers rest on the keys. +Aunt Judith was asleep, and Aunt Hester made a sign for him to go on +playing. Five minutes more, gradually toned down till the very sounds +seemed to fall asleep, and Aunt Hester was peacefully slumbering. +Silently the player rose, and crossing the room, he resumed his seat at +the table from which the white cloth had not yet been removed. Pen, ink, +and paper were within reach, and in a few minutes he had written the +following note:-- + +"DEAR SIDNEY,--May I retract the letter I wrote yesterday and accept +your invitation? I have been requested to take a holiday, and, rather +than offend the powers that be, have given in. I can think of no happier +way of spending it than in seeing you all again and recalling the jolly +old Prague days. With kind regards, yours ever, + +"CHRISTIAN VELLACOTT." + +He folded the note and slipped it into an envelope, which he addressed +to "Sidney Carew, Esq., St. Mary Western, Dorset." Then he slipped +noiselessly out of the room and upstairs to where Mrs. Strawd had a +small sitting-room of her own. The little woman heard his footstep on +the old creaking stairs, and opened the door of her room before he +reached it. + +"If I went away for three weeks," he said, "could you do without me?" + +"Of course I could," replied the little woman readily. "Just you go away +and take a holiday, Master Christian. You need it sorely, that I know. +You do indeed. We shall get on splendidly without you. I'll just have my +sister to come and stay, same as I did when you had to go to the Paris +House of Parliament." + +"I have not had much of a holiday, you see, for two years now!" + +"Of course you haven't, and you want it. It's only human nature--and you +a young man that ought to be in the open air all day. For an old woman +like me it's different. We're made differently by the good God on +purpose, I think." + +"Well, then, if your sister comes it must be understood, nurse, that I +make the same arrangement with her as exists with you. She must simply +be a duplicate of you--you understand?" + +The little woman laughed, lightly enough. + +"Oh, yes, Master Christian, that is all right. But you need not have +troubled about that. She never would have thought of such a thing as +wages, I'm sure!" + +"No," replied he gravely, "I know she would not, but it will be better, +I think, to have it understood beforehand. Gratitude is a very nice +thing to work for, but some work is worth more than gratitude. If you +are going out for your walk, perhaps you will post this letter." + +Before Christian went to bed that night he held a candle close to the +mirror and looked long and hard at his own reflection. There were dark +streaks under his eyes, his small mouth was drawn and dry, his lips +colourless. At each temple the bone stood out rather prominently, and +the skin was brilliant in its whiteness and reflected the light of the +candle. He felt his own pulse. It was beating, at one moment fast and +irregular, at the next it was hardly perceptible. + +"Yes!" he muttered, with a professional nod--in his training as a +journalist he had learnt a little of many sciences--"yes, old Bodery was +right." + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +A REUNION + + +The gentle August night had cooled and soothed the dusty atmosphere. All +things looked fair, even in London. The placid Thames glided stealthily +down to the sea, as if wishing to speed on unseen, to cast at last his +reeking waters into the cool ocean. The bright brown sails, low hulls, +and gaily painted spars of the barges dropping down with the stream +added to the beauty of the scene. + +Such was the morning that greeted Christian Vellacott, as he opened the +door of his little Chelsea home and stepped forth a free man. When once +he had made up his mind to go, every obstacle was thrown aside, and his +determination was now as great as had been his previous reluctance. He +had no presentiment that he was taking an important step in life--one of +those steps which we hardly notice at the time, but upon which we look +back in after years and note how clear and definite it was, losing +ourselves in vague conjecture as to what might have been had we held +back. + +Christian being practical in all things, knew how to travel comfortably, +dispensing with rugs and bags and such small packages as are understood +to be dear to the elderly single female heart. + +The smoky suburbs were soon left behind, and the smiling land gave forth +such gentle, pastoral odours as only long confinement in cities can +teach us to detect. Christian lowered the window, and the warm air +played round him as it had not done for two long years. The whizz of the +wind past his face brought back the memory of the long, idle, happy days +spent with his father in the Mediterranean, when they had been half +sailors and wholly Bohemians, gliding from port to port, village to +city, in their yacht, as free and careless as the wind. The warm breeze +almost seemed to be coming to him from some parched Italian plain +instead of pastoral Buckinghamshire. + +Then his thoughts travelled still further back to his school-days in +Prague, when his father and Mr. Carew were colleagues in a brilliant but +unfortunate embassy. Five years had passed since then. The two fathers +were now dead, and the children had dropped apart as men and women do +when their own personal interests begin to engross them. Now again, in +this late summer time, they were to meet. All, that is, who were left. +The _débris_, as it were. Three voices there were whose tones would +never more be heard in the round of merry jest. Mr. Carew, Walter +Vellacott (Uncle Walter, the young ones called him), and little Charlie +Carew, the bright-eyed sailor of the family, had all three travelled on. +The two former, whose age and work achieved had softened their +departure, were often spoken of with gently lowered voice, but little +Charlie's name was never mentioned. It was a fatal mistake--this +silence--if you will; but it was one of those mistakes which are often +made in wisdom. In splendid, solitary grandeur he lay awaiting the end +of all things--the call of his Creator--in the grey ice-fields of the +North. The darling of his ship, he had died with a smile in his blue +eyes and a sad little jest upon his lips to cheer the rough fur-clad +giants kneeling at his side. Time, the merciful, had healed, as best he +could (which is by no means perfectly), the wound in the younger hearts. +It is only the old that are quite beyond his powers; he cannot touch +them. Mrs. Carew, a woman with a patient face and a ready smile, was the +only representative of the vanishing generation. Her daughters--ay! and +perhaps her sons as well (though boys are not credited with so much +tender divination)--knew the meaning of the little droop at the side of +their mother's smiling lips. They detected the insincerity of her kindly +laugh. + +Shortly after leaving Exeter, Christian's station was reached. This was +an old-fashioned seaport town, whose good fortune it was to lie too far +west for a London watering-place, and too far east for Plymouth or +Bristol. Sidney Carew was on the platform--a sturdy, typical Englishman, +with a certain sure slowness of movement handed down to him by seafaring +ancestors. The two friends had not met for many years, but with men +absence has little effect upon affection. During the space of many years +they may never meet and seldom write, but at the end that gulf of time +is bridged over by a simple "Halloa, old fellow!" and a warm grip. +Slowly, piece by piece, the history of the past years comes out. Both +are probably changed in thought and nature, but the old individuality +remains, the old bond of friendship survives. + +"Well, Sidney?" + +"How are you?" + +Simultaneously--and that was all. The changes were there in both, and +noted by both, but not commented upon. + +"Molly is outside with the dog-cart," said Sidney; "is your luggage +forward?" + +"Yes, that is it being pitched out now." + +It was with womanly foresight that Miss Molly Carew had elected to wait +outside with the dog-cart while her brother met Christian on the +platform. She feared a little natural embarrassment at meeting the old +playfellow of the family, and concluded that the first moments would be +more easily tided over here than at the train. Her fears were, as it +turned out, unnecessary, but she did not know what Christian might be +like after the lapse of years. Of herself she was sure enough, being one +of those happy people who have no self-consciousness whatever. + +On seeing her, Christian came forward at once, raising his hat and +shaking hands as if they had parted the day before. + +She saw at once that it was all right. This was Christian Vellacott as +she had remembered him. She looked down at him as he stood with one hand +resting on the splashboard, and he, looking up to her, smiled in return. + +"Christian," she said, "do you know I should scarcely have recognised +you. You are so big, and--and you look positively ghastly!" She finished +her remark with a little laugh which took away from the spoken meaning +of it. + +"Ghastly?" he replied. "Thanks: I do not feel like it--only hungry. +Hungry, and desperately glad to see a face that does not look +overworked." + +"Meaning me." + +"Meaning you." + +She gave a little sarcastic nod, and pursed up a pair of very red lips. + +"Nevertheless I am the only person in the house who does any work at +all. Hilda, for instance--" + +At this moment Sidney came up and interrupted them. + +"Jump up in front, Chris," he said; "Molly will drive, while I sit +behind. Your luggage will follow in the cart." + +The drive of six miles passed away very pleasantly. Molly's strong +little hands were quite accustomed to the reins, and the men were free +to talk, which, however, she found time to do as well. The two young +people on the front seat stole occasional sidelong glances at each +other. The clever, mischievous little girl of Christian's recollection +was transformed by the kindly hand of time into a fascinating and +capable young lady. The uncertain profile had grown clear and regular. +The truant hair was somewhat more under control, which, however, was all +that could be said upon that subject. Only her eyes were unchanged, the +laughing, fearless eyes of old. Fearless they had been in the times of +childish mischief and adventure; fearless they remained in the face of +life's graver mischances now. + +Christian had been a shy and commonplace-enough boy as she recollected +him. Now she found a self-possessed man of the world. Tall and strong of +body she saw he was, and she felt that he possessed another strength--a +strength of mind and will which, reaching out, can grasp and hold +anything or everything. + +With practised skill, Molly turned into the narrow gateway at a swinging +trot, and then only was the house visible--a low, rambling building of +brick and stone uncouthly mixed. Its chief outward characteristic was a +promise of inward comfort. The sturdy manner in which its windows faced +the scantily-wooded tableland that stretched away unbroken by wall or +hedgerow to the sea, implied a certain thickness of wall and woodwork. +The doorway which looked inland was singularly broad, and bore signs +about its stonework of having once been even broader. The house had +originally been a hollow square, with a roofless courtyard in the +centre, into which the sheep and cattle were in olden times driven for +safety at night against French marauders. This had later on been roofed +in, and transformed into a roomy and comfortable hall, such as might be +used as a sitting-room. All around the house, except, indeed, upon the +sea-ward side, stood gnarled and twisted trees; Scotch firs in +abundance, here and there a Weymouth pine, and occasionally a knotted +dwarf oak with a tendency to run inland. The garden was, however, rich +enough in shrubs and undergrowth, and to the landward side was a gleam +of still water, being all that remained of a broad, deep moat. + +Mrs. Carew welcomed Christian at the open door. She said very little, +but her manner was sufficiently warm and friendly to dispense with +words. + +"Where is Hilda?" asked Molly, as she leapt lightly to the ground. + +"I do not know, dear. She is out, somewhere; in the garden, I expect. +You are before your time a little. The train must have been punctual, +for a wonder. Had Hilda known, she would have been here to welcome you, +I know, Christian." + +"I expect she is at the moat," said Molly. "Come along, Christian; we +will go and look for her. This way." + +In the meantime Sidney had driven the dog-cart round to the stables, +kneeling awkwardly upon the back seat. + +As Christian followed his fair guide down the little path leading to the +moat, he began to feel that it was not so difficult after all to throw +off the dull weight of anxiety that lay upon his mind. The thoughts +about the _Beacon_ were after all not so very absorbing. The +anxiety regarding the welfare of the two old ladies was already +alleviated by distance. The strong sea air, the change to pleasant and +kindly society, were already beginning their work. + +Suddenly Molly stopped, and Christian saw that she was standing at the +edge of a long, still sheet of water bounded by solid stonework, which, +however, was crumbling away in parts, while everywhere the green moss +grew in velvety profusion. + +"Oh, Christian," said Molly lightly, "I suppose Sidney told you a little +of our news. Men's letters are not discursive as a rule I know, but no +doubt he told you--something." + +He was standing beside her at the edge of the moat, looking down into +the deep, clear water. + +"Yes," he replied slowly, "yes, Molly; he told me a little in a scrappy, +unsatisfactory way." + +A pained expression came into her eyes for a moment, and then she spoke, +rather more quickly than was habitual with her, but without raising her +voice. + +"He told you--nothing about Hilda?" she said interrogatively. + +He turned and looked down at her. + +"No--nothing." + +Then he followed the direction of her eyes, and saw approaching them a +young man and a maiden whose footsteps had been inaudible upon the +moss-grown path. The man was of medium height, with an honest brown +face. He was dressed for riding, and walked with a slight swagger, which +arose less from conceit than from excessive riding on horseback. The +maiden was tall and stately, and in her walk there was an old-fashioned +grace of movement which harmonised perfectly with the old-world +surroundings. She was looking down, and Christian could not see her +face; but as she wore no hat, he saw and recognised her hair. This was +of gold--not red, not auburn, not flaxen, but pure and living gold. The +sun glinting through the trees shone upon it and gleamed, but in reality +the hair gleamed without the aid of sunlight. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +BROKEN THREADS + + +They came forward, and suddenly the girl raised her face. She made a +little hesitating movement of non-recognition, and then suddenly her +face was transformed by a very pleasant smile. There was something +peculiar in Hilda Carew's smile, which came from the fact that her +eyelashes were golden, while her eyes were dark blue. The effect +suggested a fascinating kitten. In repose her face was almost severe in +its refined beauty, and the set of her lips indicated a certain +self-reliance which with years might become more prominent if trouble +should arrive. + +"Christian!" she exclaimed, "I am sorry I did not know you." They shook +hands, and Molly hastened to introduce her sister's companion. + +"Mr. Farrar," she said; "Mr. Vellacott." + +The two men shook hands, and Christian was disappointed. The grip of +Farrar's fingers was limp and almost nerveless, in striking +contradiction to the promise of his honest face and well-set person. + +"Tea is ready," said Molly somewhat hastily; "let us go in." + +Hilda and her companion passed on in front while Molly and Christian +followed them. The latter purposely lagged behind, and his companion +found herself compelled to wait for him. + +"Look at the effect of the sunlight through the trees upon that water," +said he in a conversational way; "it is quite green, and almost +transparent." + +"Yes," replied Molly, moving away tentatively, "we see most peculiar +effects over the moat. The water is so very still and deep." + +He raised his quiet eyes to her face, upon which the ready smile still +lingered. As she met his gaze she raised her hand and pushed back a few +truant wisps of hair which, curling forward like tendrils, tickled her +cheek. It was a movement he soon learned to know. + +"Yes," he said absently. He was wondering in an analytical way whether +the action was habitual with her, or significant of embarrassment. At +length he turned to follow her, but Molly had failed in her object; the +others had passed out of earshot. + +"Tell me," said Christian in a lowered voice, "who is he?" + +"He is the squire of St. Mary Eastern, six miles from here," she +replied; "very well off; very good to his mother, and in every way +nice." + +Christian tore off a small branch which would have touched his forehead +had he walked on without stooping. He broke it into small pieces, and +continued throwing up at intervals into the air a tiny stick, hitting it +with his hand as they walked on. + +"And," he said suggestively, "and--" + +"Yes, Christian," she replied decisively, "they are engaged. Come, let +us hurry; I always pour out the tea. I told you before, if you remember, +that I was the only person in the house who did any work." + +When Christian opened his eyes the following morning, the soft hum of +insects fell on his ear instead of the roar of London traffic. Through +the open window the southern air blew upon his face. Above the sound of +busy wings the distant sea sang its low dirge. It was a living +perspective of sound. The least rustle near at hand overpowered it, and +yet it was always there--an unceasing throb to be felt as much as heard. +Some acoustic formation of the land carried the noise, for the sea was +eight miles away. It was very peaceful; for utter stillness is not +peace. A room wherein an old clock ticks is infinitely more soothing +than a noiseless chamber. + +Nevertheless the feeling that forced itself into Christian Vellacott's +waking thoughts was not peaceful. It was a sense of discomfort. +Town-people expect too much from the country--that is the truth of it. +They quite overlook the fact that where human beings are there can be no +peace. + +This sudden sense of restlessness annoyed him. He knew it so well. It +had hovered over his waking head almost daily during the last two years, +and here, in the depths of the country, he had expected to be without +it. Moreover, he was conscious that he had not brought the cause with +him. He had found it, waiting. + +There were many things--indeed there was almost everything--to make his +life happy and pleasant at St. Mary Western. But in his mind, as he woke +up on this first morning, none of these things found place. He came to +his senses thinking of the one little item which could be described as +untoward--thinking of Hilda, and Hilda engaged to be married to Fred +Farrar. It was not that he was in love with Hilda Carew himself. He had +scarcely remembered her existence during the last two years. But this +engagement jarred, and Farrar jarred. It was something more than the +very natural shock which comes with the news that a companion of our +youth is about to be married--shock which seems to shake the memory of +that youth; to confuse the background of our life. It is by means of +such shocks as these that Fate endeavours vainly to make us realise that +the past is irrevocable--that we are passing on, and that that which has +been can never be again. And at the same time we learn something else: +namely, that the past is not by any means unchangeable. So potential is +To-day that it not only holds To-morrow in the hollow of its hand, but +it can alter Yesterday. + +Christian Vellacott lay upon his bed in unwonted idleness, gazing +vaguely at the flying clouds. The window was open, and the song of the +distant sea rose and fell with a rhythm full of peace. But in this man's +mind there was no peace. In all probability there never would be +complete peace there, because Ambition had set its hold upon him. He +wanted to do more than there was time for. Like many of us, he began by +thinking that Life is longer than it is. Its whole length is in those +"long, long thoughts" of Youth. When those are left behind, we settle +down to work, and the rest of the story is nothing but labour. Vellacott +resented this engagement because he felt that Hilda Carew had stepped +out of that picture which formed what was probably destined to be the +happiest time of his life--his Youth. For the unhappiness of Youth is +preferable to the resignation of Age. He felt that she had willingly +resigned something which he would on no account have given up. Above +all, he felt that it was a mistake. This was, of course, at the bottom +of it. He probably felt that it was a pity. We usually feel so on +hearing that a pretty and charming girl is engaged to be married. We +think that she might have done so much better for herself, and we grow +pensive or possibly sentimental over her lost opportunity when +contemplating him in the mirror as he shaves. Like all so-called happy +events, an engagement is not usually a matter of universal rejoicing. +Some one is, in all probability, left to think twice about it. But +Christian Vellacott was not prepared to admit that he was in that +position. + +He was naturally of an observant habit--his father had been +one of the keenest-sighted men of his day--and he had graduated at the +subtlest school in the world. He unwittingly fell to studying his +fellow-men whenever the opportunity presented itself, and the result of +this habit was a certain classification of detail. He picked up little +scraps of evidence here and there, and these were methodically +pigeon-holed away, as a lawyer stores up the correspondence of his +clients. + +With regard to Frederick Farrar, Vellacott had only made one note. The +squire of St. Mary Eastern was apparently very similar to his fellows. +He was an ordinary young British squire with a knowledge of horses and a +highly-developed fancy for smart riding-breeches and long boots. He had +probably received a fair education, but this had ceased when he closed +his last school-book. The seeds of knowledge had been sown, but they +lacked moisture and had failed to grow. He was good-natured, plucky in a +hard-headed British way, and gentlemanly. In all this there was nothing +exceptional--nothing to take note of--and Vellacott only remembered the +limpness of Frederick Farrar's grasp. He thought of this too +persistently and magnified it. And this being the only mental note made, +was rather hard on the young squire of St. Mary Eastern. + +Vellacott thought of these things while he dressed, he thought of them +intermittently during the unsettled, noisy, country breakfast, and when +he found himself walking beside the moat with Hilda later on he was +still thinking of them. + +They had not yet gathered into their hands the threads which had been +broken years before. At times they hit upon a topic of some slight +common interest, but something hovered in the air between them. Hilda +was gay, as she had always been, in a gentle, almost purring way; but a +certain constrained silence made itself felt at times, and they were +both intensely conscious of it. + +Vellacott was fully aware that there was something to be got over, and +so instead of skipping round it, as a woman might have done, he went +blundering on to the top of it. + +"Hilda," he said suddenly, "I have never congratulated you." + +She bent her head in a grave little bow which was not quite English; but +she said nothing. + +"I can only wish you all happiness," he continued rather vaguely. + +Again she made that mystic little motion of the head, but did not look +towards him, and never offered the assistance of smile or word. + +"A long life, a happy one, and your own will," he added more lightly, +looking down into the green water of the moat. + +"Thank you," she said, standing quite still beside him. + +And then there followed an awkward pause. It was Vellacott who finally +broke the silence in the only way left to him. + +"I like Farrar," he said. "I am sure he will make you happy. He--is a +lucky fellow." + +At the end of the walk that ran the whole length of that part of the +moat which had been allowed to remain intact, she made a little movement +as if to turn aside beneath the hazel trees and towards the house. But +he would not let her go. He turned deliberately upon his heel and waited +for her. There was nothing else to do but acquiesce. They retraced their +steps with that slow reflectiveness which comes when one walks backwards +and forwards over the same ground. + +There is something eminently conversational in the practice of walking +to and fro. For that purpose it is better than an arm-chair and a pipe, +or a piece of knitting. + +Occasionally Vellacott dropped a pace behind, apparently with a purpose; +for when he did so he raised his eyes instantly. He seemed to be slowly +detailing the maiden, and he frowned a little. She was exactly what she +had promised to be. The singularly golden hair which he had last seen +flowing freely over her slight young shoulders had acquired a +decorousness of curve, although the hue was unchanged. The shoulders +were exactly the same in contour, on a slightly larger scale; and the +manner of carrying her head--a manner peculiarly her own, and suggestive +of a certain gentle wilfulness--was unaltered. + +And yet there was a change: that subtle change which seems to come to +girls suddenly, in the space of a week--of one night. And this man was +watching her with his analytical eyes, wondering what the change might +be. + +He was more or less a bookworm, and he possibly thought that this +subject--this pleasant young subject walking beside him in a blue cotton +dress--was one which might easily be grasped and understood if only one +gave one's mind to it. Hence the little frown. It denoted the gift of +his mind. It was the frown that settled over his eyes when he cut the +pages of a deep book and glanced at the point of his pencil. + +He had read many books, and he knew a number of things. But there is one +subject of which very little can be learnt in books--precisely the +subject that walked in a blue cotton dress by Christian Vellacott's side +at the edge of the moat. If any one thinks that book-learning can aid +this study, let him read the ignorance of Gibbon, comparing it with the +learning of that cheery old ignoramus Montaigne. And Vellacott was +nearer to Gibbon in his learning than to Montaigne in his careless +ignorance of those things that are written in books. + +He glanced at her; he frowned and brought his whole attention to bear +upon her, and he could not even find out whether she was pleased to +listen to his congratulations, or angry, or merely indifferent. It was +rather a humiliating position for a clever man--for a critic who knew +himself to be capable of understanding most things, of catching the +drift of most thoughts, however imperfectly expressed. He was vaguely +conscious of defeat. He felt that he was nonplussed by a pair of soft +round eyes like the eyes of a kitten, and the dignified repose of a pair +of demure red lips. Both eyes and lips, as well as shoulders and golden +hair, were strangely familiar and strangely strange by turns. + +With one finger he twisted the left side of his moustache into his +mouth, and, dragging at it with his teeth, distorted his face in an +unbecoming if reflective manner, which was habitually indicative of the +deepest attention. + +While reflecting, he forgot to be conversational, and Hilda seemed to be +content with silence. So they walked the length of the moat twice +without speaking, and might have accomplished it a third time, had +little Stanley Carew not appeared upon the scene with the impulsive +energy of his thirteen years, begging Christian to bowl him some really +swift overhands. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +PUPPETS + + +"Ah! It goes. It goes already!" + +The speaker--the Citizen Morot--slowly rubbed his white hands one over +the other. + +He was standing at the window of a small house in an insignificant +street on the southern side of the Seine. He was remarkably calm--quite +the calmest man within the radius of a mile; for the insignificant +little street was in an uproar. There was a barricade at each end of it. +Such a barricade as Parisians love. It was composed of a few overturned +omnibuses; for the true Parisian is a cynic. He likes overturned things, +and he loves to see objects of peace converted to purposes of war. He is +not content that ploughshares be beaten into swords. He prefers +altar-rails. And so this little street was blocked at either end by a +barricade of overturned omnibuses, of old hampers and empty boxes, of a +few loads of second-hand bricks and paving-stones brought from the scene +of some drainage operations round the corner. + +In the street between the barricades, surged, hooted, and yelled that +wildest and most dangerous of incomprehensibles--a Paris mob. +Half-a-dozen orators were speaking at once, and no one was listening to +them. Here and there amidst the rabble a voice was raised at times with +suspicious persistence. + +"_Vive le Roi!_" it cried. "Long live the King!" + +A few took up the refrain, but the general tone was negative. It was not +so much a question of upholding anything as of throwing down that which +was already up. + +"Down with the Republic!" was the favourite cry. "Down with the +President! Down with everything!" + +And each man cried down his favourite enemy. + +The Citizen Morot listened, and his contemptuous mouth was twisted with +a delicate, subtle smile. + +"Ah!" he muttered. "The voice of the people. The howling of the wolves. +Go on, go on, my braves. Cry 'Long live the King,' and soon you will +begin to believe that you mean it. They are barking now. Let them bark. +Soon we shall teach them to bite, and then--then, who knows?" + +His voice dropped almost to a whisper, and he stood there amidst the din +and hubbub--dreaming. At last he raised his hand to his forehead--a +prominent, rounded forehead, flat as the palm of one's hand from eyebrow +to eyebrow, and curving at either side, sharply, back to deep-sunken +temples. + +"Ah!" he exclaimed, with a little laugh; and he drew from an inner +pocket a delicately scented pocket-handkerchief, with which he wiped his +brow. "If I get excited now, what will it be when they begin--to bite?" + +All this while the orators were shouting their loudest, and the voices +dispersed throughout the crowd raised at intervals their short, sharp +cry of-- + +"Long live the King!" + +And the police? There were only two agents attached to the immediate +neighbourhood, and they were smoking cigars and drinking absinthe in two +separate cellars, with the door locked on the outside. They were +prisoners of war of the most resigned type. The room in which stood the +Citizen Morot was dark, and wisely so. For the Parisian street +politician can make very pretty practice of a lighted petroleum-lamp +with an empty bottle or half a brick. The window was wide open, and the +wooden shutters were hooked back. + +The attitude of the man was interested and slightly self-satisfied. It +suggested that of the manager of a theatre looking down from an +upper-tier box upon a full house and a faultless stage. At the same time +he was keeping what sailors call a very "bright look-out" towards either +end of the street. From his elevated position he was able to see over +the barricades, and he watched with intense interest the movements of +two women (or perhaps men disguised as such) who stood in the centre of +the street just beyond each obstruction. + +There was something dramatic in the motionless attitude of these two +women, standing guard alone in the deserted street, on the wrong side of +the barricades. + +At times Morot leant well out of the window and listened. Then he stood +back again and contemplated the crowd. + +Each orator was illuminated by a naphtha "flare," which, being held in +unsteady hands, flickered and wavered, casting strange gleams of light +over the evil faces upturned towards it. At times one speaker would +succeed in raising a laugh or extracting a groan, and when he did so +those listening to his rivals turned and surged towards him. There was +plenty of movement. It was what the newspapers call an animated +scene--or a disgraceful scene--according to their political bias. + +The Citizen Morot could not hear the jokes nor distinguish the cause of +the groaning. But he did not seem to mind much. The speeches were not of +the description to be given in full in the morning papers. There were, +fortunately, no reporters present. It was the frank eloquence of the +slaughter-house--the unclad humour of the market. + +Suddenly one of the women--she who was posted at the southern end of the +street--raised both her arms, and the Citizen leant far out of the +window. He was very eager, and his hawk-like eyes blinked perpetually. +His hand was raised to his mouth, and the lights of the orators gleamed +on something that he held in his fingers--something that looked like +silver. + +The woman held her two arms straight up into the air for some moments, +then she suddenly crossed them twice, turning at the same moment and +scrambling over the barricade. A long shrill whistle rang out over the +heads of the mob, and its effect was almost instantaneous. The "flares" +disappeared like magic. Dark figures swarmed up the lamp-posts and +extinguished the feeble lights. The voice of the orator was still. +Silence and darkness reigned over that insignificant little street on +the southern side of the Seine. Then came the clatter of cavalry--the +rattle of horses' feet, and the ominous clank of empty scabbards against +spur and buckle. A word of command, and a scrambling halt. Then silence +again, broken only by the shuffling of feet (not too well clad) in the +darkness between the barricades. + +The Citizen Morot leant recklessly out of the window, peering into +the gloom. He forgot to make use of the delicately scented +pocket-handkerchief now, and the drops of perspiration trickled slowly +down his face. + +The soldiers shuffled in their saddles. Some of the spirited little +Arabs pawed the pavement. One of them squealed angrily, and there was a +slight commotion somewhere in the rear ranks--an equine difference of +opinion. The officers had come forward to the barricade and were +consulting together. The question was--what was there behind that +barricade? It might be nothing--it might be everything. In Paris one can +never tell. At last one of them determined to see for himself. He +scrambled up, putting his foot through the window of an omnibus in +passing. Against the dim light of the street-lamp beyond, his slight, +straight figure stood out in bold relief. It was a splendid mark for a +man with chalked sights to his rifle. + +"Ah!" muttered the Citizen, "you are all right this time--master, the +young officer. They are only barking. Next time perhaps it will be quite +another history." + +The officer turned and disappeared. After the lapse of a few moments a +dozen words of command were shouted, and upon them followed the sharp +click of hilt on scabbard as the sabres fell home. + +After a pause it became evident that the barricade was being destroyed. +And then lights flashed here and there. In a compact column the cavalry +advanced at a trot. The street was empty. + +Citizen Morot turned away and sat down on a chair that happened to be +placed near the window. His finely-drawn eyebrows were raised with a +questioning weariness. + +"Pretty work!" he ejaculated. "Pretty work for--my father's son! So +grand, so open, so noble!" + +He waited there, in the darkness, until the cavalry had been withdrawn +and the local firemen were at work upon the barricade. Then, when order +was fully restored, he left the house, walking quietly down the length +of the insignificant little street. + +Ten minutes later he entered the tobacco-shop in the Rue St. Gingolphe. +Mr. Jacquetot was at his post, behind the counter near the window, with +the little tin box containing postage-stamps in front of him upon his +desk. He was always there--like the poor. He laid aside the _Petit +Journal_ and wished the new-comer a courteous, though breathless, +good evening. + +The salutation was returned gravely and pleasantly. The Citizen Morot +lingered a moment and remarked that it was a warm evening. He never +seemed to be in a hurry. Then he passed on into the little room behind +the shop. + +There he found Lerac, the foreman of the slaughter-house. The butcher +was pale with excitement. His rough clothing was dishevelled; his +stringy black hair stood up uncouthly in the centre of his head, while +over his temples it was plastered down with perspiration and suet +pleasingly mingled. + +"Well?" he exclaimed, with triumphant interrogation. + +"Good," said Morot. "Very good. It marches, my friend. It marches +already." + +"Ah! But you are right. The People see you--it is a power!" + +"It is," acquiesced Morot fervently. + +How he hated this man! + +"And you stayed to the last?" inquired Lerac. He was rather white about +the lips for a brave man. + +"Till the last," echoed Morot, taking up some letters addressed to him +which lay on the table. + +"And the street was quite clear before they broke through the barrier?" + +"Quite--the People did not wait." He seemed to resign himself to +conversation, for he put the letters into his pocket and sat down. "Had +you," he inquired, "any difficulty in getting them away?" + +"Oh no," somewhat loftily and quite unsuspicious of irony. "The passages +were narrow, of course; but we had allowed for that in our organisation. +Organisation and the People, see you--" + +"Yes," replied Morot. "Organisation and the People." Like Lerac, he +stopped short, apparently lost in the contemplation of the vast +possibilities presented to his mental vision by the mere thought of such +a combination. + +"Well!" exclaimed the butcher energetically, "I must move on. I have +meetings. I merely wished to hear from you that all was right--that no +one was caught." + +He was bubbling over with excitement and the sense of his own huge +importance. + +The Citizen Morot raised his secretive eyes. + +"Good-night," he said, with an insolence far too fine for the butcher's +comprehension. + +"Well--good-night. We may congratulate ourselves, I think, Citizen!" + +"I congratulate you," said Morot. "Good-night." + +"Good-night." + +It is probable that, had Lerac looked back, there would have been murder +done in the small room behind the tobacco-shop. But the contemptuous +smile soon vanished from the face of the Citizen Morot. No smile +lingered there long. It was not built upon smiling lines at all. + +Then he took up his letters. There were only two of them: one bearing +the postmark of a small town in Morbihan, the other hailing from +England. + +He replaced the first in his pocket unread; the second he opened. It was +written in French. + +"There are difficulties," it said. "Can you come to me? Cross from +Cherbourg to Southampton--train from thence to this place, and ask for +Signor Bruno, an Italian refugee, living at the house of Mrs. Potter, a +_ci-devant_ laundress." + +The Citizen Morot rubbed his chin thoughtfully with the back of his +hand, making a sharp, grating sound. + +"That old man," he said, "is getting past his work. He is losing nerve; +and nerve is a thing that we cannot afford to lose." + +Then he turned to the letter again. + +"Ah!" he exclaimed suddenly; "St. Mary Western. He is there--how very +strange. What a singular coincidence!" + +He fell into a reverie with the letter before him. + +"Carew is dead--but still I can manage it. Perhaps it is just as well +that he is dead. I was always afraid of Carew." + +Then he wrote a letter, which he addressed to "Signor Bruno, care of +Mrs. Potter, St. Mary Western, Dorset." + +"I shall come," he wrote, "but not in the way you suggest. I have a +better plan. You must not know me when we meet." + +He purchased a twenty-five centime stamp from Mr. Jacquetot, and posted +the letter with his own hand in the little wall-box at the corner of the +Rue St. Gingolphe. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +FALSE METAL + + +There was, however, no cricket for Stanley Carew that morning. When +they came within sight of the house Mrs. Carew emerged from an open +window carrying several letters in her hand. She was not hurrying, but +walking leisurely, reading a letter as she walked. + +"Just think, Hilda dear," she said, with as much surprise as she ever +allowed herself. "I have had a letter from the Vicomte d'Audierne. You +remember him?" + +"Yes," said the girl; "I remember him, of course. He is not the sort of +man one forgets." + +"I always liked the Viscount," said Mrs. Carew, pensively looking at the +letter she held in her hand. "He was a good friend to us at one time. I +never understood him, and I like men whom one does not understand." + +Hilda laughed. + +"Yes," she answered vaguely. + +"Your father admired him tremendously," Mrs. Carew went on to say. "He +said that he was one of the cleverest men in France, but that he had +fallen in a wrong season, and would not adapt himself. Had France been a +monarchy, the Vicomte d'Audierne would have been in a very different +position." + +Vellacott did not open his own letters. He seemed to be interested in +the conversation of these ladies. He was not a reserved man, but a +secretive, which is quite a different thing. Reserve is natural--it +comes unbidden, and often unwelcome. Secretiveness is born of +circumstances. Some men find it imperative to cultivate it, although +their soul revolts within them. In professional or social matters it is +often merely an expediency--in some cases it almost feels like a crime. +There are some secrets which cannot be divulged; there are some +deceptions which a certain book-keeper will record upon the credit side +of our account. + +Like most young men who have got on in their calling, Christian +Vellacott held his career in great respect. He felt that any sacrifice +made for it carried its own reward. He thought that it levelled scruples +and justified deceptions. + +He knew this Vicomte d'Audierne by reputation; he wished to hear more of +him; and so he feigned ignorance--listening. + +"What has he written about?" inquired Hilda. + +"To ask if he may come and see us. I suppose he means to come and stay." + +Vellacott looked what the French call "contraried." + +"When?" asked the girl. + +"On Monday week." + +And then Mrs. Carew turned to her other letters. Vellacott took the +budget addressed to him, and walked away to where an iron table and some +chairs stood in the shade of a deodar. + +In a few minutes he looked still more put out. He had learnt of the +disturbances in Paris, and was reading a rather panic-stricken letter +from Mr. Bodery. The truth was that there was no one in the office of +the _Beacon_ who knew anything whatever about French home politics +but Christian Vellacott. + +A continuance of these disturbances would necessarily assume political +importance, and might even lead to a crisis. This meant an instant +recall for Vellacott. In a crisis his presence in London or Paris was +absolutely necessary to the _Beacon_. + +His holiday had barely lasted twenty-four hours, and there was already a +question of recall. It happened also that within that short space a +considerable change had come over Vellacott. The subtle influence of a +country life, and possibly the low, peaceful song of the distant sea, +were already beginning to make themselves felt. He actually detected a +desire to sit still and do nothing--a feeling of which he had not +hitherto been conscious. He was distinctly averse to leaving St. Mary +Western just yet. But there is one task-master who knows no mercy and +makes no allowances. Some of us who serve him know it to our cost, and +yet we would be content to serve no other. That task-master is the +Public. + +Vellacott was a public servant, and he knew his position. + +Somewhat later in the morning Molly and Hilda found him still seated at +the table, writing with that concentrated rapidity which only comes with +practice. + +"I am sorry," he said, looking up, "but I must send off a telegram. I +shall walk in to the station." + +"I was just coming," said Hilda, "to ask if you would drive me in. I +want to get some things." + +"And," added Molly, "there are some domestic commissions--butcher, +baker, &c." + +Vellacott expressed his entire satisfaction with the arrangement, and by +the time he had finished his letter the dog-cart was waiting at the +door. + +Several of the family were standing round the vehicle talking in a +desultory manner, and Vellacott learnt then for the first time that +Frederick Farrar had left home that same morning to attend a midland +race-meeting. + +It was one of those brilliant summer days when it is quite impossible to +be pessimistic and exceedingly difficult to compass preoccupation. The +light breeze bowling over the upland from the sea had just sufficient +strength to blow away all mental cobwebs. Also, Christian Vellacott had +suddenly given way to one of those feelings which sometimes come to us +without apparent reason. The present was joyous enough without the aid +of the ever-to-be-bright future, and Vellacott felt that, after all, +French politics and Frederick Farrar did not quite monopolise the world. + +Hilda was on this occasion more talkative than usual. There was in her +manner a new sense of ease, almost of familiarity, which Vellacott could +not understand. He noticed that she spoke invariably in generalities, +avoiding all personal matters. Of herself she said no word, though she +appeared willing enough to answer any question he might ask. She led him +on to talk of himself and his work, listening gravely to his account of +the little household at Chelsea. He made the best of this topic, and +even treated it in a merry vein; but her smile, though sincere enough, +was of short duration and not in itself encouraging. She appeared to see +the pathos of it instead of the humour. Suddenly, in the middle of a +particularly funny story about Aunt Judith, she interrupted him and +changed the conversation entirely. She did not again refer to his home +life. + +As they were returning in the full glare of the midday sun, they +descried in front of them the figure of an old man; he was walking +painfully and making poor progress. Carefully dressed in black +broadcloth, he wore a soft felt hat of a shape seldom seen in England. + +"I believe," said Hilda, as they approached him, "that is Signor Bruno. +Yes, it is. Please pull up, Christian. We must give him a lift!" + +Christian obeyed her. He thought he detected a shade of annoyance in +Hilda's voice, with which he fully sympathised. + +On hearing the sound of the wheels, the old man looked up in surprise, +as a deaf person might have been expected to do. This movement showed a +most charming old face, surrounded by a halo of white hair and beard. +The features were almost perfect, and might in former days have been a +trifle cold, by reason of their perfection. Now, however, they were +softened by the touch of years, and Signor Bruno was the living +semblance of guilelessness and benevolence. + +"How do you do, Signor Bruno?" said Hilda, speaking rather loudly and +very distinctly. "You are back from London sooner than you expected, are +you not?" + +"Ah! my dear young lady," he replied, courteously removing his hat and +standing bareheaded. + +"Ah! now indeed the sun shines upon me. Yes, I am back from London--a +most terrible place--terrible--terrible--terrible! As I walked along +just now I said to myself: 'The sun is warm, the skies are blue; yonder +is the laughing sea, and yet, Bruno, you sigh for Italy.' This is Italy, +Miss Hilda--Italy with a northern fairy walking in it!" + +Hilda smiled her quick, surprising smile, and hastened to speak before +the old gentleman recovered his breath. + +"Allow me to introduce to you Sidney's friend, Mr. Vellacott, Signor +Bruno!" + +Sidney's friend, Mr. Vellacott, was by this time behind her. He had +alighted, and was employed in arranging the back seat of the dog-cart. +When Signor Bruno looked towards him, he found Christian's eyes fixed +upon his face with a quiet persistence which might have been +embarrassing to a younger man. He raised his hat and murmured something +unintelligible in reply to the Italian's extensive salutation. + +"Sidney Carew's friends are, I trust, mine also!" said Signor Bruno, as +he replaced his picturesque hat. + +Christian smiled spasmodically and continued arranging the seat. He then +came round to the front of the cart and made a sign to Hilda that she +should move into the right-hand seat and drive. Signor Bruno saw the +sign, and said urbanely: + +"You will, if you please, resume your seat. I will place myself behind!" + +"Oh, no! You must allow me to sit behind!" said Christian. + +"But why, my dear sir? That would not be correct. You are Mr. Carew's +guest, and I--I am only a poor old Italian runaway, who is accustomed to +back seats; all my life I have occupied back seats, I think, Mr. +Vell'cott. There is no reason why I should aspire to better things now!" + +The old fellow's voice was strangely balanced between pathos and a +peculiar self-abnegating humour. + +"If we were both to take our hats off again, I think it would be easy to +see why you should sit in front!" said Christian with a laugh, which +although quite genial, somehow closed the discussion. + +"Ah!" replied the old gentleman with outspread hands. "There you have +worsted me. After that I am silent, and--I obey!" + +He climbed into the cart with a little senile joke about the stiffness +of his aged limbs. He chattered on in his innocent, childish way until +the village was reached. Here he was deposited on the dusty road at the +gate of a small yellow cottage where he had two rooms. The seat was +re-arranged, and amidst a volley of thanks and salutations, Hilda and +Christian drove away. Presently Hilda looked up and said: + +"Is he not a dear old thing? I believe, Christian, in all the various +local information I have given you, I have never told you about Signor +Bruno. I shall reserve him for the next awkward pause that occurs." + +"Yes," replied Christian quietly. "He seems very nice." + +Something in his tone seemed to catch her attention. She half turned as +if to hear more, but he said nothing. Then she raised her eyes to his +face, which was not expressive of anything in particular. + +"Christian," she said gravely, "you do not like him?" + +Looked upon as a mere divination of thought, this was very quick; but he +seemed in no way perturbed. He turned and looked down with a smile at +her grave face. + +"No," he replied. "Not very much." + +"Why?" + +"I do not know. There is something wrong about him, I think!" + +She laughed and shook her head. + +"What do you mean?" she asked. "How can there be anything wrong with +him--anything that would affect us, at all events?" + +He shrugged his shoulders, still smiling. + +"He says he is an Italian?" + +"Yes," she replied. + +"I say he is a Frenchman," said Christian, suddenly turning towards her. +"Italians do not talk English as he talks it." + +She looked puzzled. + +"Do you know him?" she asked. + +"No; not yet. I know his face. I have seen it or a photograph of it +somewhere, and at some time. I cannot tell when or where yet, but it +will come to me." + +"When it does come," said Hilda, with a smile, "you will find that it is +some one else. I can assure you Signor Bruno is an Italian, and beyond +that he is the nicest old gentleman imaginable." + +"Well," replied Christian. "In the meantime I vote that we do not +trouble ourselves about him." + +The subject was dropped, and not again referred to until after they had +reached home, when Hilda informed her mother that Signor Bruno had +returned. + +"Oh, indeed," was the reply. "I am very glad. You must ask +him to dinner to-morrow evening. Is he not a nice old man, Christian?" + +"Very," replied Christian, almost before the words were out of her lips. +"Yes, very nice." He looked across the table towards Hilda with an +absolutely expressionless composure. + +During the following day, which he passed with Sidney and Stanley at sea +in a little cutter belonging to the Carews, Christian learnt, without +asking many questions, all that Signor Bruno had vouchsafed in the way +of information respecting himself. It was a short story and an old one, +such as many a white-haired Italian could tell to-day. A life, income, +and energy devoted to a cause which never had much promise of reward. +Failure, exile, and a life closing in a land where the blue skies of +Italy are known only by name, where Maraschino is at a premium, and long +black cigars almost unobtainable. + +Hilda was engaged on this day to lunch and spend the afternoon with Mrs. +Farrar, at Farrar Court. Molly and Christian were to drive over for her +in the evening. This programme was carried out, but the young people +lingered rather longer at Farrar Court listening to the quaint, +old-world recollections of its white-haired hostess than was allowed +for. Consequently they were late, and heard the first dinner-bell +ringing as they drove up the lane that led in a casual way to their +home. (This lane was characteristic of the house. It turned off +unobtrusively from the high road at right angles with the evident +intention of leading nowhere.) A race upstairs ensued and a hurried +toilet. Molly and Christian met on the stairs a few minutes later. +Christian had won the race, for he was ready, while Molly struggled with +a silver necklace that fitted closely round her throat. Of course he had +to help her. While waiting patiently for him to master the intricacies +of the old silver clasp, Molly said: + +"Oh, Christian, there is one place you have not seen yet. Quite close at +hand too." + +"Ye--es," he replied absently, as he at length fixed the clasp. "There, +it is done!" + +As he held open the drawing-room door, he said: "What is the place I +have to see?" + +Signor Bruno, who was seated at the far end of the room with Mrs. Carew, +rose as he heard the door opened, and advanced to meet Molly. + +"Porton Abbey," she said over her shoulder as she advanced into the +room. "You must see Porton Abbey." + +The Italian shook hands with the new-comers and made a clever, laughing +reference to Christian's politeness of the previous day. At this moment +Hilda entered, and as soon as she had returned Signor Bruno's courteous +salutation Molly turned towards her. + +"Hilda," she said, "we have never shown Christian Porton Abbey." + +"No," was the reply. "I have been reserving it for some afternoon when +we do not feel very energetic. Unfortunately, we cannot get inside the +Abbey now, though." + +"Why?" asked Christian, without looking towards Hilda. He had discovered +that Signor Bruno was attempting to keep up a conversation with his +hostess, while he took in that which was passing at the other end of the +room. The old man was seated, and his face was within the radius of +light cast by a shaded lamp. Christian, who stood, was in the shade. + +"Because it is a French monastery," replied Molly. "Here," she added, +"is a flower for your coat, as you say the button-hole is warped by +constant pinning in of stalks." + +"Thanks," he replied, stooping a little in order that she could reach +the button-hole of his coat. She was in front of him, directly between +him and Signor Bruno; but he could see over her head. "What sort of +monastery is it?" he continued conversationally. "I did not know that +there were any establishments of that sort in England." + +Hilda looked up rather sharply from an illustrated newspaper she +happened to be studying. She knew that he was not adhering strictly to +the truth. From her point of vantage behind the newspaper she continued +to watch Christian, and she realised during the minutes that followed, +that this was indeed the brilliant young journalist of whose fame Farrar +had spoken as already known in London. + +Signor Bruno's conversation with Mrs. Carew became at this moment +somewhat muddled. + +"There, you see," said Molly vivaciously, "we endeavour to interest him +by retailing the simple annals of our neighbourhood, and his highness +simply disbelieves us!" + +"Not at all," Christian hastened to add, with a laugh. "It simply +happened that I was surprised. It shall not occur again. But tell me, +what sort of monastery is it? Dominican? Franciscan? Carmelite?--" + +"Oh, goodness! I do not know." + +"Perhaps," said Christian, advancing towards the Italian--"perhaps +Signor Bruno can tell us." + +"What is that, Mr. Vell'cott?" asked the old gentleman, making a +movement as if about to raise his curved hand to his ear, but +restraining himself upon second thoughts. + +Hilda noticed that, instead of raising his voice, Christian spoke in the +same tone, or even lower, as he said: + +"We want some details of the establishment at Porton Abbey, Signor +Bruno." + +The old gentleman made a little grimace expressive of disgust, at the +same time spreading out his hands as if to ward off something hurtful. + +"Ach!" he said, "do not ask me. I know nothing of such people, and wish +to learn no more. It is to them that my poor country owes her downfall. +No, no; leave them alone. I always take care of myself +against--against--what you say--_ces gens-là_!" + +Christian awaited the answer in polite silence, and, when Signor Bruno +had again turned to Mrs. Carew, he looked across the room towards Hilda +with the same expression of vacant composure that she had noticed on a +previous occasion. The accent with which Signor Bruno had spoken the few +words of French was of the purest Parisian, entirely free from the +harshness which an Italian rarely conquers. + +After dinner Hilda went out of the open window into the garden alone. +Christian, who had seated himself at a small table in the drawing-room, +did not move. Sidney and his mother were talking with the Italian. + +The young journalist was stooping over a book, a vase of flowers stood +in front of him, but by the movement of his arm it appeared as if he +were drawing instead of reading. Presently a faint, low whistle came +from the garden. Though soft, the sound was very clear, and each note +distinctly given. It was like the beginning of a refrain which broke off +suddenly and was repeated. Signor Bruno gave a little start and a quick +upward glance. + +"What is that?" he asked, with a little laugh, as if at the delicacy of +his own nerves. + +"Oh," replied Mrs. Carew, "the whistle, you mean. That is our family +signal. The children were in the habit of calling each other by that +means in bygone years. I expect they are in the garden now, and wish us +to join them." + +Mrs. Carew knew that Molly was not in the garden, but in making this +intentional mistake she showed the wisdom of her kind. + +"It seems to me," said Signor Bruno, "that the air--the refrain, one +might call it--is familiar." + +Christian Vellacott smiled suddenly behind his screen of flowers, but +did not move or look up. + +"I expect," explained Sidney, "that you have heard the air played upon +the bugle. It is the French 'retraite,' played by the patrol in garrison +towns at night." + +In the meantime Christian had cut the fly-leaf from the book before him, +and, after carefully folding it, he placed the paper in his +breast-pocket. Then he rose and passed out of the open window into the +garden. + +Immediately Signor Bruno asked his hostess a few polite questions +regarding her guest--what was his occupation, how long he was going to +stay, and whether she did not agree with him in considering that their +young friend had a remarkably interesting face. In the course of his +remarks the old gentleman rose and crossed to the table where Christian +had been sitting. There was a flower there which he had not seen in +England before. Absently he took up the book which Christian had just +been studying, and very naturally turned to the title-page. The fly-leaf +was gone! When he laid the volume down again he replaced it in the +identical position in which he had found it. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + + +A CLUE + + +When Christian left the drawing-room he walked quickly down the +moss-grown path to the moat. Hilda was standing at the edge of the dark +water, and as he joined her she turned and walked slowly by his side. + +"You are a most unsatisfactory person," she said gravely after a few +moments. + +He looked down at her without replying. His eyes softened for a moment +into a smile, but his lips remained grave. + +"You deliberately set yourself," she continued, "to shatter one illusion +after another. You have made me feel quite old and worldly to-night, and +the worst of it is that you are invariably right. It is most annoying." + +Her voice was only half-playful. There was a shade of sadness in it. +Christian must have divined her thoughts, for he said: + +"Do not let us quarrel over Signor Bruno. I dare say I am wrong +altogether." + +She looked slowly round. Her eyes rested on the dark surface of the +water, where the shadows lay deep and still; then she raised them to the +trees, clearly outlined against the sky. + +"I suppose that such practical, matter-of-fact people as you are proof +against mere outward influences." + +"So I used to imagine, but I am beginning to find that outward things +are very important after all. In London it seemed only natural that +every one should live in a hurry, with no time for thought, pushing +forward and trying to outstrip their neighbours; but in the country it +seems that things are different. Intellectual people live quiet, +thoughtful, and even dreamy lives. They get through somehow without +seeing the necessity for doing something--trying to be something that +their neighbours cannot be--and no doubt they are happier for it. I am +beginning to see how they are content to go on with their uneventful +lives from year to year until the end even comes without a shock." + +"But you yourself would never reach that stage, Christian." + +"No, no, Hilda. I can understand it in others, but for me it is +different. I have tasted too deeply of the other life. I should get +restless----" + +"You are getting restless already," she interrupted gravely, "and you +have not been here two days!" + +They were interrupted by Sidney's clear whistle, and a moment later +Molly came tripping down the path. + +"Come along in," she said; "the old gentleman is going. I was just +stealing away to join you when Sidney whistled." + +When Signor Bruno reached his home that evening, he threw his hat upon +the table with some considerable force. His aged landlady, having left +the lamp burning, had retired to bed. He sank into an armchair, and +contemplated the square toes of his own boots for some moments. Then he +scratched his head thoughtfully. + +"Sacré nom d'un chien!" he muttered; "where have I seen that face +before?" + +Signor Bruno spoke French when soliloquising, which was perhaps somewhat +peculiar for an Italian. However proficient a man may be in the mastery +of foreign tongues, he usually dreams and talks to himself in the +language he learnt at his mother's knee. He may count fluently in a +strange tongue, but he invariably works out all mental arithmetic in his +own. Likewise he prays--if he pray at all--in one tongue only. On the +other hand, it appears very easy to swear in an acquired language. +Probably our forefathers borrowed each other's expletives when things +went so lamentably wrong over the Tower of Babel. Still muttering to +himself, Signor Bruno presently retired to rest with the remembrance of +a young face, peculiarly and unpleasantly strong, haunting his dreams. + +Shortly after Signor Bruno's departure, Christian happened to be left +alone in the drawing room with Hilda. He promptly produced from his +pocket the leaf he had cut from a book earlier in the evening. Unfolding +the paper, he handed it to her, and said:-- + +"Do you recognise that?" + +She looked at it, and answered without hesitation-- + +"Signor Bruno!" + +The drawing was slight, but the likeness was perfect. The face was in +profile, and the reproduction of the intelligent features could scarcely +have been more lifelike in a careful portrait. Christian replaced the +paper in his pocket. + +"You remember Carl Trevetz, at Paris," continued he, "his father +belonged to the Austrian Embassy!" + +"Yes, I remember him!" + +"To-morrow I will send this to him, simply asking who it is." + +"Yes--and then?" + +"When the answer comes, Hilda, I will write on the outside of the +envelope the name that you will find inside--written by Trevetz." + +For a moment she looked across the table at him with a vague expression +of wonder upon her face. + +"Even if you are right," she said, "will it affect us? Will it make us +cease to look upon him as a friend?" + +"I think so." + +"Then," she said slowly, "it has come. You remember now?" + +"Yes; I remember now--but it may be a mistake yet. I would rather have +my memory confirmed by Trevetz before telling you what I know--or think +I know--about Bruno!" + +Hilda was about to question him further when Molly entered the room, and +the subject was perforce dropped. + +The next morning there came a letter for Christian from Mr. Bodery. It +was short, and not very pleasant. + +"DEAR VELLACOTT,--Sorry to trouble you with business so early in your +holiday, but there has been another great row in Paris, as you will see +from the papers I send you. It is hinted that the mob are mere tools in +the hands of influential wire-pullers, and the worst of it is that they +were armed with English rifles and bayonets of a pattern just superseded +by the War Office. How these got into their hands is not yet explained, +but you will readily see the gravity of the circumstance in the present +somewhat strained state of affairs. Several of the 'dailies' refer to +us, as you will see, and express a hope that our 'exceptional knowledge +of French affairs' will enable us to throw some light upon the subject. +Trevetz is giving us all the information he can gather; but, of course, +he is only able to devote a portion of his time to us. He hints that +there is plenty of money in the background somewhere, and that a strong +party has got up the whole affair--perhaps the Church. We must have +something to say (something of importance) next week, and with this in +view I must ask you to hold yourself in readiness to go to Paris on +receipt of a telegram or letter from me.--Yours, + +"C. C. BODERY." + +Christian folded the letter, and replaced it in the envelope. Suddenly +his attention was attracted to the latter. Upon the back there was a rim +round the adhesive portion, and within this the glaze was gone from the +paper. The envelope had been tampered with by a skilful manipulator. If +Mr. Bodery had been in the habit of using inferior stationery, no trace +would have been left upon the envelope. + +Christian slipped the letter into his pocket, and, glancing round, saw +that his movements had passed unobserved. + +"Anything new?" asked Sidney, from the head of the table. + +"Well, yes," was the reply. "There has been a disturbance in Paris. I +may have to go over there on receipt of a telegram from the office;" he +stopped, and looked slowly round the table. Hilda's attention was taken +up by her plate, upon which, however, there was nothing. He leant +forward, and handed her the toast-rack. She took a piece, but forgot to +thank him. "I am sorry," he continued simply, "very sorry that the +disturbances should have taken place just at this time." + +His voice expressed natural and sincere regret, but no surprise. This +seemed to arouse Molly's curiosity, for she looked up sharply. + +"You do not seem to be at all surprised," she said. + +"No," he replied; "I am accustomed to this sort of thing, you see. I +knew all along that there was the chance of being summoned at any time. +This letter only adds to the chance--that is all!" + +"It is a great shame," said Molly, with a pout. "I am sure there are +plenty of people who could do it instead of you." + +Christian laughed readily. + +"I am sure there are," he replied, "and that is the very reason why I +must take the opportunities that fortune offers." + +Hilda looked across the table at him, and noted the smile upon his lips, +the light of energy in his eyes. The love of action had driven all other +thoughts from his mind. + +"I suppose," she said conversationally, "that it will in reality be a +good thing for you if the summons does come." + +"Yes," he replied, without meeting her glance; "it will be a good thing +for me." + +"Is that consolatory view of the matter the outcome of philosophy, or of +virtue?" inquired Molly mischievously. + +"Of virtue," replied Christian gravely, and then he changed the subject. + +After breakfast he devoted a short time to the study of some newspaper +cuttings inclosed in Mr. Bodery's letter. Then he suddenly expressed his +determination of walking down to the village post office. + +"I wish," he said, "to send a telegram, and to get some newspapers, +which have no doubt come by the second post. After that you will be +troubled no more about my affairs." + +"Until a telegram comes," said Hilda quietly, without looking up from a +letter she held in her hand. She received one daily from Farrar. + +Christian glanced at her with his quick smile. + +"Oh," he said, "I do not expect a telegram. It is not so serious as all +that. In fact, it is not worth thinking about." + +"You have a most enviable way of putting aside disagreeable subjects," +persisted Hilda, "for discussion at a vague future period." + +Christian was steadily cheerful that morning, imperturbably practical. + +"That," he said, "is the outcome--not of virtue--but of philosophy. Will +you come to the post office with Stanley and me? I am sure there is no +possible household duty to prevent you." + +Together they walked through the peaceful fields. Stanley never lingered +long beside them; something was for ever attracting him aside or ahead, +and he ran restlessly away. Christian could not help noticing the +difference in Hilda's manner when they were alone together. The +semi-sarcastic _badinage_ to which he had been treated lately was +completely dropped, and her earnest nature was allowed to show itself +undisguised. Still she was a mystery to him. He was by habit a close +observer, but her changing moods and humours were to him unaccountable. +At times she would make a remark the direct contradiction of which was +shining in her eyes, and at other times she remained silent when mere +politeness would seem to demand speech. Who knows? Perhaps at all times +and in all things they understood each other. When their lips were +exchanging mere nothings--the very lightest and emptiest of +conversational chaff--despite averted eyes, despite indifferent manner, +their souls may have been drawn together by that silent bond of sympathy +which holds through fair and foul, through laughter and tears, through +life and beyond death. + +Christian was not in the habit of allowing himself to become absorbed by +any passing thoughts, however deep they might be. His mind had adapted +itself to the work required of it, as the human mind is ever ready to +do. No deep meditating was required of it, but a quick grasp and a +somewhat superficial treatment. Journalism is superficial, it cannot be +otherwise; it must be universal and immediate, and therefore its touch +is necessarily light. There is nothing permanent about it except the +ceaseless throb of the printing machine and the warm smell of ink. That +which a man writes one day may be rendered useless and worthless the +next, through no carelessness of his, but by the simple course of +events. He must perforce take up his pen again and write against +himself. He may be inditing history, and his words may be forgotten in +twelve hours. There is no time for deep thought, even if such were +required. He who writes for cursory reading is wise if he writes +cursorily. + +Mr. Bodery's communication in no manner disturbed Christian. He was +ready enough to talk and laugh, or talk and be grave, as Hilda might +dictate, while they walked side by side that morning, but she was +strangely silent. It thus happened that little passed between them until +they reached the post office. There, he was formally introduced to the +spry little postmistress, who looked at him sharply over her spectacles. + +"I wish, Mrs. Chalder," he said cheerily, as he scribbled off his +message to Mr. Bodery, while Hilda made friendly overtures to the +official cat, "I wish that you would forget to send me the disagreeable +letters, and only forward the pleasant ones. There was one this morning, +for instance, which you might very easily have mislaid. Instead of which +you carefully sent it rather earlier than usual and spoilt my +breakfast." + +His voice unconsciously followed the swing of his pencil. It seemed +certain that he was making conversation with the sole purpose of +entertaining the old woman. With a pleased laugh and a shake of her grey +curls she replied: + +"Ah, I wish I could, sir. I wish I could burn the bad letters and send +on only the good ones--but they're all alike on the outside. It's as +hard to say what's inside a letter as it is to tell what's inside a man +by lookin' on his face." + +"Yes," replied Christian, reading over what he had just written. "Yes, +Mrs. Chalder, you are right." + +"But the reason of your letter gettin' earlier this morning was that +Seen'yer Bruno said he was goin' past the Hall, sir, and would just +leave the letters at the Lodge. It is a bit out of the carrier's way, +and that man _do_ have a long tramp every day, sir." + +"Ah, that accounts for it," murmured the journalist, without looking up. +He was occupied in crossing his t's and dotting his i's. He felt that +Hilda was looking at him, and some instinct told him that she saw the +motive of his conversation, but still he played his part and wore his +mask of carelessness, as men have done before women, knowing the +futility of it, since the world began. She never referred to the +incident, and made no remark whatever with a view to his doing so, but +he knew that it would be remembered, and in after days he learnt to +build up a very castle of hope upon that frail foundation. + +Hilda had not been paying much attention to what he was saying until +Signor Bruno's name was mentioned. The old man had hitherto occupied a +very secondary place in her thoughts. He was no one in her circle of +possibly interesting people, beyond the fact of his having passed +through a troubled political phase--a fighter on the losing side. Now he +had, as it were, assumed a more important _rôle_. The mention of his +name possessed a new suggestion: and all this, forsooth, because +Christian Vellacott opined that the benevolent old face was known to +him. + +She began to entertain exaggerated ideas concerning the young +journalist's thoughts and motives. Twice had she obtained a glimpse into +the inner chamber of his mind, and on each occasion the result had been +a vague suggestion of some mental conflict, some dark game of +cross-purposes between him and Signor Bruno. Remembering this, she, in +her intelligent simplicity, began to ascribe to Christian's every word +and action an ulterior motive which in reality did not perhaps exist. +She noted Christian's calm and direct way of reaching the end he +desired, and unconsciously she yielded a little to the influence of his +strength--an influence dangerously fascinating for a strong woman. Her +strength is so different from that of a man that there is no real +conflict--it seeks to yield, and glories over its own downfall. + +After paying for the telegram, Christian took possession of the bulky +packet of newspapers addressed to him, and they left the post office. + + + + +CHAPTER X + + +ON THE SCENT + + +It appeared to Stanley, on the way home that morning, that the +conversation flagged somewhat. He therefore set to himself the task of +reviving it. + +"Christian," he began conversationally, "is there any smuggling done +now? Real smuggling, I mean." + + +"No, I think not," replied Christian. He evidently did not look upon +smuggling as a fruitful topic at that moment. + +"Why do you ask?" interposed Hilda goodnaturedly. + +"Well, I was just wondering," replied the boy. "It struck me yesterday +that our boat had been moved." + +"But," suggested Christian, "it should be very easy to see whether it +has been dragged over the sand or not." + +"Three strong men could carry it bodily into the water and make no marks +whatever on the sand," argued little Stanley, determined not to be +cheated out of his smugglers. + +"Perhaps some one has been out for a row for his own pleasure and +enjoyment," suggested Christian, without thinking much of what he was +saying. + +"Then how did he get the padlock open?" + +"Smugglers, I suppose," said Hilda, smiling down at her small brother, +"would be provided with skeleton keys." + +"Of course," replied Stanley in an awestruck tone. + +"I will tell you what we will do, Stanley," said Christian. "To-morrow +morning we will go and have a bathe; at the same time I will look at the +boat and tell you whether it has been moved." + +"Unless," added Hilda, "a telegram comes today." + +Christian laughed. + +"Unless," he said gravely, "the world comes to an end this evening." + +It happened during the precise moments occupied by this conversation, +that Mr. Bodery, seated at his table in the little editor's room, opened +the flimsy brown envelope of a telegram. He spread out the pink paper, +and Mr. Morgan, seated opposite, raised his head from the +closely-written sheets upon which his hand was resting. + +"It is from Vellacott," said the editor, and after a moment's thought he +read aloud as follows:-- + +"Letter and papers received; believe I have dropped into the clue of the +whole affair. Will write particulars." + +Mr. Morgan caressed his heavy moustache with the end of his penholder. + +"That young man," he said, "goes about the world with his eyes +remarkably wide open, ha-ha!" + +Mr. Bodery rolled the telegram out flat with his pencil silently. + + * * * * * + +Stanley Carew was so anxious that the inspection of the boat should not +be delayed, that an expedition to the Cove was arranged for the same +afternoon. Accordingly the five young people walked across the bleak +tableland together. Huge white clouds were rolling up from the +south-west, obscuring every now and then the burning sun. A gentle +breeze blew gaily across the bleak upland--a very different breath from +that which twisted and gnarled the strong Scotch firs in winter-time. + +"You would not care about climbing _down_ there, I should think," +observed Sidney, when they had reached the Cove. "It is a very different +matter getting up." + +He was standing, gazing lazily up at the brown cliffs with his straw hat +tilted backwards, his hands in his pockets, and his whole person +presenting as fair a picture as one could desire of lazy, quiescent +strength--a striking contrast to the nervous, wiry townsman at his side. + +"Hardly," replied Christian, gazing upwards at the dizzy height. "It is +rather nasty stuff--slippery in parts and soft." + +He turned and strolled off by Hilda's side. With a climber's love of a +rocky height he looked upwards as they walked, and she noted the +direction of his gaze. + +Presently they sat on the edge of the boat over which Stanley's sense of +proprietorship had been so grievously outraged. + +"What do you know, Christian, or what do you suspect about Signor +Bruno?" asked Hilda suddenly. + +Stanley was running across the sands towards them, and Christian, seeing +his approach, avoided the question by a generality. + +"Wait a little longer," he said. "Let me have Trevetz's answer to +confirm my suspicions, and then I will tell you. Suspicions are +dangerous things to meddle with. In imparting them to other people it is +so difficult to remember that they _are_ suspicions and nothing more." + +At this moment Stanley arrived and threw himself down breathlessly on +the warm sand. + +"Chris!" he exclaimed, "come down here and look at these seams in the +boat--the damp is there still." + +The boat was clinker-built, and where the planks overlapped a slight +appearance of dampness was certainly discernible. Christian lay lazily +leaning upon his elbow, sometimes glancing at the boat in obedience to +Stanley's accusatory finger, sometimes looking towards Hilda, whose eyes +were turned seawards. + +Suddenly he caught sight of some words pencilled on the stern-post of +the boat, and by the merest chance refrained from calling Stanley's +attention to them. Drawing nearer, he could read them easily enough. + + Minuit vingt-six. + +"It certainly looks," he said rising, "as if the boat had been in the +water, but it may be that the dampness is merely owing to heavy dew. The +boat wants painting, I think." + +He knew well enough that little Stanley's suspicions were correct. There +was no doubt that the boat had been afloat quite recently; but Christian +knew his duty towards the _Beacon_ and sacrificed his strict sense of +truth to it. + +On the way home he was somewhat pre-occupied--as much, that is to say, +as he was in the habit of allowing. The pencil scrawl supplied food +enough for conjectural thought. The writing was undoubtedly fresh, and +this was the 26th of the month. Some appointment was made for midnight +by the words pencilled on the boat, and the journalist determined that +he would be there to see. The question was, should he go alone? He +watched Sidney Carew walking somewhat heavily along in front of him, and +decided that he would not seek aid from that quarter. There was no time +to communicate with Mr. Bodery, so the only course open to him was to go +by himself. + +In a vague manner he had connected the Jesuit party with the +disturbances in Paris and the importation of the English rifles +wherewith the crowd had been armed. The gay capital was at that time in +the hands of the most "Provisional" and uncertain Government imaginable, +and the home politics of France were completely disorganised. It was +just the moment for the Church party to attempt a retrieval of their +lost power. The fire-arms had been recognised by the English authorities +as some of a pattern lately discarded. They had been stored at Plymouth, +awaiting shipment to the colonies, where they were to be served out to +the auxiliary forces, when they had been cleverly removed. The robbery +was not discovered until the rifles were found in the hands of a Paris +mob, still fresh and brutal from the horrors of a long course of +military law. Some of the more fiery of the French journals boldly +hinted that the English Government had secretly sold the firearms with a +view to their ultimate gain by the disorganisation of France. + +Christian knew as much about affairs in Paris as most men. He was fully +aware that in the politics of a disturbed country a deed is either a +crime or a heroism according to circumstances, and he was wise enough to +await the course of events before thrusting his opinion down the public +throat. But now he felt that the crisis had supervened, and unwillingly +he recognised that it was not for him to be idle amidst those rapid +events. + +These thoughts occupied his mind as he walked inland from the Cove, and +rendered his answers to Stanley's ceaseless flow of questions upon all +conceivable subjects somewhat vague and unreliable. Hilda was walking +with them, and divided with Christian the task of supplying her small +brother with varied information. + +As they were approaching the Hall, Christian discerned two figures upon +the smooth lawn, evidently coming towards them. At the same moment +Stanley perceived them. + +"I see Fred Farrar and Mr. Signor Bruno," he exclaimed. + +Christian could not resist glancing over the little fellow's head +towards Hilda, though he knew that it was hardly a fair action. Hilda +felt the glance but betrayed no sign. She was looking straight in front +of her with no change of colour, no glad smile of welcome for her +stalwart lover. + +"I wonder why she never told me," thought Christian. + +Presently he said, in an airy, conversational way: "I did not know +Farrar was coming back so--so soon." + +He knew that by this early return Farrar was missing an important day of +the race-meeting he had been attending, but did not think it necessary +to remark upon the fact. + +"Yes," replied Hilda. "He does not like to leave his mother for many +days together." The acutest ears could have detected no lowering of the +voice, no tenderness of thought. She was simply stating a fact; but she +might have been speaking of Signor Bruno, so cool and unembarrassed was +her tone. + +"I am glad he is back," said Christian thoughtlessly. It was a mere +stop-gap. The silence was awkward, but he possessed tact enough to have +broken it by some better means. Instantly he recognised his mistake, and +for a moment he felt as if he were stumbling blindfold through an +unknown country. He experienced a sudden sense of vacuity as if his mind +were a blank and all words futile. It was now Stanley's turn to break +the silence, and unconsciously he did it very well. + +"I wonder," he said speculatively, "whether he has brought any chocolate +creams?" + +Hilda laughed, and the smile was still hovering in her eyes when she +greeted the two men. Stanley ran on into the house to open a parcel +which Farrar told him was awaiting inspection. It was only natural that +Hilda should walk on with the young squire, leaving Bruno and Christian +together. The old man lingered obviously, and his companion took the +hint readily enough, anticipating some enjoyment. + +"To you, Mr. Vellacott," said the Italian, with senile geniality, "to +you whose life is spent in London this must be very charming, very +peaceful, and--very disorganising, I may perhaps add." + +Christian looked at his companion with grave attention. + +"It is very enjoyable," he replied simply. + +Signor Bruno mentally trimmed his sails, and started off on another +tack. + +"Our young friends," he said, indicating with a wave of his expressive +hand Hilda and Farrar, "are admirably suited to each other. Both young, +both handsome, and both essentially English." + +"Yes," answered Christian, with a polite display of interest: "and, +nevertheless, the Carews were all brought up and educated in France." + +"Ah!" observed the old man, stopping to raise the head of a "Souvenir de +Malmaison," of which he inhaled the odour with evident pleasure. The +little ejaculation, and its accompanying action, were admirably +calculated to leave the hearer in doubt as to whether mere surprise was +expressed or polite acquiescence in the statement of a known fact. + +"Yes," added Christian, deliberately. He also stooped and raised a white +rose to his face, thus meeting Signor Bruno upon his own ground. The +Italian looked up, and the two men smiled at each other across the rose +bush; then they turned and walked on. + +"You also know France?" hazarded Signor Bruno. + +"Yes; if I were not an Englishman I should choose to be a Frenchman." + +"Ah!" + +"Yes." + +"Now with me," said Signor Bruno frankly, "it is different. If I were +not an Italian (which God forbid!) I think--I think, yes, I am sure, I +would by choice have been born an Englishman." + +"Ah!" observed Christian gravely, and Signor Bruno turned sharply to +glance at his face. The young Englishman was gazing straight in front of +him earnestly, with no suspicion upon his lips of the incredulous smile +which seemed somehow to have lurked there when he last spoke. The +Italian turned away dissatisfied, and they walked on a few paces in +silence, until he spoke again, reflectively:-- + +"Yes," he said, "there is a quality in the English character which to me +is very praiseworthy. It is a certain directness of purpose. You know +what you wish to do, and you proceed calmly to do it, without stopping +to consider what your neighbours may think of it. Now with the Gallic +races--for I take this virtue of straightforwardness as Teutonic--and in +my own country especially, men seek to gain their ends by less open +means." + +They were now walking up a gentle incline to the house, which was built +upon the buried ruins of its ancient predecessor, and Signor Bruno was +compelled to pause in order to gain breath. + +"But," interposed Christian softly, "you are now talking not so much of +the people as of the Church." + +Again the Italian looked sharply up, and this time he met his +companion's eyes fixed quietly on his face. He shrugged his shoulders +deprecatingly and spread out his delicate hands. + +"Perhaps you are right," he said, with engaging frankness. "I am afraid +you are. But you must excuse a little ill-feeling in a man such as I, +with a past such as mine has been, and loving his country as I do." + +"I am afraid," continued Christian, "that foreigners find our bluntness +very disagreeable and difficult to meet; but I know that they frequently +misjudge us on the same account. It is to our benefit, so we cannot +complain." + +"In what way do we misjudge you?" asked Signor Bruno genially. They were +almost on the threshold of the drawing-room window, which stood +invitingly open, and from which came the sounds of cups and saucers +being mated. + +"You give us credit for less intelligence than we in reality possess," +said Christian with a smile, as he stood aside to let his companion pass +in first. + +Whatever influences may have been at work among those congregated at the +Hall during the half-hour or so occupied by afternoon tea, no sign +appeared upon the surface. Molly as usual led the chorus of laughter. +Hilda smiled her sweet "kittenish" smile. Signor Bruno surpassed himself +in the relation of innocent little tales, told with a true southern +"verve" and spirit, while Fred Farrar's genial laugh filled in the +interstices reliably. Grave and unobtrusive, Christian moved about among +them. He saw when Molly wanted the hot water, and was invariably the +first to detect an empty cup. He laughed softly at Signor Bruno's +stories, and occasionally capped them with a better, related in a +conciser and equally humorous manner. It was to him that Farrar turned +for an encouraging acquiescence when one of his latest Newmarket +anecdotes threatened to fall flat, and with it all he found time for an +occasional spar with Signor Bruno, just by way of keeping that inquiring +gentleman upon his guard. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + + +BURY BLUFF + + +As Christian walked rapidly across the uneven turf towards the sea at +midnight, his thoughts were divided between a schoolboy delight in the +adventurous nature of his expedition and an uncomfortable sensation of +surreptitiousness. He was not accustomed to this sort of work, and felt +remarkably like a thief. If by some mischance his absence was discovered +at the Hall, it would be difficult to account for it unless he played +the part of a temporary lunatic. Fortunately his window communicated +easily enough with the garden by means of a few stone steps, but +visitors are not usually in the habit of leaving their bedrooms in order +to take the air at midnight. Thinking over these things in his rapid and +rather superficial way, he unconsciously quickened his pace. + +The night was clear and starlit; the air soft and very pleasant, with a +faint breath of freshness from the south-west. The moon, being well upon +the wane, would not rise for an hour or more, but the heavens were +glowing with the gentler light of stars, and on earth the darkness was +of that transparent description which sailors prefer to the brightest +moonlight. + +Christian Vellacott had worked out most problems in life for himself. +Taken as a whole, his solutions had been fairly successful--as +successful as those of most men. If his views upon things in general +were rather photographic--that is to say, hard, with clearly defined +shadows--it was owing to his father's somewhat cynical training and to +the absence of a mother's influence. Elderly maiden ladies, with +sufficient time upon their hands to manage other people's affairs in +addition to their own, complained of his want of sympathy, which may be +read in the sense of stating that he neither sought theirs nor asked +advice upon questions connected with himself. This self-reliance was the +inevitable outcome of his life at home and at the office of the +_Beacon_. Admirable as it may be, independence can undoubtedly be +carried to an unpleasant excess--unpleasant that is for home life. Women +love to see their men-folk a trifle dependent upon them. + +Christian was in the midst of a problem as he walked across the +tableland that stretched from St. Mary Western to the sea. That problem +absorbed more of his attention than the home politics of France; it +required a more careful study than any article he had ever penned for +the _Beacon_. It gave him greater anxiety than Aunt Judy and Aunt Hester +combined. Yet it was comprised in a single word. A single arm could +encompass the whole of it. The single word--Hilda. + +Leaving the narrow road, he presently struck the little pathway leading +to the Cove. Suddenly he stopped, and stood motionless. There--not +twenty yards from him--was the still figure of a man. Behind Christian +the land rose gradually to some considerable height, so that he stood in +darkness, while against the glowing sky the figure of this watcher was +clearly defined in hard outline. Instinctively crouching down and +seeking the covert of a few low bushes, Christian decreased the +intervening distance by a few yards. The faint hope that it might prove +to be a coastguard was soon dispelled. The heavy clothing and loose +thigh-boots were those of a fisherman. The huge "cache-nez" which lay in +coils upon his shoulders and completely protected the neck and throat, +was such as is worn by the natives of the Côtes-du-Nord. + +The sea boomed forth its melancholy song, far down in the black depths +beyond. The tide was high, and the breeze freshening every moment. +Christian could have crept up to the man's very feet without being +detected. Lying still upon the short, dry grass, he watched for some +moments. + +From the man's clumsy attitude it was almost possible to divine his +slow, mindless nature--for there is expression in the very turn of a +man's leg as he stands--and it was easy to see that he was guarding the +little path down the cliff to the Cove. + +He had been posted there, and evidently meant to stay till called away. + +There was only one way, now, to the Cove, and that was down the face of +the cliff: the way that Christian had that very afternoon pronounced so +hazardous. By day it was dangerous enough; by night it was almost an +impossibility. + +He crept noiselessly along to the eastward, so that the watcher stood +upon the windward side of him, and reaching the brink he peered over +into the darkness. Of course he could discern nothing. The sea rose and +fell with a monotonous roar; overhead the stars twinkled as merrily as +they have twinkled over the strifes of men from century to century. + +Quietly he knelt upright and buttoned his coat with some care. Then +without a moment's hesitation he crept to the edge and cautiously +disappeared into the grim abyss of darkness. Slowly and laboriously he +worked his way down, feeling for each foothold in advance. Occasionally +he muttered impatiently to himself at the slowness of his progress. He +knew that the strata of soft sandstone trended downwards at an easy +angle, and with consummate skill took full advantage of his knowledge. +Occasionally he was forced to progress sideways with his face to the +rock and hands outstretched till his fingers were cramped, and the +feeling known as "pins and needles" assailed his arms. Then he would +rest for some moments, peering into the darkness below him all the +while. Once or twice he dropped a small stone cautiously, holding it at +arm's length. When the tiny messenger touched earth soon after leaving +his hand, he continued his downward progress. Once, no sound followed +for some seconds, and then it was only a distant concussion far down +beside the sea. With an involuntary shudder, the climber turned and made +his way upwards and sideways again, before venturing to descend once +more. + +For half an hour he continued his perilous struggle, till his strong +arms were stiff and his fingers almost powerless. With marvellous +tenacity he held to his purpose. Never since leaving the summit had he +been able to rest both hands at once. With a dogged, mechanical +endurance which is essentially characteristic of climbers and +mountaineers, he lowered himself, inch by inch, foot by foot. Louder and +louder sang the sea, as if in derision at his petty efforts, but through +his head there rushed another sound infinitely more terrible: a +painful, continuous buzz, which seemed to press upon his temples. A dull +pain was slowly creeping up the muscles of his neck towards his head. +All these symptoms the climber knew. The buzzing in his ears would never +cease until he could lie down and breathe freely with every muscle +relaxed, every sinew slack. The dull ache would creep up until it +reached his brain, and then nothing could save him--no strength of will +could prevent his fingers from relaxing their hold. + +"Sish--sish, sish--sish!" laughed the waves below. Placidly the stars +held on their stately course--each perhaps peopled by millions of its +own--young and old, tame and fiery--all pursuing shadows as we do here. + +"This is getting serious," muttered Christian, with a pitiful laugh. The +perspiration was running down his face, burning his eyes, and dripping +from his chin. With straining eyes he peered into the night. Close +beneath him there was a ledge of some breadth. It was not flat, but +inclined upwards from the face of the cliff, thus forming a shelf of +solid stone. For some seconds he stared continuously at this, so as to +reduce to a minimum the chance of being mistaken. Then with great +caution he slid down the steep incline of smooth stone and landed +safely. The glissade lasted but a moment, nevertheless it recalled to +his mind a picture which was indelibly stamped in his memory. Years +before he had seen a man slide like this, unintentionally, after a false +step. Again that picture came to him--unimpressionable as his life had +rendered him. Again he saw the glittering expanse of snow, and on it the +broad, strong figure of the Vaudois guide sliding down and down, with +madly increasing speed--feet foremost, skilful to the last. Again he +felt the thrill which men cannot but experience at the sight of a man, +or even of a dumb beast, fighting bravely for life. Again he saw the +dull gleam of the uplifted ice-axe as the man dealt scientific blow +after blow on the frozen snow, attempting to arrest his terrible career. +And again in his mind's eye the pure expanse of spotless white lay +before him, scarred by one straight streak, marking where the taciturn +mountaineer had vanished over the edge of the precipice to his certain +doom. + +Christian lay like a half-drowned man upon the shelving ledge, slowly +realising his position. He calculated that he could not yet be half-way +down, and his strength was almost exhausted. Yet, as he lay there, no +thought of waiting for daylight, no question of retreat entered his +stubborn West-country brain. The exploit still possessed for him the +elements of a good joke, to be related thereafter in such a manner as +would enforce laughter. + +Suddenly--within the softer sound of the sea below--a harsh, grating +noise struck his ears. It was to him like the sound made by a nailed +boot upon rock. It was as if another were following him down the face of +the cliff. In a second he was upon his feet, his weariness a thing +forgotten. Overhead, against the starlit sky, he could define the line +of rock with its sharp, broken angles and uncouth turns. Not thirty feet +above him something was moving. His first feeling was one of intense +fear. Every climber knows that it is easier to pass a difficult corner +than to stand idle, watching another do it. Slowly the dark form came +downwards, and suddenly, with a quick sense of unutterable relief, +Christian saw the black line of a tightened rope. When it was barely ten +feet above him he saw that the object was no man, but a square case. In +a flash of thought he divined what the box contained, and unhesitatingly +ran along the ledge towards it. As it descended he seized it with both +hands and swung it in towards himself. With pendulum-like motion it +descended, and at last touched the rock at his feet. As this took place +he grasped the rope with both hands and threw his entire weight upon it, +hauling slowly in, hand over hand. So quickly and deftly was this +carried out that those lowering overhead were deceived, and continued to +pay out the rope slowly. Steadily Christian hauled in, the slack falling +in snake-like coils at his feet. Only being able to guess at his +position on the cliff, it was no easy matter to calculate how much rope +it was necessary to take in in order to carry out the deception. + +At length he ceased abruptly, and proceeded to untie the knots round the +bale. Then, after the manner of a sailor who is working out of sight +with a life-line, he jerked the rope, which immediately began to ascend +rapidly and with irregularity. Coil after coil ran easily away, and at +last the frayed end passed into the darkness above Christian's head. He +stood there watching it, and when it had disappeared he burst into a low +hoarse laugh which suddenly broke off into a sickening gurgle, and he +fell sideways and backwards on to the box, clutching at it with his +nerveless fingers. + +When he recovered his faculties his first sensation was one of great +cold. The breeze had freshened with the approach of dawn, and blowing +full upon him as he lay bathed in perspiration, the effect was like that +of a refrigerator. He moved uneasily, and found that he was lying on the +stone ledge _outside_ the box, from which he had fallen. After a moment, +he rose rapidly to his feet as if desirous of dismissing the memory of +his own collapse, and turned his attention to the bundle. Beneath the +rough covering of canvas, which was not sewn but merely lashed round, it +was easy enough to detect the shape of the case. + +"What luck--what wonderful luck," he muttered, as he groped round the +surface of the bundle. + +Indeed it seemed as if everything had arranged itself for his special +benefit and advantage. + +The three men whose duty it had been to lower the case coiled up their +rope and started off on foot inland, after telling the sentinel +stationed at the head of the little path to rejoin his boat. This the +man was only too willing to do at once. He was a semi-superstitious +Breton of no great intelligence, who vastly preferred being afloat in +his unsavoury yawl to climbing about unknown rocks in the dark. On the +beach, he found his two comrades, to whom he gruffly imparted the +information that they were to go on board. + +"Had the 'monsieur' said nothing else?" + +"No, the 'monsieur' said nothing else." + +The Breton intellect is not, as a rule, acute. Like sheep the three men +proceeded to carry up from the water's edge Stanley's boat, which was +required to carry the heavy case, their own dinghy being too small. This +done, they rowed off silently to the yawl, which was rolling lazily in +the trough of the sea, a quarter of a mile from the shore. Once on board +they were regaled with some choice French profanity from the lips of a +large man in a sealskin cap and a dirty woollen muffler. This gentleman +they addressed as the "patron," and, with clumsy awe, informed him that +they had waited at the same spot as before, but nothing had come, until +at length Hoel Grall arrived with instructions from the "monsieur" to go +on board. Whereupon further French profanity, followed by unintelligible +orders, freely interlarded with embellishments of a forcible tenor. + +As the yawl swung slowly round and stood out to sea, Christian turned to +climb up Bury Bluff. He found that he had in reality made very little +progress in descending. Before leaving the case, he edged it by degrees +nearer to the base of the ledge, which would render it invisible from +the beach. The ascent was soon accomplished, and after a cautious search +he concluded that no one was about, so set off home at a rapid pace. + +Before he reached the Hall the light of coming day was already creeping +up into the eastern sky. All nature was stirring, refreshed with the +balmy dew and coolness of the night. Far up in the higher branches of +the Weymouth pines, the wrens were awake, calling to each other with +tentative twitter, and pluming themselves the while for another day of +sunshine and song. + +Like a thief Christian hurried on, and creeping into his bedroom window, +was soon sleeping the dreamless, forgetful sleep of youth. + +By seven o'clock he was awake with all the quick realisation of a +Londoner. In the country men wake up slowly, and slowly gather together +their senses after an all-sufficing sleep of ten hours. In cities, five, +four, or even three are sufficient for the unfatigued body and the +restless mind. Men wake up quickly, and are at once in full possession +of their faculties. It is, after all, a mere matter of habit. + +Christian had slept sufficiently. He rose quite fresh and strong, and +presently sat down, coatless to write. + +Page after page he wrote, turning each leaf over upon its face as it was +completed--never referring back, never hesitating, and only occasionally +raising his pen from the paper. Line after line of neat, small writing, +quite different from what his friends knew in letters or on envelopes, +flowed from his pen. It was his "press" handwriting, plain, rapid, and +as legible as print. The punctuation was attended to with singular care: +the commas broad and heavy, the colons like the kisses in a child's +letter, round and black. Once or twice he smiled as he wrote, and +occasionally jerked his head to one side critically as he re-read a +sentence. + +In less than two hours it was finished. He rose from his seat, and +walked slowly to the window. Standing there he gazed thoughtfully across +the bare, unlovely tableland towards the sea. He had written many +hundreds of pages, all more or less masterly; he had read criticisms +upon his own work saying that it was good; and yet he knew that the +best--the best he had ever written--lay upon the table behind him. Then +he turned and shook the loose leaves together symmetrically. Pensively +he counted them. He was young and strong; the world and life lay before +him, with their infinite possibilities--their countless opportunities to +be seized or left. He looked curiously at the written pages. The writing +was his own; the form of every letter was familiar; the heavy +punctuation and clean, closely written lines such as the compositor +loved to deal with; and while he turned the leaves over he wondered if +ever he would do better, for he knew that it was good. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + + +A WARNING WORD + + +As the breakfast-bell echoed through the house Christian ran downstairs. +He met Hilda entering the open door with the letters in her hand. + +"Down already?" he exclaimed. + +"Yes," she replied incautiously, "I wished to get the letters early." + +"And, after all, there is nothing for you?" + +"No," she replied. "No, but--" + +She stopped suddenly and handed him two letters, which he took slowly, +and apparently forgot to thank her, saying nothing at all. There was a +peculiar expression of dawning surprise upon his face, and he studied +the envelopes in his hand without reading a word of the address. +Presently he raised his eyes and glanced at Hilda. She was holding a +letter daintily between her two forefingers, cornerwise, and with little +puffs of her pouted lips was spinning it round, evidently enjoying the +infantile amusement immensely. + +He dropped his letters into the pocket of his jacket, and stood aside +for her to pass into the house; but she, abruptly ceasing her windmill +operations, looked at him with raised eyebrows and stood still. + +"Well?" she said interrogatively. + +"What?" + +"And Mr. Trevetz's answer--I suppose it is one of those letters?" + +"Oh yes!" he replied. "I had forgotten my promise." + +He took the letters from his pocket, and looked at the addresses again. + +"One is from Trevetz," he said slowly, "and the other from Mrs. Strawd." + +"Nothing from Mr. Bodery?" asked she indifferently. + +He had taken a pencil from his pocket, and, turning, he held Trevetz's +letter against the wall while he wrote across it. Without ceasing his +occupation, and in a casual way, he replied:-- + +"No, nothing from Mr. Bodery; so I am free as yet." + +"I am very glad," she murmured conventionally. + +"And I," he said, turning with a polite smile to hand her the letter. + +She took the envelope, and holding it up in both hands examined it +critically. + +"M-a-x," she read; "how badly it is written! Max--Max Talma--is that +it?" + +"Yes," he answered gravely, "that is it." + +With a little laugh and a shrug of her shoulders she proceeded to open +the envelope. It contained nothing but the sketch made upon the fly-leaf +of a novel. Christian was watching her face. She continued to smile as +she unfolded the paper. Then she suddenly became grave, and handed the +open sketch to him. At the foot was written:-- + +"Max Talma--look out! Avoid him as you would the devil! + +"In haste, C.T." + +Christian read it, laughed carelessly, and thrust the paper into his +pocket. "Trevetz writes in a good forcible style," he said, turning to +greet Molly, who came, singing, downstairs at this moment. For an +instant her merry eyes assumed a scrutinising, almost anxious look as +she caught sight of her sister and Christian standing together. + +"Are you just down?" she asked carelessly. + +"Yes," answered Christian, still holding her hand. + +"I have just come down." + +As usual the day's pleasure was all prearranged. A groom rode to the +station at Christian's request with a large envelope on which was +printed Mr. Bodery's name and address. This was to be given to the +guard, who would in his turn hand it to a special messenger at +Paddington, and the editor of the _Beacon_ would receive it by four +o'clock in the afternoon. + +The day was fine, with a fresh breeze, and the programme of pleasure was +satisfactorily carried out. But with sunset the wind freshened into a +brisk gale, and heavy clouds rolled upwards from the western horizon. +This was the first suggestion of autumn, the first sigh of dying summer. +The lamps were lighted a few minutes earlier that night, and the family +assembled in the drawing-room soon after dark, although the windows were +left open for those who wished to pass in and out. + +Mrs. Carew's grey head was, as usual, bent over some simple needlework, +while Molly sat near at hand. According to her wont she also was busy, +while around her the work lay strewed in picturesque disorder. Sidney +was reading in his own room--reading for a vague law examination which +always appeared to have been lately postponed till next October. + +Christian was seated at the piano, playing by snatches and turning over +the brown leaves of some very old music, unearthed from a lumber-room by +Mrs. Carew for his benefit. He waited for no thanks or comment; +sometimes he read a few bars only, sometimes a page. He appeared to have +forgotten that he had an audience. Presently he rose, leaving the music +in disorder. Hilda had been called away some time before by an old +village woman requiring medicaments for unheard-of symptoms. Christian +looked slowly round the room, then raising his hand he dexterously +caught a huge moth which had flown past his face. + +As he crossed the room towards the open window, with a view of +liberating the moth, a low whistle reached his ear. The refrain was that +of the familiar "retraite." Hilda had evidently gone out to the moat by +another door. Bowing his head, he passed between the muslin curtains and +disappeared in the darkness. The sound of his footsteps died away almost +immediately amidst the rustle of branch and leaf already crisp with +approaching change. + +It was Stanley's bed-time. Mechanically, Molly kissed her brother, +continuing to work thoughtfully. + +In a few minutes the door opened and Hilda entered the room. She came up +to the table, and standing there with her hands resting upon some pieces +of Molly's work, she gave a graphic description of the old woman's +complaints and maladies. She stood quite close to Molly, and told her +story to Mrs. Carew merrily, failing to notice that her sister had +ceased sewing, and was listening with a surprised look in her eyes. When +the symptoms had been detailed and laughed over, Hilda turned quietly +and passed out into the garden. With fearless familiarity she ran +lightly down the narrow pathway towards the moat, but no signal-whistle +greeted her. The leaves rustled and whispered overhead; the water lapped +and gurgled at her feet, but there was no sign or sound of life. + +Silent and motionless she stood, a tall fair form clad in white, amidst +the universal, darkness. So silent and so still that it might have been +the shade of some fair maid of bygone years mourning the loss of her +true knight, who in all the circumstances of war had crossed that same +moat never to return. + +Presently a sudden feeling of loneliness, a new sense of fear, came over +Hilda. All around was so forbidding. The water at her feet was so black +and mysterious. She gave a soft low whistle identical with that which +had called Christian out twenty minutes before, but it remained +unanswered, and through the rustling leaves she sped towards the house. +From the open window a glow of rosy light shone forth upon the flowers, +imparting to all alike a pallid pink, and dimly defining the grey +tree-trunks across the lawn. As Hilda stepped between the curtains, the +servants entered the drawing-room in solemn Indian file for evening +prayers. + +Mrs. Carew looked up from the Bible which lay open before her, and said +to Hilda:-- + +"Where is Christian?" + +"I don't know, mother; he is not in the garden," answered the girl, +crossing the room to her own particular chair. + +Sidney rose from his seat, and going to the window, sent his loud clear +whistle away into the night. His broad figure remained motionless for +some minutes, almost filling up the window; then he silently resumed his +seat. + +Mrs. Carew smoothed down the silken book-marker, and began reading in a +low voice. It is to be feared that the Psalmist's words of joy were not +heard with understanding ears that night. A short prayer followed; +softly and melodiously Mrs. Carew asked for blessings upon the bowed +heads around her, and the servants left the room. + +"Have you not seen Christian since you went to see Mrs. Sender, Hilda?" +asked Molly, at once. + +"No," replied Hilda, arranging the music into something like order upon +the piano. + +"He went out about half an hour ago, in answer to your whistle." + +Hilda turned her head as if about to reply hastily, but checked herself, +and resumed her task of setting the music in order. + +"How could I whistle," she asked gently, "when I was in the kitchen +doling out medicated cotton-wool to Mrs. Sender?" + +Molly looked puzzled. + +"Did _you_ whistle, Sidney?" she asked. + +"I--no; I was half-asleep over a law-book in my own room." + +"I expect he has gone for a stroll, and forgotten the time," suggested +Mrs. Carew reassuringly, as she sat down to work again. + +"But what about the whistle; are you sure you heard it, Molly?" asked +Hilda, speaking rather more quickly than was habitual with her. She +walked towards the window and drew aside the curtain, keeping her back +turned towards the room. + +"Yes," answered Molly uneasily. "Yes--I heard it, and so did he, for he +went out at once." + +Sidney stood awkwardly with his shoulder against the mantelpiece, +listening in a half-hearted way to his sisters' conversation. With a +heavy jerk he threw himself upright and slowly crossed the room. He +stood for some moments immediately behind Hilda without touching her. +Then he raised his hand and with gentle, almost caressing pressure round +her waist, he made her step aside so that he could pass out. He was a +singularly undemonstrative man, rarely giving way to what he considered +the weakness of a caress. Fortunately, however, for their own happiness, +his womenfolk understood him, and especially between himself and Hilda +there existed a peculiar unspoken sympathy. + +In the ordinary way he would have mumbled-- + +"Le'mme out!" + +On this occasion he touched her waist gently, and the caress almost +startled her. It seemed like a confession that he shared the vague +anxiety which she concealed so well. + +With the charity of maternal love, which is by no means so blind as is +generally supposed, Mrs. Carew often said of Sidney that he invariably +rose to the occasion; and Mrs. Carew's statements were as a rule +correct. His slowness was partly assumed; his indifference was a mere +habit. The assumption of the former saved him infinite worry and +responsibility; the habit of indifference did away with the necessity of +coming to a decision upon general questions. This state of mind may, to +townsmen, be incomprehensible. Certain it is that such as are in that +condition are not found among the foremost dwellers in cities. But in +the country it is a different matter. Such cases are only too common, +and (without breath of disparagement) they are usually to be found in +households where one man finds himself among several women--be the +latter mother and sisters, or wife and sisters-in-law. + +The man may be a thorough sportsman, he may be an excellent landlord and +a popular squire, but within his own doors he is overwhelmed. Chivalry +bids him give way to the wishes and desires of some woman or other, and +if he be a sportsman he is necessarily chivalrous. When one is tired +after a long day in the saddle or with a gun, it is so much easier to +acquiesce and philosophically persuade oneself that the matter is not +worth airing an adverse opinion over. This is the beginning, and if any +beginning can look forward to great endings it is that of a habit. + +It would appear that Sidney Carew's occasion had come at last, for once +outside the window he changed to a different being. The lazy slouch +vanished from his movements, his eyes lost their droop, and he held his +head erect. + +He made his way rapidly to the stable, and there, without the knowledge +of the grooms, he obtained a large hurricane-lamp, lighted it, and +returned towards the house. From the window Hilda saw him pass down a +little path towards the moat, with the lamp swinging at his side, while +the shadows waved backwards and forwards across the lawn. + +The mind is a strange storehouse. However long a memory may have been +warehoused there, deep down beneath piles of other remembrances and +conceits, it is generally to be found at the top when the demand comes, +ready for use--for good or evil. A dim recollection was resuscitated in +Sidney's mind. An unauthenticated nursery tale of a departing guest +leaving with a word of joy upon his lips and warm comfort in his heart, +turning from the glowing doorway and walking down the little pathway +straight into the moat. + +Christian, however, was an excellent swimmer; he knew every inch of the +pathway, every stone round the moat. That he should have been drowned in +ten feet of clear water, with an easy landing within ten yards, seemed +the wildest impossibility. Of course such things have happened, but +Christian Vellacott was essentially wide awake, and unlikely to come to +mishap through his own carelessness. Of all these things Sidney thought +as he walked rapidly towards the moat, and in particular he pondered +over Molly's statement that she had heard Hilda whistle. This had met +with flat denial from Hilda, and Sidney, with brotherly candour, could +only arrive at the conclusion that Molly had been mistaken. He would not +give way to the least suggestion of anxiety even in his own mind. After +all Christian would probably come in with some simple explanation and a +laugh for their fears. It often happens thus, as we must all know. The +moments so long and dreary for the watcher, whose imagination gains more +and more power as the time passes, slip away unheeded by the awaited, +who treats the matter with a laugh or, at the most, a few conventional +words of sympathy. + +Sidney stood at the edge of the water and threw the beams of light +across the rippling surface. Mechanically he followed the ray as it +swept from end to end of the moat, and presently, without heeding, he +turned his attention to the stones at his feet. A gleam of reflected +light caught his passing gaze, and he stooped to examine the cause more +closely. + +The smooth stonework was wet; in fact the water was standing in little +pools upon it. Round these there were circles of dampness, showing that +evaporation was taking place. The water had not lain there long. A man +falling into the moat would have thrown up splashes such as these; in no +other way could they be plausibly accounted for. Sidney stood erect. +Again he held the lamp over the gleaming water, half fearing to see +something. His lips had quite suddenly become dry and parched, and there +was an uncomfortable throb in his throat. Suddenly he heard a rustle +behind him, and before he could draw back Hilda was at his side. She +slipped her hand through his arm, and by the slightest pressure drew him +away from the moat. + +"You know--Sid--he could swim perfectly," she said persuasively. + +He made no answer, but walked slowly by her side, swinging the lamp +backwards and forwards as a schoolboy swings his satchel. Thus he gained +time to moisten his lips and render speech possible. + +Together they went round the grounds, but no sign or vestige of +Christian did they discover. A pang of remorse came to Hilda as she +touched her brother's strong arm. Ever since Christian's arrival she +remembered that Sidney had been somewhat neglected, or only remembered +when his services were required. Christian had indeed been attentive to +him, but Hilda felt that their friendship was not what it used to be. +The young journalist in his upward progress had left the slow-thinking +country squire behind him. All they had in common belonged to the past; +and, for Christian, the past was of small importance compared to the +present. She recollected that during the last fortnight everything had +been arranged with a view to giving pleasure to herself, Molly, and +Christian, without heed to Sidney's inclinations. By word or sign he had +never shown his knowledge of this; he had never implied that his +existence or opinion was of any great consequence. She remembered even +that such pleasures as Christian had shared with Sidney--pleasures after +his own heart, sailing, shooting, and fishing--had been undertaken at +Christian's instigation or suggestion, and eagerly welcomed by Sidney. + +And now, at the first suspicion of trouble, she turned instinctively to +her brother for the help and counsel which were so willingly and +modestly accorded. + +"Sidney," she said, "did he ever speak to you of his work?" + +"No," he replied slowly; "no, I think not." + +"He has been rather worried over those disturbances in Paris, I think, +and--and--I suppose he has never said anything to you about Signor +Bruno?" + +"Signor Bruno!" said Sidney, repeating the name in some surprise. "No, +he has never mentioned his name to me." + +"He does not like him----" + +"Neither do I." + +"But you never told me--Sid!" + +"No," he replied simply: "there was nothing to be gained by it!" + +This was lamentably true, and Hilda felt that it was so, although her +brother had no thought of posing as a martyr. + +"Christian," she continued softly, "distrusted him for some reason. He +knows something of his former life, and told me a short time ago that +Bruno was not his name at all. This morning Christian received a letter +from Carl Trevetz, whom we knew in Paris, you will remember, saying that +Signor Bruno's real name was Max Talma, also warning Christian to avoid +him." + +"Is this all you know?" asked Sidney, in a peculiarly quiet tone. + +"That is all I know," she replied. "But it has struck me that--that +this may have something to do with Signor Bruno. I mean--is it not +probable that Christian may have discovered something which caused him +to go away suddenly without letting Bruno know of his departure?" + +Sidney thought of the water at the edge of the moat. The incident might +prove easy enough of explanation, but at the moment it was singularly +unreconcilable with Hilda's comforting explanation. And again, the +recollection of the signal-whistle heard by Molly was unwelcome. + +"Yes," he replied vaguely. "Yes, it may." + +He was, by nature and habit, a slow thinker, and Hilda was running away +from him a little; but he was, perhaps, surer than she. + +"I am convinced, Sidney," she continued, "that Christian connects Signor +Bruno in some manner with the disturbances in France. It seems very +strange that an old man buried alive in a small village should have it +in his power to do so much harm." + +"A man's power of doing harm is practically unlimited," he said slowly, +still wishing to gain time. + +"Yes, but he has always appeared so childlike and innocent." + +"That is exactly what I disliked about him," said Sidney. + +"Then do you think he has been deliberately deceiving us all along?" +she asked. + +"Not necessarily," was the tolerant reply. "You must remember that +Christian is essentially a politician. He does not suspect Bruno of +anything criminal; his suspicions are merely political; and it may be +that Bruno's doings, whatever they appear to be now, may in the future +be looked upon as the actions of a hero. Politics are impersonal, and +Signor Bruno is only known to us socially." + +Hilda could not see the matter in this light. No woman could have been +expected to do so. + +"I suppose," she said presently, "that Signor Bruno is a political +intriguer." + +"I expect so," replied her brother. + +They were walking slowly up the broad path towards the house, having +given up the idea of searching for Christian or calling him. + +"Then," continued Sidney, "you think it is likely that he has gone off +to see Bruno, or to watch him?" + +"I think so." + +"That is the only reasonable explanation I can think of," he said +gravely and doubtfully, for he was still thinking of the moat. + +They entered the house, and to Mrs. Carew and Molly their explanation +was imparted. It was received somewhat doubtfully, especially by Molly. +However, the farce had to be kept up--and do we not act in similar +comedies every day? + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + + +A NIGHT WATCH + + +Cheerfulness is, thank goodness, infectious. The watchers at the Hall +that night made a great show of light-heartedness. Sidney had risen to +the occasion. He laughed at the idea of anything serious having happened +to Christian, and his confidence gradually spread and gained new +strength. Molly, however, was apparently beyond its influence. With her +perpetual needle-work in her hands she sat beneath the lamp and worked +rapidly. Occasionally she glanced towards Hilda, but contributed nothing +to the explanations forthcoming from all quarters. + +Hilda was also working; slowly, however, and with marvellous care. She +was engaged upon a more artistic production than ever came from Molly's +work-basket. Once she consulted Mrs. Carew about the colour of a skein +of wool, but otherwise showed no inclination to avoid topics in any +manner connected with Christian, despite the fact that these were +obviously distasteful to her family. In all that she said, indifference +was blended in a singular way with imperturbable cheerfulness. + +Thus they waited until after midnight, pretending bravely to work and +read as if there were no such feeling as suspense in the human heart. +Then Mrs. Carew persuaded the young people to go to bed. She had letters +to write, and would not be ready for hours. If Christian did not appear +by the time that she was sleepy, she would wake Sidney. After all, she +acted her part better than they. She was old at it--they were new. She +was experienced in stage-craft and made her points skilfully; above all, +she did not over-act. + +The three young people kissed their mother and left the room, assuring +each other of their conviction that they would find Christian at the +breakfast table next morning. Molly's room was at the head of the +stairs. With a smile and a nod she closed her door while Hilda and +Sidney walked slowly down the long passage together. Arrived at the end, +Sidney kissed his sister. She turned the handle of her door and stood +with her back to him for a few moments without entering the room, as if +to give him an opportunity of speaking if he had aught to say. He stood +awkwardly behind her, gazing mechanically at her hair, which reflected +the light from the candle that he was holding all awry, while the wax +dripped upon the carpet. + +"It will be all right, Hilda," he said unevenly, "never fear!" + +"Yes, dear, I know it will," she replied. + +And then she passed into the room without closing the door, and he +walked on with loudly-creaking shoes. + +Hilda crossed her room and set the candle upon the dressing-table. She +waited there till Sidney's footsteps had ceased, and then she turned and +walked uprightly to the door, which she closed. She looked round the +room with a strange, vacant look in her eyes, and then she made her way +unsteadily towards the bed, where she lay staring at the wavering candle +and its reflection in the mirror behind until daylight came to make its +flame grow pale and yellow. + +There were four watchers in the house that night. Downstairs, Mrs. Carew +sat by the shaded lamp in her upright armchair. She was not writing, but +had re-opened the large black Bible. Molly was courting sleep in vain, +having resolutely blown out her candle. Sidney made no pretence. He was +fully dressed, and seated at his rarely-used writing-table. Before him +lay a telegraph-form bearing nothing but the address-- + +C.C. BODERY, _Beacon_ Office, Fleet St., London. + +He was gazing mechanically at the blank spaces waiting to be filled in, +and through his mind was passing and repassing the same question that +occupied the thoughts of his mother and sisters. What could be the +explanation of the whistle heard by Molly? The want of this alone +sufficed to overthrow the most ingenious of consolatory explanations. +All four looked at it from different points of view, and to each the +signal-whistle calling Christian into the garden was an insurmountable +barrier to every explanation. + +Before it was wholly light Hilda moved wearily to the window. She threw +it open, and sat with arms resting on the sill and her chin upon her +hands, mechanically noting the wonders of the sunrise. A soft white mist +was rising from the thick pasture, wholly obscuring the sea and filling +the atmosphere with a damp chill. Seated there in her thin evening +dress, she showed no sign of feeling the cold. At times physical pain is +almost a pleasure. The glistening damp rested on every blade of grass, +on every leaf and twig, while the many webs stood whitely against the +shadows, some hanging like festoons from tree to tree, others floating +out in mid-air without apparent reason or support. In and among the +branches lingered little secret deposits of mist waiting the sun's +warmth to melt them all away. + +The suppressed creak of Sidney's door attracted Hilda's attention, but +she did not move, merely turning to look at her own door as her brother +passed it with awkward caution. A dull instinct told her that he was +going to the moat again. Presently he passed beneath her window and +across the dewy lawn, leaving a trailing mark upon the grass. The whole +picture seemed suddenly to be familiar to her. She had lived through it +all before--not in another life, not in years gone by, not in a dream, +but during the last few hours. + +The air was very still, and she could hear the clank of the chain as +Sidney unmoored the old punt, rarely used except by the gardener to +clean the moat when the weeds died down in autumn. The quiet was +rendered more remarkable by the suddenness of its advent. All night it +had been blowing a wild gale, which dropped at dawn, and from the soft +land the mist rose instantly. + +Prompted by a vague desire to be doing something, Hilda presently turned +from the window, and, after a moment's indecision, chose from the shelf +a novel fresh from the brain of the king of writers. With it she +returned to her low chair and listlessly turned over the leaves for some +moments. She raised her head and sought in vain the tiny form of a lark +trilling out his morning hymn far up in the blue sky. Then she +resolutely commenced to read uninterruptedly. + +She read on until Sidney's firm step upon the gravel beneath the window +roused her. A minute later he knocked softly at her door. The water was +glistening on his rough shooting-boots as he entered the room, and upon +the brown leather gaiters there was a deeper shade showing where the wet +grass had brushed against his legs. His honest, immobile face showed but +little surprise at the sight of Hilda still in evening dress, but she +saw that he noticed it. + +She rose from her low chair and laid aside the book, but no sort of +greeting passed between them. + +"I have been all round again," he said quietly, "by daylight, and--and +of course there is no sign." + +She nodded her head, but did not speak. + +"I have been thinking," he continued somewhat shyly, "as to what is to +be done. First of all, no one must be told. Mother, Molly, you, and I +know it, and we must keep it to ourselves. We will tell Stanley that +Christian has gone off suddenly in connection with his work, and the +same excuse will do for the neighbours and servants. I will telegraph +this morning to Mr. Bodery, the editor of the _Beacon_, and await his +instructions. I think that is all that we can do in the meantime." + +She was standing close to him, with one hand on the table, resting upon +the closed volume of "Vanity Fair," but instead of looking at her +brother she was gazing calmly out of the window. + +"Yes," she murmured, "I think that is all that we can do in the +meantime." + +Sidney moved awkwardly as if about to leave the room, but hesitated +still. + +"Have you nothing to suggest?" he asked. "Do you think I am acting +rightly?" + +She was still looking out of the window--still standing motionless near +the table with her hand upon Thackeray's "Vanity Fair." + +"Yes," she replied; "everything you suggest seems wise and prudent." + +"Then will you see mother and Molly in their rooms and forewarn them to +say nothing--nothing that may betray our anxiety?" + +"Yes, I will see them." + +Sidney walked heavily to the door. Grasping the handle, he turned round +once more. + +"It is nearly half-past seven," he said, with more confidence in his +tone, "and Mary will soon be coming to awake you. It would not do for +her to see you in that dress." + +Hilda turned and raised her eyes to his face. + +"No," she said, with a sudden smile; "I will change it at once." + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + + +FOILED + + +When Mr. Bodery opened the door of the room upon the second floor of the +tall house in the Strand that morning, he found Mr. Morgan seated at the +table surrounded by proof-sheets, with his coat off and shirt-sleeves +tucked up. The subeditor of the _Beacon_ was in reality a good hard +worker in his comfortable way, and there was little harm in his desire +that the world should be aware of his industry. + +"Good morning, Morgan," said the editor, hanging up his hat. + +"Morning," replied the other genially, but without looking up. Before +Mr. Bodery had seated himself, however, the sub-editor laid his hand +with heavy approval upon the odoriferous proof-sheet before him, and +looked up. + +"This article of Vellacott's is first-rate," he said. "By Jove! sir, he +drops on these holy fathers--lets them have it right and left. The way +he has worked out the thing is wonderful, and that method of putting +everything upon supposition is a grand idea. It suggests how the thing +_could_ be done upon the face of it, while the initiated will see +quickly enough that it means to show how the trick was in reality +performed--ha, ha!" + +"Yes," replied Mr. Bodery absently. He was glancing at the pile of +letters that lay upon his desk. There were among them one or two +telegrams, and these he put to one side while he took up each envelope +in succession to examine the address, throwing it down again unopened. +At length he turned again to the telegrams, and picked up the top one. +He was about to tear open the envelope when there was a sharp knock at +the door. + +"'M'in!" said Mr. Morgan sharply, and at the same moment the silent door +was thrown open. The diminutive form of the boy stood in the aperture. + +"Gentleman to see you, sir," he said, with great solemnity. + +"What name?" asked Mr. Bodery. + +"Wouldn't give his name, sir--said you didn't know it, sir." + +Even this small office-boy was allowed his quantum of discretionary +power. It rested with him whether an unknown visitor was admitted or +politely dismissed to a much greater extent than any one suspected. Into +his manner of announcing a person he somehow managed to convey his +opinion as to whether it was worth the editor's time to admit him or +not, and he invariably received Mr. Bodery's "Tell him I'm engaged" with +a little nod of mutual understanding which was intensely comprehensive. + +On this occasion, his manner said, "Have him in, have him in my boy, and +you will find it worth your while." + +"Show him in," said Mr. Bodery. + +The nameless gentleman must have been at the door upon the boy's heels, +for no sooner had the words left Mr. Bodery's lips than a tall, dark +form slid into the room. So noiseless and rapid were this gentleman's +movements that there is no other word with which to express his mode of +progression. + +He made a low bow, and shot up erect again with startling rapidity. He +then stood quietly waiting until the door had closed behind the small +boy, who, after having punctiliously expectorated upon a silver coin +which had found its way into the palm of his hand, proceeded to slide +down the balustrade upon his waistcoat. + +It often occurred that strangers addressed themselves to Mr. Morgan when +ushered into the little back room, under the impression that he was the +editor of the _Beacon_. Not so, however, this tall, clean-shaven person. +He fixed his peculiar light-blue eyes upon Mr. Bodery, and, with a +slight inclination, said suavely-- + +"This, sir, is, I believe, your printing day?" + +"It is, sir, and a busy day with us," replied the editor, with no great +warmth of manner. + +"Would it be possible now," inquired the stranger conversationally, "at +this late hour, to remove a printed article and substitute another?" + +At these words Mr. Morgan ceased making some pencil notes with which he +was occupied, and looked up. He met the stranger's benign glance and, +while still looking at him, deliberately turned over all the +proof-sheets before him, leaving no printed matter exposed to the gaze +of the curious. + +Mr. Bodery had in the meantime consulted his watch. + +"Yes," he replied, with dangerous politeness. "There would still be time +to do so if necessary--at the sacrifice of some hundredweight of paper." + +"How marvellously organised your interesting paper must be!" + +Dead silence. Most men would have felt embarrassed, but no sign of such +feeling was forthcoming from any of the three. It is possible that the +dark gentleman with the sky-blue eyes wished to establish a sense of +embarrassment with a view to the furtherance of his own ends. If so, his +attempt proved lamentably abortive. Mr. Bodery sat with his plump hands +resting on the table, and looked contemplatively up into the stranger's +face. Mr. Morgan was scribbling pencil notes on a tablet. + +"The truth is," explained the stranger at length, "that a friend of +mine, who is unfortunately ill in bed this morning--" + +(Mr. Bodery did not look in the least sympathetic, though he listened +attentively.) + +"... has received a telegram from a gentleman who I am told is on the +staff of your journal--Mr. Vellacott. This gentleman wishes to withdraw, +for correction, an article he has sent to you. He states that he will +re-write the article, with certain alterations, in time for next week's +issue." + +Mr. Bodery's face was pleasantly illegible. + +"May I see the telegram?" he asked politely. + +"Certainly!" + +The stranger produced and handed to the editor a pink paper covered with +faint black writing. + +"You will see at the foot this--Mr. Vellacott's reason for not wiring to +you direct. He wished my friend to be here before the printers got to +work this morning; but owing to this unfortunate illness--" + +"I am afraid you are too late, sir," interrupted Mr. Bodery briskly. +"The press is at work--" + +"My friend instructed me," interposed the stranger in his turn, "to make +you rather a difficult proposition. If a thousand pounds will compensate +for the loss incurred by the delay of issue, and defray the expense of +paper spoilt--I--I have that amount with me." + +Mr. Bodery did not display the least sign of surprise, merely shaking +his head with a quiet smile. Mr. Morgan, however, laid aside his pencil, +and placed his elbow upon the proof-sheets before him. + +The stranger then stepped forward with a sudden change of manner. + +"Mr. Bodery," he said, in a low, concentrated voice, "I will give you +five hundred pounds for a proof copy of Mr. Vellacott's article." + +A dead silence of some moments' duration followed this remark. Mr. +Morgan raised his head and looked across the table at his chief. The +editor made an almost imperceptible motion with his eyebrows in the +direction of the door. + +Then Mr. Morgan rose somewhat heavily from his chair, with a hand upon +either arm, after the manner of a man who is beginning to put on weight +rapidly. He went to the door, opened it, and, turning towards the +stranger, said urbanely: + +"Sir--the door!" + +This kind invitation was not at once accepted. + +"You refuse my offers?" said the stranger curtly, without deigning to +notice the sub-editor. + +Mr. Bodery had turned his attention to his letters, of which he was +cutting open the envelopes, one by one, with a paper-knife, without, +however, removing the contents. He looked up. + +"To-morrow morning," he said, "you will be able to procure a copy from +any stationer for the trifling sum of sixpence." + +Then the stranger walked slowly past Mr. Morgan out of the room. + +"A curse on these Englishmen!" he muttered, as he passed down the narrow +staircase. "If I could only see the article I could tell whether it is +worth resorting to stronger measures or not. However, that is Talma's +business to decide, not mine." + +Mr. Morgan closed the door of the small room and resumed his seat. He +then laughed aloud, but Mr. Bodery did not respond. + +"That's one of them," observed Mr. Morgan comprehensively. + +"Yes," replied the editor, "a dangerous customer. I do not like a +blue-chinned man." + +"I was not much impressed with his diplomatic skill." + +"No; but you must remember that he had difficult cards to play. No doubt +his information was of the scantiest, and--we are not chickens, Morgan." + +"No," said Mr. Morgan, with a little sigh. He turned to the revision of +the proof-sheets again, while the editor began opening and reading his +telegrams. + +"This is a little strong," exclaimed Mr. Morgan, after a few moments of +silence, broken only by the crackle of paper. "Just listen here:-- + +"'It simply comes to this--the General of the Society of Jesus is an +autocrat in the worst sense of the word. He holds within his fingers the +wires of a vast machine moving with little friction and no noise. No +farthest corner of the world is entirely beyond its influence; no +political crisis passes that is not hurried on or restrained by its +power. Unrecognised, unseen even, and often undreamt of, the vast +Society does its work. It is not for us who live in a broad-minded, +tolerant age to judge too harshly. It is not for us to say that the +Jesuits are unscrupulous and treacherous. Let us be just and give them +their due. They are undoubtedly earnest in their work, sincere in their +belief, true to their faith. But it is for us to uphold our own +integrity. We are accused--as a nation--of stirring up the seeds of +rebellion, of crime and bloodshed in the heart of another country. Our +denial is considered insufficient; our evidence is ignored. There +remains yet to us one mode of self-defence. After denying the crime (for +crime it is in humane and political sense) we can turn and boldly lay it +upon those whom its results would chiefly benefit: the Roman Catholic +Church in general--the Society of Jesus in particular. We have +endeavoured to show how the followers of Ignatius Loyola could have +brought about the present crisis in France; the extent to which they +would benefit by a religious reaction is patent to the most casual +observer; let the Government of England do the rest.'" + +Mr. Bodery was, however, not listening. He was staring vacantly at a +telegram which lay spread out upon the table. + +"What is the meaning of this?" he exclaimed huskily. + +The sub-editor looked up sharply, with his pen poised in the air. Then +Mr. Bodery read: + +"Is Vellacott with you? Fear something wrong. Disappeared from here last +night." + +Mr. Morgan moved in his seat, stretching one arm out, while he pensively +rubbed his clean-shaven chin and looked critically across the table. + +"Who is it from?" he asked. + +"Sidney Carew, the man he is staying with." + +They remained thus for some moments; the editor looking at the telegram +with a peculiar blank expression in his eyes; Mr. Morgan staring at him +while he rubbed his chin thoughtfully with outspread finger and thumb. +In the lane beneath the window some industrious housekeeper was sweeping +her doorstep with aggravating monotony; otherwise there was no sound. + +At length Mr. Morgan rose from his seat and walked slowly to the window. +He stood gazing out upon the smoke-begrimed roofs and crooked chimneys. +Between his lips he held his pen, and his hands were thrust deeply into +his trouser pockets. It was on that spot and in that attitude that he +usually thought out his carefully written weekly article upon "Home +Affairs." He was still there when the editor touched a small gong which +stood on the table at his side. The silent door instantly opened, and +the supernaturally sharp boy stood on the threshold grimly awaiting his +orders. + +"Bradshaw." + +"Yess'r," replied the boy, closing the door. His inventive mind had +conceived a new and improved method of going downstairs. This was to lie +flat on his back upon the balustrade with a leg dangling on either side. +If the balance was correct, he slid down rapidly and shot out some feet +from the bottom, as he had, from an advantageous point of view on +Blackfriars Bridge, seen sacks of meal shoot from a Thames warehouse +into the barge beneath. If, however, he made a miscalculation, he +inevitably rolled off sideways and landed in a heap on the floor. Either +result appeared to afford him infinite enjoyment and exhilaration. On +this occasion he performed the feat with marked success. + +"Guv'nor's goin' on the loose--wants the railway guide," he confided to +a small friend in the printing interest whom he met as he was returning +with the required volume. + +"Suppose you'll be sitten' upstairs now, then," remarked the +black-fingered one with fine sarcasm. Whereupon there followed a +feint--a desperate lunge to one side, a vigorous bob of the head, and a +resounding bang with the railway guide in the centre of the sarcastic +youth's waistcoat. + +Having executed a strategic movement, and a masterly retreat up the +stairs, the small boy leant over the banisters and delivered himself of +the following explanation: + +"I 'it yer one that time. Don't do it agin. _Good_ morning, sir." + +Mr. Bodery turned the flimsy leaves impatiently, stopped, looked rapidly +down a column, and, without raising his eyes from the railway guide, +tore a telegraph form from the handle of a drawer at his side. Then he +wrote in a large clear style: + +"Will be with you at five o'clock. Invent some excuse for V.'s absence. +On no account give alarm to authorities." + +The sharp boy took the telegram from the editor's hand with an +expression of profound respect upon his wicked features. + +"Go down to Banks," said Mr. Bodery, "ask him to let me have two copies +of the foreign policy article in ten minutes." + +When the silent door was closed, Mr. Morgan wheeled round upon his +heels, and gazed meditatively at his superior. + +"Going down to see these people?" he asked, with a jerk of his head +towards the West. + +"Yes, I am going by the eleven-fifteen." + +"I have been thinking," continued the sub-editor, "we may as well keep +the printing-office door locked to-day. That slippery gentleman with the +watery eyes meant business, or I am very much mistaken. I'll just send +upstairs for Bander to go on duty at the shop door to-day as well as +to-morrow; I think we shall have a big sale this week." + +Mr. Bodery rose from his seat and began brushing his faultless hat. + +"Yes," he replied; "do that. It would be very easy to get at the +machinery. Printers are only human!" + +"Machinery is ready enough to go wrong when nobody wishes it," murmured +Mr. Morgan vaguely, as he sat down at the table and began setting the +scattered papers in order. + +Mr. Bodery and his colleagues were in the habit of keeping at the office +a small bag, containing the luggage necessary for a few nights in case +of their being suddenly called away. This expedient was due to Christian +Vellacott's forethought. + +The editor now proceeded to stuff into his bag sundry morning newspapers +and a large cigar case. Telegraph forms, pen, ink, and foolscap paper +were already there. + +"I say, Bodery," said the sub-editor with grave familiarity, "it seems +to me that you are taking much too serious a view of this matter. +Vellacott is as wide awake as any man, and it always struck me that he +was very well able to take care of himself." + +"I have a wholesome dread of men who use religion as a means of +justification. A fanatic is always dangerous." + +"A sincere fanatic," suggested the sub-editor. + +"Exactly so; and a sincere fanatic in the hands of an agitator is the +very devil. That is whence these fellows got their power. Half of them +are fanatics and the other half hypocrites." + +Mr. Bodery had now completed his preparations, and he held out his plump +hand, which the subeditor grasped. + +"I hope," said the latter, "that you will find Vellacott at the station +to meet you--ha, ha!" + +"I hope so." + +"If," said Mr. Morgan, following the editor to the door--"if he turns up +here, I will wire to Carew and to you, care of the station-master." + + + + +CHAPTER XV + + +BOOKS + + +The London express rolled with stately deliberation into Brayport +station. Mr. Bodery folded up his newspapers, reached down his bag from +the netting, and prepared to alight. The editor of the _Beacon_ had +enjoyed a very pleasant journey, despite broiling sun and searching +dust. He knew the possibilities of a first-class smoking-carriage--how +to regulate the leeward window and chock off the other with a wooden +match borrowed from the guard. + +He stepped from the carriage with the laboured sprightliness of a man +past the forties, and a moment later Sidney Carew was at his side. + +"Mr. Bodery?" + +"The same. You are no doubt Mr. Carew?" + +"Yes. Thanks for coming. Hope it didn't inconvenience you?" + +"Not at all," replied the editor, breaking his return ticket. + +"D----n!" said Sidney suddenly. + +He was beginning to rise to the occasion. He was one of those men who +are usually too slack to burthen their souls with a refreshing +expletive. + +"What is the matter?" inquired Mr. Bodery gravely. + +"There is a man," explained Sidney hurriedly, "getting out of the train +who is coming to stay with us. I had forgotten his existence. _Don't_ +look round!" + +Mr. Bodery was a Londoner. He did not look round. Nine out of ten +country-bred people would have indulged in a stare. + +"Is this all your luggage?" continued Sidney abruptly. He certainly was +rising. + +"Yes." + +"Then come along. We'll bolt for it. He'll have to get a fly, and that +means ten minutes' start if the porter is not officious and mulls +things." + +They hurried out of the station and clambered into the dog-cart. Sidney +gathered up the reins. + +"Hang it," he exclaimed. "What bad luck! There is a fly waiting. It is +never there when you want it." + +Mr. Bodery looked between the shafts. + +"You need not be afraid of that fly," he said. + +"No--come up, you brute!" + +Mr. Bodery turned carelessly to put his bag in the back of the cart. + +"Let him have it," he exclaimed in a low voice. "Your friend sees you, +but he does not know that you have seen him. He is pointing you out to +the station-master." + +As he spoke the cart swung round the gate-post of the station yard, +nearly throwing him out, and Sidney's right hand felt for the +whip-socket. + +"There," he said, "we are safe. I think I can manage that fly." + +Mr. Bodery settled himself and drew the dust-cloth over his chubby +knees. + +"Now," he said, "tell me all about Vellacott." + +Sidney did so. + +He gave a full and minute description of events previous to Christian +Vellacott's disappearance, omitting nothing. The relation was somewhat +disjointed, somewhat vague in parts, and occasionally incoherent. The +narrator repeated himself--hesitated--blurted out some totally +irrelevant fact, and finished up with a vague supposition (possessing a +solid basis of truth) expressed in doubtful English. It suited Mr. +Bodery admirably. In telling all about Vellacott, Sidney unconsciously +told all about Mrs. Carew, Molly, Hilda, and himself. When he reached +the point in his narration telling how Vellacott had been attracted into +the garden, he became extremely vague and his style notably colloquial. +Tell the story how he would, he felt that he could not prevent Mr. +Bodery from drawing his own inferences. Young ladies are not in the +habit of whistling for youthful members of the opposite sex. Few of them +master the labial art, which perhaps accounts for much. Sidney Carew was +conscious that his style lacked grace and finish. + +Mr. Bodery did draw his own inferences, but the countenance into which +Sidney glanced at intervals was one of intense stolidity. + +"Well, I confess I cannot make it out--at present," he said; "Vellacott +has written to us only on business matters. We publish to-morrow a very +good article of his purporting to be the dream of an overworked +_attaché_. It is very cutting and very incriminating. The Government +cannot well avoid taking some notice of it. My only hope is that he is +in Paris. There is something brewing over there. Our Paris agent wired +for Vellacott this morning. By the way, Mr. Carew, is there a monastery +somewhere in this part of the country?" + +"Down that valley," replied Sidney, pointing with his whip. + +"In Vellacott's article there is mention of a monastery--not too +minutely described, however. There are also some remarkable suppositions +respecting an old foreigner living in seclusion. Could that be the man +you mentioned just now--Signor Bruno?" + +"Hardly. Bruno is a harmless old soul," replied Sidney, pulling up to +turn into the narrow gateway. + +There was no time to make further inquiries. + +Sidney led the way into the drawing-room. The ladies were there. + +"My mother, Mr. Bodery--my sister; my sister Hilda," he blurted out +awkwardly. + +Mrs. Carew shook hands, and the two young ladies bowed. They were all +disappointed in Mr. Bodery. He was too calm and comfortable--also there +was a suggestion of cigar smoke in his presence, which jarred. + +"I am sorry," said the Londoner, with genial self-possession, "to owe +the pleasure of this visit to such an unfortunate incident." + +Molly felt that she hated him. + +"Then you have heard nothing of Christian?" said Mrs. Carew. + +"Nothing," replied Mr. Bodery, removing his tight gloves. "But it is too +soon to think of getting anxious yet. Vellacott is eminently capable of +taking care of himself--he is, above all things, a journalist. Things +are disturbed in Paris, and it is possible that he has run across +there." + +Mrs. Carew smiled somewhat incredulously. + +"It was a singular time to start," observed Hilda quietly. + +Mr. Bodery turned and looked at her. + +"Master mind in _this_ house," he reflected. + +"Yes," he admitted aloud. + +He folded his gloves and placed them in the pocket of his coat. The +others watched him in silence. + +"Do you take sugar and cream?" inquired Hilda sweetly, speaking for the +second time. + +"Please--both. In moderation." + +"I say," interrupted Sidney at this moment, "the Vicomte d'Audierne is +following us in a fly. He will be here in five minutes." + +Mrs. Carew nodded. She had not forgotten this guest. + +"The Vicomte d'Audierne," said Mr. Bodery, with considerable interest, +turning away from the tea-table, cup in hand. "Is that the man who got +out of my train?" + +"Yes," replied Sidney; "do you know him?" + +"I have heard of him." Mr. Bodery turned and took a slice of bread and +butter from a plate which Hilda held. + +At this moment there was a rumble of carriage wheels. + +"By the way," said the editor of the _Beacon_, raising his voice so as +to command universal attention, "do not tell the Vicomte d'Audierne +about Vellacott. Do not let him know that Vellacott has been here. Do +not tell him of my connection with the _Beacon_." + +The ladies barely had time to reconsider their first impression of Mr. +Bodery when the door was thrown open, and a servant announced M. +d'Audierne. + +He who entered immediately afterwards--with an almost indecent +haste--was of middle height, with a certain intrepid carriage of the +head which appeals to such as take pleasure in the strength and +endurance of men. His face, which was clean shaven, was the face of a +hawk, with the contracted myope vision characteristic of that bird. It +is probable that from the threshold he took in every occupant of the +room. + +"Mrs. Carew," he said in a pleasant voice, speaking almost faultless +English, "after all these years. What a pleasure!" + +He shook hands, turning at the same time to the others. + +"And Sid," he said, "and Molly--wicked little Molly. Never mind--your +antecedents are safe. I am silent as the grave." + +This was not strictly true. He was as deep, and deeper than the +resting-place mentioned, but his method was superior to silence. + +"And Hilda," he continued, "thoughtful little Hilda, who was always too +busy to be naughty. Not like Molly, eh?" + +"Heavens! How old it makes one feel!" he exclaimed, turning to Mrs. +Carew. + +The lady laughed. + +"You are not changed, at all events," she said. "Allow me to introduce +Mr. Bodery--the Vicomte d'Audierne." + +The two men bowed. + +"Much pleasure," said the Frenchman. + +Mr. Bodery bowed again in an insular manner, which just escaped +awkwardness, and said nothing. + +Then Molly offered the new-comer some tea, and the party broke up into +groups. But the Vicomte's personality in some subtle manner pervaded the +room. Mr. Bodery lapsed into monosyllables and felt ponderous. Monsieur +d'Audierne had it in his power to make most men feel ponderous when the +spirit moved him in that direction. + +As soon as tea was finally disposed of Mrs. Carew proposed an +adjournment to the garden. She was desirous of getting Mr. Bodery to +herself. + +It fell to Hilda's lot to undertake the Frenchman. They had been great +friends once, and she was quite ready to renew the pleasant +relationship. She led her guest to the prettiest part of the garden--the +old overgrown footpath around the moat. + +As soon as they had passed under the nut-trees into the open space at +the edge of the water, the Vicomte d'Audierne stopped short and looked +round him curiously. At the same time he gave a strange little laugh. + +"_Hein--hein--c'est drôle_," he muttered, and the girl remembered that +in the old friendship between the brilliant, middle-aged diplomatist and +the little child they had always spoken French. She liked to hear him +speak his own language, for in his lips it received full justice: it was +the finest tongue spoken on this earth. But she did not feel disposed +just then to humour him. She looked at him wonderingly as his deep eyes +wandered over the scene. + +While they stood there, something--probably a kestrel--disturbed the +rooks dwelling in the summits of the still elms across the moat, and +they rose simultaneously in the air with long-drawn cries. + +"Ah! Ah--h!" said the Vicomte, with a singular smile. + +And then Hilda forgot her shyness. + +"What is it?" she inquired in the language she had always spoken to this +man. + +He turned and walked beside her, suiting his steps to hers, for some +moments before replying. + +"I was not here at all," he said at length, apologetically; "I was far +away from you. It was impolite. I am sorry." + +He intended that she should laugh, and she did so softly. "Where were +you?" she inquired, glancing at him beneath her golden lashes. + +Again he paused. + +"There is," he said at length, "an old _château_ in Morbihan--many +miles from a railway--in the heart of a peaceful country. It has a moat +like this--there are elms--there are rooks that swing up into the air +like that and call--and one does not know why they do it, and what they +are calling. Listen, little girl--they are calling something. What is +it? I think I was _there_. It was impolite--I am sorry, Miss Carew." + +She laughed again sympathetically and without mirth; for she was meant +to laugh. + +He looked back over his shoulder at times as if the calling of the rooks +jarred upon his nerves. + +"I do not think I like them--" he said, "now." + +He was not apparently disposed to be loquacious as he had been at first. +Possibly the rooks had brought about this change. Hilda also had her +thoughts. At times she glanced at the water with a certain shrinking in +her heart. She had not yet forgotten the moments she had passed at the +edge of the moat the night before. They walked right round the moat and +down a little pathway through the elm wood without speaking. The rooks +had returned to their nests and only called to each other querulously at +intervals. + +"Has it ever occurred to you, little girl," said the Vicomte d'Audierne +suddenly, "to doubt the wisdom of the Creator's arrangements for our +comfort, or otherwise, here below?" + +"I suppose not," he went on, without waiting for an answer, which she +remembered as an old trick of his. "You are a woman--it is different for +you." + +The girl said nothing. She may have thought differently; one cannot +always read a maiden's thoughts. + +They walked on together. Suddenly the Vicomte d'Audierne spoke. + +"Who is this?" he said. + +Hilda followed the direction of his eyes. + +"That," she answered, "is Signor Bruno. An old Italian exile. A friend +of ours." + +Bruno came forward, hat in hand, bowing and smiling in his charming way. + +Hilda introduced the two men, speaking in French. + +"I did not know," said Signor Bruno, with outspread hands, "that you +spoke French like a Frenchwoman." + +Hilda laughed. + +"Had it," she said, with a sudden inspiration, "been Italian, I should +have told you." + +There was a singular smile visible, for a moment only, in the eyes of +the Vicomte d'Audierne, and then he spoke. + +"Mademoiselle," he said, "learnt most of it from me. We are old +friends." + +Signor Bruno bowed. He did not look too well pleased. + +"Ah--but is that so?" he murmured conversationally. + +"Yes; I hope she learnt nothing else from me," replied the Vicomte +carelessly. + +Hilda turned upon him with a questioning smile. + +"Why?" + +"I do not imagine, little girl," replied d'Audierne, "that you could +learn very much that is good from me." + +Hilda gave a non-committing little laugh, and led the way through the +nut-trees towards the house. The Vicomte d'Audierne followed, and Signor +Bruno came last. When they emerged upon the lawn in view of Mrs. Carew +and Mr. Bodery, who were walking together, the Vicomte dropped his +handkerchief. Signor Bruno attempted to pick it up, and there was a +slight delay caused by the interchange of some Gallic politeness. + +Before the two foreigners came up with Hilda, who had walked on, Signor +Bruno found time to say: + +"I must see you to-night, without fail; I am in a very difficult +position. I have had to resort to strong measures." + +"Where?" inquired the Vicomte d'Audierne, with that pleasant nonchalance +which is so aggravating to the People. + +"In the village, any time after nine; a yellow cottage near the well." + +"Good!" + +And they joined Hilda Carew. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + + +FOES + + +It is only when our feelings are imaginary that we analyse them. When +the real thing comes--the thing that only does come to a few of us--we +can only feel it, and there is no thought of analysis. Moreover, the +action is purely involuntary. We feel strange things--such things as +murder--and we cannot help feeling it. We may cringe and shrink; we may +toss in our beds when we wake up with such thoughts living, moving, +having their being in our brains--but we cannot toss them off. The very +attempt to do so is a realisation, and from consciousness we spring to +knowledge. We know that in our hearts we are thieves, murderers, +slanderers; we know that if we read of such thoughts in a novel we +should hold the thinker in all horror; but we are distinctly conscious +all the time that these thoughts are our own. This is just the +difference existing between artificial feelings and real: the one bears +analysis, the other cannot. + +Hilda Carew could not have defined her feelings on the evening of the +arrival of Mr. Bodery and the Vicomte d'Audierne. She was conscious of +the little facts of everyday existence. She dressed for dinner with +singular care; during that repast she talked and laughed much as usual, +but all the while she felt like any one in all the world but Hilda +Carew. At certain moments she wondered with a throb of apprehension +whether the difference which was so glaringly patent to herself could +possibly be hidden from others. She caught strange inflections in her +own voice which she knew had never been there before--her own laughter +was a new thing to her. And yet she went on through dinner and until +bedtime, acting this strange part without break, without fault--a part +which had never been rehearsed and never learnt: a part which was +utterly artificial and yet totally without art, for it came naturally. + +And through it all she feared the Vicomte d'Audierne. Mr. Bodery counted +for nothing. He made a very good dinner, was genial and even witty in a +manner befitting his years and station. Mrs. Carew was fully engaged +with her guests, and Molly was on lively terms with the Vicomte; while +Sidney, old Sidney--no one counted him. It was only the Vicomte who +paused at intervals during his frugal meal, and looked across the table +towards the young girl with those deep, impenetrable eyes--shadowless, +gleamless, like velvet. + +When bedtime at length arrived, she was quite glad to get away from that +kind, unobtrusive scrutiny of which she alone was aware. She went to her +room, and sitting wearily on the bed she realised for the first time in +her life the incapacity to think. It is a realisation which usually +comes but once or twice in a lifetime, and we are therefore unable to +get accustomed to it. She was conscious of intense pressure within her +brain, of a hopeless weight upon her heart, but she could define +neither. She rose at length, and mechanically went to bed like one in a +trance. In the same way she fell asleep. + +In the meantime Mr. Bodery, Sidney Carew, and the Vicomte d'Audierne +were smoking in the little room at the side of the porch. A single lamp +with a red shade hung from the ceiling in the centre of this room, +hardly giving enough light to read by. There were half-a-dozen deep +armchairs, a divan, and two or three small tables--beyond that nothing. +Sidney's father had furnished it thus, with a knowledge and appreciation +of Oriental ways. It was not a study, nor a library, nor a den; but +merely a smoking-room. Mr. Bodery had lighted an excellent cigar, and +through the thin smoke he glanced persistently at the Vicomte +d'Audierne. The Vicomte did not return this attention; he glanced at the +clock instead. He was thinking of Signor Bruno, but he was too polite +and too diplomatic to give way to restlessness. + +At last Mr. Bodery opened fire from, as it were, a masked battery; for +he knew that the Frenchman was ignorant of his connection with one of +the leading political papers of the day. It was a duel between sheer +skill and confident foreknowledge. When Mr. Bodery spoke, Sidney Carew +leant back in his chair and puffed vigorously at his briar pipe. + +"Things," said the Englishman, "seem to be very unsettled in France just +now." + +The Vicomte was engaged in rolling a cigarette, and he finished the +delicate operation before looking up with a grave smile. + +"Yes," he said. "In Paris. But Paris is not France. That fact is hardly +realised in England, I think." + +"What," inquired Mr. Bodery, with that conversational heaviness of touch +which is essentially British, "is the meaning of this disturbance?" + +Sidney Carew was enveloped in a perfect cloud of smoke. + +For a moment--and a moment only--the Vicomte's profound gaze rested on +the Englishman's face. Mr. Bodery was evidently absorbed in the +enjoyment of his cigar. The smile that lay on his genial face like a +mask was the smile of a consciousness that he was making himself +intensely pleasant, and adapting his conversation to his company in a +quite phenomenal way. + +"Ah!" replied the Frenchman, with a neat little shrug of bewilderment. +"Who can tell? Probably there is no meaning in it. There is so often no +meaning in the action of a Parisian mob." + +"Many things without meaning are not without result." + +Again the Vicomte looked at Mr. Bodery, and again he was baffled. + +"You only asked me the meaning," he said lightly. "I am glad you did not +inquire after the result; because there I should indeed have been at +fault. I always argue to myself that it is useless to trouble one's +brain about results. I leave such matters to the good God. He will +probably do just as well without my assistance." + +"You are a philosopher," said Mr. Bodery, with a pleasant and friendly +laugh. + +"Thank Heaven--yes! Look at my position. Fancy carrying in France to-day +a name that is to be found in the most abridged history. One needs to be +a philosopher, Mr. Bodery." + +"But," suggested the Englishman, "there may be changes. It may all come +right." + +The Vicomte sipped his whisky and water with vicious emphasis. + +"If it began at once," he said, "it would never be right in my time. Not +as it used to be. And in the meantime we are in the present--in the +present France is governed by newspaper men." + +Sidney drew in his feet and coughed. Some of his smoke had gone astray. + +Mr. Bodery looked sympathetic. + +"Yes," he said calmly, "that really seems to be the case." + +"And newspaper men," pursued the Vicomte, "what are they? Men of no +education, no position, no sense of honour. The great aim of politicians +in France to-day is the aggrandisement of themselves." + +Mr. Bodery yawned. + +"Ah!" he said, with a glance towards Sidney. + +Perhaps the Frenchman saw the glance, perhaps he was deceived by the +yawn. At all events, he rose and expressed a desire to retire to his +room. He was tired, he said, having been travelling all the previous +night. + +Mr. Bodery had not yet finished his cigar, so he rose and shook hands +without displaying any intention of following the Vicomte's example. + +Sidney lighted a candle, one of many standing on a side table, and led +the way upstairs. They walked through the long, dimly lighted corridors +in silence, and it was only when they had arrived in the room set apart +for the Vicomte d'Audierne that this gentleman spoke. + +"By the way," he said, "who is this person--this Mr. Bodery? He was not +a friend of your father's." Sidney was lighting the tall candles that +stood upon the dressing-table, and the combined illumination showed with +remarkable distinctness the reflection of his face in the mirror. From +whence he stood the Frenchman could see this reflection. + +"He is the friend of a great friend of mine; that is how we know him," +replied Sidney, prizing up the wick of a candle. He was still rising to +the occasion--this dull young Briton. Then he turned. "Christian +Vellacott," he said; "you knew his father?" + +"Ah, yes: I knew his father." + +Sidney was moving to the door without any hurry, and also without any +intention of being deterred. + +"His father," continued the Vicomte, winding his watch meditatively, +"was brilliant. Has the son inherited any brain?" + +"I think so. Good night." + +"Good night." + +When the door was closed the Vicomte looked at his watch. It was almost +midnight. + +"The Reverend Father Talma will have to wait till to-morrow morning," he +said to himself. "I cannot go to him to-night. It would be too +theatrical. That old gentleman is getting too old for his work." + +In the meantime, Sidney returned to the little smoking-room at the side +of the porch. There he found Mr. Bodery smoking with his usual +composure. The younger man forbore asking any questions. He poured out +for himself some whisky, and opened a bottle of soda-water with +deliberate care and noiselessness. + +"That man," said Mr. Bodery at length, "knows nothing about Vellacott." + +"You think so?" + +"I am convinced of it. By the way, who is the old gentleman who came to +tea this afternoon?" + +"Signor Bruno, do you mean?" + +"I suppose so--that super-innocent old man with the white hair who wears +window-glass spectacles." + +"Are they window-glass?" asked Sidney, with a little laugh. + +"They struck me as window-glass--quite flat. Who is he--beyond his name, +I mean?" + +"He is an Italian refugee--lives in the village." + +Mr. Bodery had taken his silver pencil from his waistcoat pocket, and +was rolling it backwards and forwards on the table. This was indicative +of the fact that the editor of the _Beacon_ was thinking deeply. + +"Ah! And how long has he been here?" + +"Only a few weeks." + +Mr. Bodery looked up sharply. + +"Is _that_ all?" he inquired, with an eager little laugh. + +"Yes." + +"Then, my dear sir, Vellacott is right. That old man is at the bottom of +it. This Vicomte d'Audierne, what do you know of him?" + +"Personally?" + +"Yes." + +"He is an old friend of my father's. In fact, he is a friend of the +family. He calls the girls by their Christian names, as you have heard +to-night." + +"Yes; I noticed that. And he came here to-day merely on a friendly +visit?" + +"That is all. Why do you ask?" inquired Sidney, who was getting rather +puzzled. + +"I know nothing of him personally--except what I have learnt to-day. For +my own part, I like him," answered Mr. Bodery. "He is keen and clever. +Moreover, he is a thorough gentleman. But, politically speaking, he is +one of the most dangerous men in France. He is a Jesuit, an active +Royalist, and a staunch worker for the Church party. I don't know much +about French politics--that is Vellacott's department. But I know that +if he were here, and knew of the Vicomte's presence in England, he would +be very much on the alert." + +"Then," asked Sidney, "do you connect the presence of the Vicomte here +with the absence of Vellacott?" + +"There can be little question about it, directly or indirectly. +Indirectly, I should think, unless the Vicomte d'Audierne is a +scoundrel." + +Sidney thought deeply. + +"He may be," he admitted. + +"I do not," pursued Mr. Bodery, with a certain easy deliberation, "think +that the Vicomte is aware of Vellacott's existence. That is my opinion." + +"He asked who you were--if you were a friend of my father's." + +"And you said--" + +"No! I said that you were a friend of a friend, and mentioned +Vellacott's name. He knew his father very well." + +"Were you"--asked Mr. Bodery, throwing away the end of his cigar and +rising from his deep chair--"were you looking at the Vicomte when you +answered the question?" + +"Yes." + +"And there was no sign of discomfort--no flicker of the eyelids, for +instance?" + +"No; nothing." + +Mr. Bodery nodded his head in a businesslike way, indicative of the fact +that he was engaged in assimilating a good deal of useful information. + +"There is nothing to be done to-night," he said presently, as he made a +movement towards the door, "but to go to bed. To-morrow the _Beacon_ +will be published, and the result will probably be rather startling. We +shall hear something before to-morrow afternoon." + +Sidney lighted Mr. Bodery's candle and shook hands. + +"By the way," said the editor, turning back and speaking more lightly, +"if any one should inquire--your mother or one of your sisters--you can +say that I am not in the least anxious about Vellacott. Good night." + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + + +A RETREAT + + +It was quite early the next morning when the Vicomte d'Audierne left +his room. As he walked along the still corridor and down the stairs it +was noticeable that he made absolutely no sound, without, however, +indulging in any of those contortions which are peculiar to late +arrivals in church. It would seem that Nature had for purposes of her +own made his footfall noiseless--if, by the way, Nature can be credited +with any purpose whatever in her allotment of human gifts and failings. + +In the hall he found a stout cook armed for assault upon the front-door +step. + +"Good morning," he said. "Can you tell me the breakfast-hour? I forgot +to inquire last night." + +"Nine o'clock, sir," replied the servant, rather taken aback at the +thought of having this visitor dependent upon her for entertainment +during the next hour and a half. + +"Ah--and it is not yet eight. Never mind. I will go into the garden. I +am fond of fruit before breakfast." + +He took his hat and lounged away towards the kitchen-garden which lay +near the moat. + +"And now," he said to himself, looking round him in a searching way, +"where is this pestilential village?" + +The way was not hard to find, and as the church clock struck eight the +Vicomte d'Audierne opened the little green gate of the cottage where +Signor Bruno was lodging. + +The old gentleman must have been watching for him; for he opened the +door before the Vicomte reached it. + +He turned and led the way into a little room on the right hand of the +narrow passage. A little room intensely typical: china dogs, knitted +antimacassars of a brilliant tendency, and horse-hair covered furniture. +There was even the usual stuffy odour as if the windows, half-hidden +behind muslin curtains and scarlet geraniums, were never opened from one +year's end to another. + +Signor Bruno closed the door before speaking. Then he turned upon his +companion with something very like fury glittering in his eyes. + +"Why did you not come last night?" he asked. "I am left alone to contend +against one difficulty on the top of another. Read that!" + +He drew from his pocket a thin and somewhat crumpled sheet of paper, +upon which there were two columns of printed matter. + +"That," he said, "cost us two thousand francs." The Vicomte d'Audierne +read the printed matter carefully from beginning to end. He had +approached the window because the light was bad, and when he finished he +looked up for a few minutes, out of the little casement, upon the quiet +village scene. + +"The _Beacon_," he said, turning round, "what is that?" + +"A leading weekly newspaper." + +"Published--? + +"To-day," snapped Signor Bruno. + +The Vicomte d'Audierne made a little grimace. + +"Who wrote this?" he inquired. + +"Christian Vellacott, son of _the_ Vellacott, whom you knew in the old +days." + +"Ah!" + +There was something in the Vicomte's expressive voice that made Signor +Bruno look at him sharply with some apprehension. + +"Why do you say that?" + +The Vicomte countered with another question. + +"Who is this Mr. Bodery?" + +He gave a little jerk with his head in the direction of the house he had +just left. + +"I do not know." + +"I was told last night that he was a friend of this Christian +Vellacott--a protector." + +The two Frenchmen looked at each other in silence. Signor Bruno was +evidently alarmed--his lips were white and unsteady. There was a smile +upon the bird-like face of the younger man, and behind his spectacles +his eyes glittered with an excitement in which there was obviously no +fear. + +"Do you know," he asked in a disagreeably soft manner, "where Christian +Vellacott is?" + +Across the benevolent old face of Signor Bruno here came a very evil +smile. + +"You will do better not to ask me that question," he replied, "unless +you mean to run for it--as I do." + +The Vicomte d'Audierne looked at his companion in a curious way. + +"You had," he said, "at one time no rival as a man of action--" + +Signor Bruno shrugged his shoulders. + +"I am a man of action still." + +The Vicomte folded the proof-sheet carefully, handed it back to his +companion, and said: + +"Then I understand that--there will be no more of these very clever +articles?" + +Bruno nodded his head. + +"I ask no questions," continued the other. "It is better so. I shall +stay where I am for a few days, unless it grows too hot--unless I think +it expedient to vanish." + +"You have courage?" + +"No; I have impertinence--that is all. There will be a storm--a +newspaper storm. The embassies will be busy; in the English Parliament +some pompous fool will ask a question, and be snubbed for his pains. In +the _Chambre_ the newspaper men will rant and challenge each other in +the corridors; and it will blow over. In the meantime we have got what +we want, and we can hide it till we have need of it. Your Reverence and +I have met difficulties together before this one." + +But Signor Bruno was not inclined to fall in with these optimistic +views. + +"I am not so sure," he said, "that we have got what we want. There has +been no acknowledgment of receipt of the last parcel--in the usual +way--the English _Standard_." + +"What was the last parcel?" + +"Fifty thousand cartridges." + +"But they were sent?" + +"Yes; they were despatched in the usual way; but, as I say, they have +not been acknowledged. There may have been some difficulty on the other +side. Our police are not so easy-going as these coastguard gentlemen." + +"Well," said the aristocrat, with that semi-bantering lightness of +manner which sometimes aggravated, and always puzzled, his colleagues, +"we will not give ourselves trouble over that: the matter is out of our +hands. Let us rather think of ourselves. Have you money?" + +"Yes--I have sufficient." + +"It is now eight o'clock--this newspaper--this precious _Beacon_ is now +casting its light into some dark intellects in London. It will take +those intellects two hours to assimilate the information, and one more +hour to proceed to action. You have, therefore, three hours in which to +make yourself scarce." + +"I have arranged that," replied the old man calmly. "There is a small +French potato-ship lying at Exmouth. In two hours I shall be one of her +crew." + +"That is well. And the others?" + +"The others left yesterday afternoon. They cross by this morning's boat +from Southampton to Cherbourg. You see how much I have had to do." + +"I see also, my friend, how well you have done it." + +"And now," said Signor Bruno, ignoring the compliment, "I must go. We +will walk away by the back garden across the fields. You must remember +that you may have been seen coming here." + +"I have thought of that. One old man saw me, but he did not look at me +twice. He will not know me again. And your landlady--where is she?" + +"I have sent her out on a fool's errand." + +As they spoke they left the little cottage by the back door, as Signor +Bruno had proposed, through the little garden, and across some low-lying +fields. Presently they parted, Signor Bruno turning to the left, while +the Vicomte d'Audierne kept to the right. + +"We shall meet, I suppose," were the last words of the younger man, "in +the Rue St. Gingolphe?" + +"Yes--in the Rue St. Gingolphe." + +For so old a man the pace at which Signor Bruno breasted the hill that +lay before him was somewhat remarkable. The Vicomte d'Audierne, on the +other hand, was evidently blessed with a greater leisure. He looked at +his watch and strolled on through the dew-laden meadows, wrapt in +thought as in a cloak that hid the sweet freshness of the flowery +hedgerows, that muffled the broken song of the busy birds, that killed +the scent of ripening hay. Thus these two singular men parted--and it +happened that they were never to meet again. These little things _do_ +happen. We meet with gravity; we part with a smile; perhaps we make an +appointment; possibly we speak of the pleasure that the meeting seems to +promise: and the next meeting is put off; it belongs to the great +postponement. + +Often we part with an indifferent nod, as these two men parted amidst +the sylvan peace of English meadow on that summer morning. They belonged +to two different stations in life almost as far apart as two social +stations could be, even in a republic. They were not, in any sense of +the word, friends; they were merely partners, intensely awake, as +partners usually are, to each other's shortcomings. + +The Vicomte d'Audierne probably thought no more of Signor Bruno from the +moment that he raised his hat and turned. A few moments later his +thoughts were evidently far away. + +"The son of Vellacott," he muttered, as he took a cigarette from a neat +silver case. "How strange! And yet I am sorry. He might have done +something in the world. That article was clever--very clever--curse it! +He cannot yet be thirty. But one would expect something from the son of +a man like Vellacott." + +It was not yet nine o'clock when the Vicomte entered the dining-room by +the open window. Only Hilda was there, and she was busy with the old +leather post-bag. Among the letters there were several newspapers, and +the Vicomte d'Audierne's expression underwent a slight change on +perceiving them. His thin, mobile lips were closely pressed, and his +chin--a very short one--was thrust forward. Behind the gentle spectacles +his eyes assumed for a moment that singular blinking look which cannot +be described in English, for it seemed to change their colour. In his +country it would have been called _glauque_. + +"Ah, Hilda!" he said, approaching slowly, "do I see newspapers? I love a +newspaper!" + +She handed him the _Times_ enveloped in a yellow wrapper, upon which was +printed her brother's name and address. + +"Ah," he said lightly, "the _Times_--estimable, but just a trifle +opaque. Is that all?" + +His eyes were fixed upon two packets she held in her hand. + +"These are Mr. Bodery's," she replied, looking at him with some +concentration. + +"And what newspaper does Mr. Bodery read?" asked the Frenchman, holding +out his hand. + +She hesitated for a moment. His position with regard to her was +singular, his ascendency over her had never been tried. It was an +unknown quantity; but the Vicomte d'Audierne knew his own power. + +"Let me look, little girl," he said quietly in French. + +She handed him the newspapers, still watching his face. + +"The _Beacon_," he muttered, reading aloud from the ornamented wrapper, +"a weekly journal." + +He threw the papers down and returned to the _Times_, which he unfolded. + +"Tell me, Hilda," he said, "is Mr. Bodery connected with this weekly +journal, the _Beacon?_" + +Her back was turned towards him. She was hanging up the key of the +post-bag on a nail beside the fireplace. + +"Yes," she replied, without looking round. + +"Is he the editor?" + +"Yes." + +The Vicomte d'Audierne turned the _Times_ carelessly. + +"Ah!" he muttered, "the phylloxera has appeared again." + +For some time he appeared to be absorbed in this piece of news, then he +spoke again. + +"I knew something of a man who writes for that newspaper--the _Beacon_. +I knew his father very well." + +"Yes." + +The Vicomte glanced at her. + +"Christian Vellacott," he said. + +"We know him also," she answered, moving towards the bell. He made a +step forward as if about to offer to ring the bell for her, but she was +too quick. + +When the butler entered the room, Hilda reminded him of some small +omission in setting out the breakfast-table. The item required was in +the room, and the man set it upon the table with some decision and a +slightly aggrieved cast of countenance. + +The Vicomte d'Audierne raised his eyes, and then he looked very grave. +He was a singular man in many ways, but those who worked with him were +aware of one peculiarity which by its prominence cast others into the +shade. He possessed a very useful gift rarely given to men--the gift of +intuition. It was dangerous to _think_ when the eyes of the Vicomte +d'Audierne were upon one's face. He had a knack of knowing one's +thoughts before they were even formulated. He looked grave--almost +distressed--on this occasion, because he knew something of which Hilda +herself was ignorant. He knew that she was engaged to be married to one +man while she loved another. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + + +AN EMPTY NEST + + +In the middle of breakfast a card was handed to Sidney Carew. He glanced +at it, nodded his head as a signal to the servant that he need not wait, +and slipped the card into his pocket. Mr. Bodery and the Vicomte +d'Audierne were watching him. + +Presently he rose from the table and left the room. Mrs. Carew became +suddenly lively, and the meal went on unconcernedly. It was not long +before Sidney came back. + +"Do you want," he said to his mother, "some tickets for a concert at +Brayport on the 4th of next month?" + +"What sort of a concert?" + +Sidney consulted the tickets. + +"In aid," he read, "of an orphanage--the Police Orphanage." + +"We always take six tickets," put in Miss Molly, and her mother began to +seek her pocket. + +"Mr. Bodery," said Sidney, at this moment, "you have nothing to eat. Let +me cut you some ham." + +He moved towards the sideboard, but Mr. Bodery rose from his seat. + +"I prefer to carve it myself," he replied, proceeding to do so. + +Sidney held the plate. They were quite close together, and Hilda was +talking persistently and gaily to the Vicomte d'Audierne. + +"The London police are here already," whispered Sidney; "shall I say +anything about Vellacott?" + +"No," replied Mr. Bodery, after a moment's reflection. + +"I am going to ride over to Porton Abbey with them now." + +"Right," replied the editor, returning to the table with his plate. + +Sidney left the room again, and the Vicomte d'Audierne detected the +quick, anxious glance directed by Hilda at his retreating form. A few +minutes later young Carew rode away from the house in company with two +men, while a fourth horseman followed closely. + +He who rode on Sidney's left hand was a tall, grizzled man, with the +bearing of a soldier, while his second companion was fair and gentle in +manner. The soldier was Captain Pharland, District Inspector of Police; +the civilian was the keenest detective in London. + +"Of course," said this man, who sat his hired horse with perfect +confidence. "Of course we are too late, I know that." + +He spoke softly and somewhat slowly; his manner was essentially that of +a man accustomed to the entire attention of his hearers. + +"The old Italian," he continued, "who went under the name of Signor +Bruno, disappeared this morning. It is just possible that he will +succeed in getting out of the country. It all depends upon who he is." + +"Who do you suppose he is?" asked Captain Pharland. He was an upright +old British soldier, and felt ill at ease in the society of his +celebrated _confrère_. + +"I don't know," was the frank reply; "you see this is not a criminal +affair, it is entirely political; it is hardly in my line of country." + +They rode on in silence for a space of time, during which Captain +Pharland lighted a cigar and offered one to his companions. Sidney +accepted, but the gentleman from London refused quietly, and without +explanation. It was he who spoke first. + +"Mr. Carew," he said, "can you tell me when this monastery was first +instituted at Porton Abbey?" + +"Last autumn." + +The thin flaxen eyebrows went up very high, until they were lost to +sight beneath the hat brim. + +"Did they--ah--deal with the local tradesmen?" + +"No," replied Sidney, "I think not. They received all their stores by +train from London." + +"And you have never seen any of the monks?" + +"No, never." + +The fair-haired gentleman gave a little upward jerk of the head and +smiled quietly for his own satisfaction. + +He did not speak again until the cavalcade reached Porton Abbey. The old +place looked very peaceful in the morning light, standing grimly in the +midst of that soft lush grass which only grows over old habitations. + +One side of the long, low building was in good repair, while the other +half had been allowed to crumble away. The narrow Norman windows had +been framed with unpainted wood and cheap glass. The broad doorway had +been partly filled in with unseasoned deal, and an inexpensive door had +been fitted up. + +The bell-knob was of brass, new and glaring in the morning sun. The +gentleman from London, having alighted, took gently hold of this and +rang. A faint tinkle rewarded him. It was the peculiar sound of a bell +ringing in an empty house. After a moment's pause he wrenched the bell +nearly out of its socket, and a long peal was the result. At last this +ceased, and there was no sound in the house. The fair man looked back +over his shoulder at Captain Pharland. + +"Gone!" he said tersely. + +Then he took from his breast pocket a little bar in the shape of a +lever. He introduced the bent end of this between the door and the post, +just above the keyhole, and gave a sharp jerk. There was a short crack +like that made by the snapping of cast iron, and the door flew open. + +Without a moment's hesitation the man went in, followed closely by +Sidney and Captain Pharland. + +The birds had flown. As mysteriously as they had come, the devotees had +vanished. Bare walls met the eyes of the searchers. Porton Abbey stood +empty again after its brief return to life and warmth, and indeed it +scarcely looked habitable. The few personal effects of the simple monks +had been removed; the walls and stone floors were rigidly clean; the +small chapel showed signs of recent repair. There was an altar-cloth, a +crucifix, and two brass candlesticks. + +The gentleman from London noted these items with a cynical smile. He had +instinctively removed his hat; it is just possible that there was +another side to this man's life--a side wherein he dealt with men who +were not openly villains. He may have been a churchwarden at home. + +"Clever beggars!" he ejaculated, "they were ready for every emergency." + +Captain Pharland pointed to the altar with his heavy riding-whip. + +"Then," he said, "you think this all humbug?" + +"I do. They were no more monks than we are." + +The search did not last much longer. Only a few rooms had been +inhabited, and there was absolutely nothing left--no shred of evidence, +no clue whatever. + +"Yes," said the fair-haired man, when they had finished their +inspection, "these were exceptional men; they knew their business." + +As they left the house he paused, and closed the door again, remaining +inside. + +"You see," he said, "there is not even a bolt on the door. They knew +better than to depend on bolts and bars. They knew a trick worth two of +that." + +At the gate they met a small, inoffensive man, with a brown beard and a +walking-stick. There was nothing else to say about him; without the +beard and the walking-stick there would have been nothing left to know +him by. + +"That is my assistant," announced the London detective quietly. "He has +been down to the cliff." + +The two men stepped aside together, and consulted in an undertone for +some time. Then the last speaker returned to Captain Pharland and +Sidney, who were standing together. + +"That newspaper," he said, "the _Beacon_, is word for word right. My +assistant has been to the spot. The arms and ammunition have undoubtedly +been shipped from this place. The cases of cartridges mentioned by the +man who wrote the article as having been seen, in a dream, half-way down +the cliff, are actually there; my assistant has seen them." + +Captain Pharland scratched his honest cavalry head. He was beginning to +regret that he had accepted the post of district inspector of the +police. Sidney Carew puffed at his pipe in silence. + +"Of course," said the detective, "the newspaper man got all this +information through the treachery of one of the party. I should like to +get hold of that traitor. He would be a useful man to know." + +In this the astute gentleman from London betrayed his extremely limited +knowledge of the Society of Jesus. There are no traitors in that vast +corporation. + +Sidney and Captain Pharland rode home together, leaving the two +detectives to find their way to Brayport Station. + +They rode in silence, for the Captain was puzzled, and his companion was +intensely anxious. + +Sidney Carew was beginning to realise that the events of the last three +days had a graver import than they at first promised to conceal. The now +celebrated article in the _Beacon_ opened his eyes, and he knew that the +writer of it must have paid very dearly for his daring. It seemed +extremely probable that the head and hands which had conceived and +carried out this singular feat were both still for ever. Vellacott's own +written tribute to the vast powers of the Jesuits, and their immovable +habit of forcing a way through all obstacles to the end in view, was +scarcely reassuring to his friends. + +Sidney knew and recognised the usual fertility of resource possessed by +his friend; but against him were pitted men of greater gifts, of less +scruple, and of infinitely superior training in the crooked ways of +humanity. That he should have been so long without vouchsafing word or +sign was almost proof positive that his absence was involuntary; and men +capable of placing fire-arms into the hands of a maddened mob were not +likely to hesitate in sacrificing a single life that chanced to stand in +their path. + +As the young fellow rode along, immersed in meditation, he heard the +sound of carriage-wheels, and, looking up, recognised his own grey horse +and dog-cart. Mr. Bodery was driving, and driving hard. On seeing Sidney +he pulled up, somewhat recklessly, in a manner which suggested that he +had not always been a stout, middle-aged Londoner. + +"Been telegraphed for," he shouted, "by the people at the office. +Government is taking it up. Just time to catch the train." + +And the editor of the _Beacon_ disappeared in a cloud of dust. + +The Vicomte d'Audierne was thus left in full possession of the field. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + + +FOUL PLAY + + +When Christian Vellacott passed out of the drawing-room window in answer +to what he naturally supposed to be a signal-whistle from Hilda or +Sidney, he turned down the narrow, winding pathway that led to the moat. +The extreme darkness, contrasting suddenly with the warm light of the +room he had just left, caused him to walk slowly with outstretched +hands. Floating cobwebs broke across his face, and frequently he stopped +to brush the clinging fibre away. The intense darkness was somewhat +relieved when he reached the edge of the moat, and the clear sky was +overhead instead of interlocked branches. He could just discern that +Hilda was not at her usual seat upon the rustic bench farther towards +the end of the moat, and he stopped short, with a sudden misgiving, at +the spot where the path met, at right angles, the broader stone walk +extending the full length of the water. + +He was on the point of whistling softly the familiar refrain, when there +was a rustle in the bushes behind him. A rush, a sudden shock, and a +pair of muscular hands were closed round his throat, dragging him +backwards. But Christian stood like a rock. Quick as thought he seized +the two wrists, which were small and flat, and wrenched them apart. +Then, stepping back with one foot in order to obtain surer leverage, he +lifted his assailant from the ground, swung him round, and literally let +him fly into the moat--with a devout hope that it might be Signor Bruno. +The man hurtled through the darkness, without a cry or sound, and fell +face foremost into the water, five yards from the edge, throwing into +the air a shower of spray. + +Christian Vellacott was one of those men whose litheness is greater than +their actual muscular force; but a lithe man possesses greater powers of +endurance than a powerful fellow whose muscles are more highly +developed. The exertion of lifting his assailant and swinging him away +into the darkness was great, although the man's weight was nothing very +formidable, and Christian staggered back a few paces without, however, +actually losing his balance. At this moment two men sprang upon him from +behind and dragged him to the ground. He felt at once that this was a +very different matter. Either of these two could have overpowered him +singly. Their thick arms encompassed him like the coils of a snake, and +there was about their heavy woollen clothing a faint odour of salt +water. He knew that they were sailors. Recognising that it was of no +avail, he still fought on, as Englishmen do. One of the men had wound a +large woollen scarf round his mouth, the other was slowly but very +surely succeeding in pinioning his arms. Then a third assailant came, +and Christian knew by the wet hand (for he used one arm only) that it +was the smallest of the three, who had suffered for his temerity. + +"Quick, quick!" this man whispered in French. With his uninjured hand he +twisted the scarf tighter and tighter until Christian gasped for breath. + +Still the Englishman struggled and writhed upon the ground, while the +hard breathing of the two sailors testified that it was no mean +resistance. Suddenly the one-armed man loosened the scarf, but before +Christian could recover his breath a handkerchief was pressed over his +lips, and a sweet, pungent odour filled his nostrils. + +"Three to one," he gasped, and quite suddenly his head fell forward, +while his clutch relaxed. + +"He is a brave man," said the dripping leader of the attack, as he stood +upright and touched his damaged shoulder gently and tentatively. "Now +quick to the carriage with him. You have not managed this well, my +friends, not at all well." + +The speaker raised his cold hand to his forehead, which was wet, less +perhaps from past exertion than from the agony he was enduring. + +"But, monsieur," grumbled one of the sailors in humble self-defence, "he +is made of steel!" + + * * * * * + +The pale light of a grey dawn was stealing slowly up into the riven sky, +lighting up the clouds which were flying eastward on the shoulder of a +boisterous wind. The heavy grey sea, heaving, surging, and hissing, +threw itself upwards into broken spray, which flew to leeward at a sharp +angle, blown from the summit of the wave like froth from an over-filled +tankard. After a night of squally restlessness, accompanied by a driving +rain that tasted brackish, things had settled down with the dawn into a +steady, roaring gale of wind. In the growing light sea-gulls rose +triumphantly with smooth breasts bravely facing the wind. + +In the midst of this a dripping vessel laboured sorely. The green water +rushed from side to side over her slippery, filthy deck as she rolled, +and carried with it a tangled mass of ropes, a wooden bucket, a capstan +bar, and--ominous sign--a soaking, limp fur cap. The huge boom, reaching +nearly the whole length of the little vessel, swung wildly from side to +side as the yawl dipped her bulwarks to the receding wave. It was +certain death for a man to attempt to stand upright upon the sopping +deck, for the huge spar swung shoulder high. The steersman, crouching +low by his strong tiller, was doing his best to avoid a clean sweep, but +only a small jib and the mizzen were standing with straining clews and +gleaming seams. Crouching beneath the weather bulwarks, with their feet +wedged against the low combing of the hatch, three men were vainly +endeavouring to secure the boom, and to disentangle the clogged ropes. +Two were huge fellows with tawny, washed-out beards innocent of brush or +comb, their faces were half hidden by rough sou'-westers, and they were +enveloped from head to foot in oilskins from which the water ran in +little rills. The third was Christian Vellacott, who looked very wet +indeed. The water was dripping from his cuffs and running down his face. +His black dress-clothes were clinging to him with a soppy hindrance, +while the feet firmly planted against the combing of the hatch were +encased in immaculate patent-leather shoes, and the salt water ran off +silk socks. It would have been very funny if it were not that Fortune +invariably mingles her strokes of humour most heedlessly with sadder +things. Christian Vellacott was apparently unconscious of the humour of +the situation. He was working patiently and steadily, as men must needs +work when fighting Nature, and his half-forgotten sea-craft was already +coming back. Beneath his steady hands something akin to order was slowly +being achieved; he was coiling and disentangling the treacherous rope, +of which the breaking had cast the boom adrift, laying low a good +seaman. + +Farther forward upon the hatch lay the limp body of a very big man. His +matted head was bare, and the dead, brown face, turned upward to its +Maker, jerked from side to side as the vessel heaved. The stalwart legs +were encased in greasy sea-boots, deeply wrinkled, and the coils of a +huge scarf of faded purple lay upon his broad breast, where they had +been dragged down by a hasty hand in order to see more clearly the still +features. + +At the dead man's side knelt upon the deck a small, spare figure clad in +black and wearing his left arm in a sling. With his right hand he held a +crucifix to the blue lips that would never breathe a prayer to the +Virgin again. The small mouth and refined features of the praying man +were strangely out of keeping with his tempestuous surroundings. +Unmindful, however, of wind and waves alike, he knelt and prayed +audibly. Each lurch of the vessel threw him forward, so that, in order +to save himself from falling, he was obliged to press heavily upon the +dead man's throat and breast; but this he heeded not. His girlish blue +eyes were half closed in an ecstasy of religious fervour, and the pale, +narrow face wore a light that was not reflected from sea or sky. This +was the man who had unhesitatingly attacked Vellacott, had dared to pit +his small strength, more of nerve than of muscle, against the young +Englishman's hardened sinews. Violence in itself was most abhorrent to +him; it had no part in his nature; and consequently, by the strange +tenets of Ignatius Loyola's disciples, he was condemned to a course of +it. Any objectionable duty, such as this removal of Vellacott, was +immediately assigned to him in the futile endeavour of subjecting the +soul to the brain. A true Jesuit must have no nature of his own and no +individuality. He is simply a machine, with likes and dislikes, +conscience and soul subject to the will of his superior, whose mind is +also under the same arbitrary control; and so on to the top. If at the +head there were God, it would be well; but man is there, and consequently +the whole society is a gigantic mistake. To be a sincere member of it, a +man must be a half-witted fool, a religious fanatic, or a rogue for whom +no duplicity is too scurrilous, even though it amount to blasphemy. + +René Drucquer, the man kneeling on the slimy deck, was as nearly a +religious fanatic as his soft, sweet nature would allow. With greater +bodily strength and attendant greater passions, he would have been a +simple monomaniac. In him the passion for self-devotion was singularly +strong, and contact with men had cooled it down into an unusually deep +sense of duty. + +Personally courageous, his bravery was of a high order, if the spirit of +self-devotion called it into existence. In this his courage was more +akin to that of women than of men. If duty drove him he would go where +the devil drags most people, and René Drucquer was not by any means the +first man or woman whose life has been wrecked, wasted, and utterly +misled by a blind devotion to duty. + +When throwing himself upon Christian Vellacott, no thought of possible +danger to his own person had restrained or caused him a moment's +hesitation. His blind faith in the righteousness of his cause was, +however, on the wane. This disciple of St. Ignatius might have lived a +true and manly life three hundred years earlier when his master trod the +earth, but the march of intellect had trodden down the "Constitutions" +years before René Drucquer came to study them. An ignoramus and a zealot +who lived nearly four centuries ago can be no guide or help to men of +the present day, and this young priest was overshadowed by the saddest +doubt that comes to men on earth--the doubt of his own Creed. + +While Christian Vellacott was assisting the sailors he glanced +occasionally towards the kneeling priest, and on the narrow, intelligent +face he read a truth that never was forgotten. He saw that René Drucquer +was unconscious of his surroundings--unmindful of the fact that he was +on board a disabled vessel at the mercy of the wild wind. His whole +being was absorbed in prayer: this priest remembered only that the soul +of the great, rough, disfigured man was winging its serene way to the +land where no clouds are. Christian was not an impressionable +man--journalism had killed all that--nor, it is to be feared, did he +devote much thought to religion; but he recognised goodness when he met +it. The young journalist's interest was aroused, and in that trifling +incident lay the salvation of the priest. From that small beginning came +the gleam of light that was to illuminate gloriously the darkness of a +mistaken life. + +Chance had capriciously ruled that the hand that had dislocated the +Abbé's arm should set it again, and the dead sailor lying on the sticky, +tarred hatch-cover had helped. The "patron" of the boat, for he it was +whose head had been smashed by the spar, had held the priest's +trembling, swollen shoulder while Christian's steady hands gave the +painful jerk required to slip the joint back into its socket. The great, +coarse lips which had trembled a little, with a true Frenchman's +sympathy for suffering, were now blue and drawn; the stout, tender hands +were nerveless. + +The priest prayed on, while the men worked near at hand seeking to +restore order, and to repair the damages made by sea and wind. They had +got over their sullen, native shyness on finding that Christian could +speak French like the Abbé and was almost as good a sailor as +themselves. One offered him a rough blue jersey, while another placed a +gold-embroidered Sunday waistcoat at his disposal, with a visible +struggle between kindness of heart and economy. The first was accepted, +but the waistcoat was given back with a kind laugh and an assurance that +the jersey was sufficient. + +The Englishman knew too well with whom he was dealing to harbour any +ill-feeling against the ignorant fishermen or even towards the Abbé +Drucquer for the rough treatment he had received. The former were poor, +and money never was beaten by a scruple in open combat yet. The latter, +he rightly presumed, was only obeying a mandate he dared not dispute. +The authority was to him Divine, the command came from one whom he had +sworn to look up to and obey as the earthly representative of his +Master. + +At length the deck was cleared, and order reigned on board, though the +mainsail could not be set until the weather moderated. + +Then Hoel Grall came up to the young Englishman and said: + +"Monsieur, let us carry the 'patron' down below. It is not right for the +dead to lie there in this wind and storm." + +"I am willing," answered Christian, looking towards the spot where the +dead man lay. + +"Then, perhaps--Monsieur," began the Breton with some hesitation. + +"Yes," answered Christian encouragingly, "what is it?" + +"Perhaps Monsieur will speak to--to the Abbé. It is that we do not like +to disturb him in prayer." + +The young Englishman bowed his head with characteristic decision. + +"I will do so," he said gravely. Then he crawled across the deck and +touched René Drucquer's shoulder. The priest did not look up until the +touch had been repeated. + +"Yes," he murmured; "yes. What do you want?" + +Christian, guessed at the words, for in the tumult of the gale he could +not hear them. + +"Is it not better to take him below?" he shouted. + +Then for the first time did the priest appear to remember that this was +not one of the sailors. + +"I beg your pardon," he said, rising from his knees. "You are right; it +is better. But I am afraid the men will not assist me. They are afraid +of touching the dead when they are afloat." + +"I will help you," said Christian simply, "and that man also, I think, +because he proposed it." + +With a motion of the head he indicated Hoel Grall, upon whom the command +of the little vessel had now devolved. The man was better educated than +his companions, and spoke French fluently, but in the Breton character +superstition is so deeply rooted that generations of education will +scarcely eradicate it. + +The priest looked into the Englishman's face with a gentle wonder in his +eyes, which were shadowy with the fervour of his recent devotions. The +two men were crouching low upon the deck, grasping the black rail with +their left hands; the water washed backwards and forwards around their +feet. + +It was the first time they had seen each other face to face in open +daylight, and their eyes met quietly and searchingly as they swayed from +side to side with the heavy lurching of the ship. The Englishman spoke +first. + +"You must leave it to us," he said calmly. "You could do nothing in this +heavy sea with your one arm!" + +The gentle blue eyes were again filled with wonder, and presently the +priest's intellectual face relaxed into a shadowy smile, which did not +affect his thin red lips. + +"You are very good," he murmured simply. + +Christian did not hear this remark. He had turned away to call Grall +towards him, and was about to move towards the body lying on the hatch, +when the priest called him back. + +"Monsieur," he said. + +"Yes." + +"Tell me," continued René Drucquer quickly, as if in doubt, "are you +Christian Vellacott?" + +"Of course!" + +The priest looked relieved, and at the same time he appeared to be +making an effort to restrain himself, as if he had been betrayed into a +greater show of feeling than was desirable. When he at length spoke in +reply to the Englishman's obvious desire for some explanation of the +strange question, his voice was singularly cold, and modulated in such a +manner as to deprive it of any expression, while his eyes were fixed on +the deck. + +"You are not such as I expected," he said. + +Christian looked down at him with straightforward keenness, and he saw +the priest's eyelids move uneasily beneath his gaze. Mixing with many +men as he had done, he had acquired a certain mental sureness of touch, +like that of an artist with his brush when he has handled many subjects +and many effects. He divined that René Drucquer had been led to expect a +violent, head strong man, and he could not restrain a smile as he turned +away. Before going, however, he said: + +"At present it is a matter of saving the ship, and our lives. My own +affairs can wait, but when this gale is over you may rest assured they +shall have my attention." + + + + +CHAPTER XX + + +WINGED + + +Beyond this one allusion to their respective positions, Christian was +silent regarding his captivity. After the gale subsided the weather took +a turn for the better, and clear skies by day and night rendered +navigation an easy matter. + +With characteristic daring the young Englishman had decided to offer no +resistance and to seize no opportunities of escape until the termination +of the voyage. The scheme half-formed within his mind was to see the +voyage through, and effect his escape soon after landing in France. It +was not without a certain adventurous fascination, and in the meantime +there was much to interest him in his surroundings. If this young Abbé +was a typical member of the Society of Jesus, he was worth studying. If +this simplicity was an acquired cloak to deeper thought, it was worth +penetrating, and if the man's entire individuality had been submerged in +the mysterious system followed in the College of Jesuits, it was no +waste of time to seek for the real man beneath the cultivated suavity +that hid all feeling. + +The more the two young men saw of each other the closer grew their +intimacy, and with growing intimacy the domination of the stronger +individuality was more marked in its influence. + +To the frail and nervous priest this young Englishman was a new +experience; his vitality and calm, straightforward manner of speech were +such as the Abbé had never met with before. Such men and better men +there were and are in the Society of Jesus, otherwise the power of the +great Order would not be what it is; but René Drucquer had never come in +contact with them. According to the wonderful code of laws laid down by +its great founder (who, in other circumstances, might have prepared the +world for the coming of such a man as Napoleon the First), the education +of the young is entrusted to such brethren as are of slower parts; and +from these honest, but by no means intelligent, men the young Abbé had +learnt his views upon mankind in general. The creed they taught without +understanding it themselves was that no man must give way to natural +impulses; that he must restrain and quell and quench himself into a +machine, without individuality or impulse, without likes or dislikes; +that he must persistently perform such duties as are abhorrent to him, +eat such food as nauseates him, and submit to the dictates of such men +as hate him. And these, forsooth, are the teachings of one who, in his +zealous shortsightedness, claims to have received his inspiration direct +from the lips of the Great Teacher. + +René Drucquer found himself in the intimate society of a man who said +what he thought, acted as he conceived best, and held himself +responsible, for word or deed, to none on earth. It was his first +mission after a long and rigorous training. This was the first enemy of +the Holy Church against whom he had been sent to fight, armed with the +immeasurable power of the greatest brotherhood the world has ever known, +protected by the shadow of its blessing; and there was creeping into the +young priest's heart a vague and terrible suspicion that there might be +two sides to the question. All the careful years of training, all the +invisible meshes of the vast net that had been gathering its folds round +him since he had first donned the dress of a Probationer of the College +of Jesuits, were powerless to restrain the flight of a pure and +guileless heart to the height of truth. Despite the countless one-sided +and ingenious arguments instilled into his eager young mind in guise of +mental armour against the dangers of the world, René Drucquer found +himself, at the very first contact with the world, unconvinced that he +was fighting upon the righteous side. + +Brest had been left behind in a shimmering blue haze. Ahead lay the grim +Pointe de Raz, with its short, thick-set lighthouse facing the vast +Atlantic. Out to sea, in the fading glory of sunset, lay the long, low +Ile-de-Sein, while here and there black rocks peeped above the water. +The man holding the tiller was a sardine fisher, to whom every rock, +every ripple, of these troubled waters was familiar. Fearlessly he +guided the yawl close round by the high cliff--the westernmost point of +Europe--but with the sunset the wind had dropped and the sails hung +loosely, while the broad bows glided onwards with no sound of parted +water. + +The long Atlantic roll was swinging lazily in, and the yawl rose to it +sleepily, with a long, slow movement. The distant roar of the surf upon +the Finisterre coast rose in the peaceful atmosphere like a lullaby. The +holy calm of sunset, the hush of lowering night, and the presence of the +only man who had ever drawn him with the strange, unaccountable bond +that we call sympathy, moved the heart of the young priest as it had +never been moved before by anything but religious fervour. + +For the first time he spoke of himself. The solitary heart suddenly +broke through the restraining influence of a mistaken education, and +unfolded its sad story of a misread existence. Through no fault of his +own, by no relaxation of supervising care on the part of his teachers, +the Jesuit had run headlong into the very danger which his Superior had +endeavoured to avoid. He had formed a friendship. Fortunately the friend +was a _man_, otherwise René Drucquer were lost indeed. + +"I should think," he said musingly, "that no two lives have ever been so +widely separated as yours and mine, and yet our paths have met!" + +Vellacott took the cigarette from his lips. It was made of a vile +tobacco, called "Petit Caporal," but there was nothing better to be had, +and he was in the habit of making the best of everything. Therefore he +blew into the air a spiral column of thin blue smoke with a certain +sense of enjoyment before replying. He also was looking across the +glassy expanse of water, but his gaze was steady and thoughtful, while +his companion's eyes were dreamy and almost vacant. The light shone full +upon his face, and a physician--or a mother--would have noticed, +perhaps, that there was beneath his eyes a dull shadow, while his lips +were dry and somewhat drawn. + +"Yes," he said at length, with grave sympathy, "we have drifted together +like two logs in a torrent." + +The young priest changed his position, drawing in one leg and clasping +his hands round his knee. The movement caused his long black garment to +fall aside, displaying the dark purple stockings and rough shoes. The +hands clasped round his knee were long and white, with peculiarly flat +wrists. + +"One log," he said vaguely, "was bound for a certain goal, the other was +drifting." + +Vellacott turned slowly and glanced at his companion's face. The smoke +from the bad cigarette drifted past their heads to windward. He was not +sure whether the priest was speaking from a professional point of view, +with reference to heresy and the unknown goal to which all heretics are +drifting, or not. Had René Drucquer been a good Jesuit, he would have +seen his opportunity of saying a word in season. But this estimable +desire found no place in his heart just then. + +"Your life," he continued in a monotone, "is already mapped out--like +the voyage of a ship traced across a chart. Is it not so? I have +imagined it like that." + +Vellacott continued to smoke for some moments in silence. He sat with +his long legs stretched out in front of him, his back against the rail, +and his rough blue jersey wrinkled up so that he could keep one hand in +his pocket. The priest turned to look at him with a sudden fear that his +motives might be misread. Vellacott interpreted his movement thus, for +he spoke at once with a smile on his face. + +"I think it is best," he said, "not to think too much about it. From +what experience I have had, I have come to the humiliating conclusion +that men have very little to do with the formation of their own lives. A +ship-captain may sit down and mark his course across the chart with the +greatest accuracy, the most profound knowledge of wind and current, and +the keenest foresight; but that will have very little effect upon the +actual voyage." + +"But," argued the priest in a low voice, "is it not better to have an +end in view--to have a certain aim, and a method, more or less formed, +of attaining it?" + +"Most men have that," answered Christian, "but do not know that they +have it!" + +"_You_ have?" + +Christian smoked meditatively. A month ago he would have said "Yes" +without a moment's hesitation. + +"And you know it, I think," added the priest slowly. He was perfectly +innocent of any desire to extract details of his companion's life from +unwilling lips, and Christian knew it. He was convinced that, whatever +part René Drucquer had attempted to play in the past, he was sincere at +that moment, and he divined that the young Jesuit was weakly giving way +to a sudden desire to speak to some fellow-being of his own life--to lay +aside the strict reserve demanded by the tenets of the Society to which +he was irrevocably bound. In his superficial way, Christian Vellacott +had studied men as well as letters, and he was not ignorant of the +influence exercised over the human mind by such trifling circumstances +as moonshine upon placid water, distant music, the solemn hush of +eventide, or the subtle odour of a beloved flower. If René Drucquer was +on the point of committing a great mistake, he at least would not urge +him on towards it, so he smoked in silence, looking practical and +unsympathetic. + +The priest laughed a little short, deprecating laugh, in which there was +no shadow of mirth. + +"I have not," he said, rubbing his slim hands together, palm to palm, +slowly, "and--I know it." + +"It will come," suggested the Englishman, after a pause. + +The priest shook his head with a little smile, which was infinitely +sadder than tears. His cold silence was worse than an outburst of grief; +it was like the keen frost that comes before snow, harder to bear than +the snow itself. Presently he moved slightly towards his companion so +that their arms were touching, and in his soft modulated voice, trained +to conceal emotion, he told his story. + +"My friend," he said, intertwining his fingers, which were very +restless, "no man can be the worse for hearing the story of another +man's life. Before you judge of me, listen to what my life has been. I +have never known a friend or relation. I have never had a boy companion. +Since the age of thirteen, when I was placed under the care of the holy +fathers, I have never spoken to a woman. I have been taught that life +was given us to be spent in prayer; to study, to train ourselves, and to +follow in the footsteps of the blessed Saint Ignatius. But how are we +who have only lived half a life, to imitate him, whose youth and +middle-age were passed in one of the most vicious courts of Europe +before he thought of turning to holy things? How are we, who are buried +in an atmosphere of mystic religion, to cope with sin of which we know +nothing, and when we are profoundly ignorant of its evil results? These +things I know now, but I did not suspect them when I was in the college. +There all manliness, and all sense of manly honour, were suppressed and +insidiously forbidden. We were taught to be spies upon each other, to +cringe servilely to our superiors, and to deal treacherously with such +as were beneath us. Hypocrisy--innate, unfathomable hypocrisy--was +instilled into our minds so cunningly that we did not recognise it. +Every movement of the head or hands, every glance of the eyes, and every +word from the lips was to be the outcome--not of our own hearts--but of +a law laid down by the General himself. It simply comes to this: we are +not men at all, but machines carefully planned and fitted together, so +as to render sin almost an impossibility. When tempted to sin we are +held back, not by the fear of God, but by the thought that discovery is +almost certain, and that the wrath of our Superior is withheld by no +scruple of human kindness.... But remember, I knew nothing of this +before I took my vows. To me it was a glorious career. I became an +enthusiast. At last the time came when I was eligible; I offered myself +to the Society, and was accepted. Then followed a period of hard work; I +learned Spanish and Italian, giving myself body and soul to the work. +Even the spies set to watch me day and night, waking and sleeping, +feeding and fasting, could but confess that I was sincere. One day the +Provincial sent for me--my mission had come. I was at last to go forth +into the world to do the work of my Master. Trembling with eagerness, I +went to his room; the Provincial was a young man with a beautiful face, +but it was like the face of the dead. There was no colour, no life, no +soul, no heart in it. He spoke in a low, measured voice that had neither +pity nor love. + +"When that door closed behind me an hour later the scales had fallen +from my eyes. I began to suspect that this great edifice, built not of +stones but of men's hearts, was nothing less than an unrighteous +mockery. With subtle, double-meaning words, the man whom I had been +taught to revere as the authorised representative of Our Lord, unfolded +to me my duties in the future. The work of God, he called it; and to do +this work he placed in my hands the tools of the devil. What I suspected +then, I know now." + +The young Englishman sat and listened with increasing interest. His +cigarette had gone out long before. + +"And," he said presently, in his quiet, reassuring voice, which seemed +to infer that no difficulty in life was quite insurmountable--"And, if +you did not know it then, how have you learnt it now?" + +"From you, my friend," replied the priest earnestly, "from you and from +these rough sailors. They, at least, are men. But you have taught me +this." + +Christian Vellacott made no answer. He knew that what his companion said +was true. Unconsciously, and with no desire to do so, he had opened this +young zealot's eyes to what a man's life may be. The tale was infinitely +sad, but with characteristic promptitude the journalist was already +seeking a remedy without stopping to think over the pathos of this +mistaken career. + +Presently René Drucquer's quick, painful tones broke the silence again, +and he continued his story. + +"He told me," he said, "that in times gone by we had ruled the Roman +Catholic world invisibly from the recesses of kings' cabinets and +queens' boudoirs. That now the power has left us, but that the Order is +as firm as ever, nearly as rich, and quite as intelligent. It lies like +a huge mill, perfect but idle, waiting for the grist that will never +come to be crushed between its ruthless wheels. He told me that the sway +over kings and princes has lapsed with the growth of education, but that +we hold still within our hands a lever of greater power, though the +danger of wielding it is proportionately greater to those who would use +it. This power is the People. Before us lies a course infinitely more +perilous than the sinuous paths trodden by the first followers of St. +Ignatius as they advanced towards power. It lies on the troubled waters; +it leads over the restless, mobile heads of the people." + +Again the priest ceased speaking. There was a strange thrill of +foreboding in his voice, which, however, had never been raised above a +monotone. The two men sat side by side, as still as the dead. They gazed +vacantly into the golden gates of the west, and each in his own way +thought over these things. Assuredly the Angel of Silence hung over that +little vessel then, for no sound from earth or sea or sky came to wake +those two thinkers from their reverie. + +At last the Englishman's full, steady tones broke the hush. + +"This," he said, "has not been learnt in two days. You must have known +it before. If you knew it, why are you what you are? You never have been +a real Jesuit, and you never will be." + +"I swore to the Mother of God--I am bound...." + +"By an oath forced upon you!" + +"No! By an oath I myself begged to take!" + +This was the bitterest drop in the priest's cup. Everything had been +done of his own free will--at his own desire. During eleven years a +network of perfidy had been cunningly woven around him, mesh after mesh, +day after day. As he grew older, so grew in strength the warp of the +net. Thus, in the fulness of time, everything culminated to the one +great end in view. Nothing was demanded (for that is an essential rule), +everything must be offered freely, to be met by an apparently hesitating +acceptance. Constant dropping wears the hardest stone in time. + +"But," said Vellacott, "you can surely represent to your Provincial that +you are not fitted for the work put before you." + +"My friend," interrupted the priest, "we can represent nothing. We are +supposed to have no natural inclinations. All work should be welcome, +none too difficult, no task irksome." + +"You can volunteer for certain services," said Vellacott. + +The priest shrugged his shoulders. + +"What services?" he asked. + +The Englishman looked at him for some seconds in the fading light. In +his quick way he had already found a remedy, and he was wondering +whether he should propose it or hold his peace. He was not afraid of +incurring responsibility. The young Jesuit had appealed to him, and +there was a way out of the difficulty. Christian felt that things could +not be made worse than they were. In a moment his mind was made up. + +"As you know," he said, "the Society has few friends and a multitude of +enemies. I am afraid I am an enemy; but there is one redeeming point in +the Jesuit record which we are all bound to recognise, and I recognise +it unhesitatingly. You have done more to convert the heathen than the +rest of the Christian Church put together. Whatever the motive has been, +whatever the results have proved to be, the missionary work is +unrivalled. Why do you not offer yourself for that?" + +As he asked the question Christian glanced at his companion's face. He +saw the sad eyes light up suddenly with a glow that was not of this dull +earth at all; he saw the thin, pure face suddenly acquire a great and +wondrous peace. The young priest rose to his feet, and, crossing the +deck, he stood holding with one hand to the tarred rigging, his back +turned towards the Englishman, looking over the still waters. + +Presently he returned, and laying his thin hand upon Christian's +shoulder, he said, "My friend, you have saved me. In the first shock of +my disillusion I never thought of this. I think--I think there is work +for me yet." + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + + +TRUE TO HIS CLOTH + + +With the morning tide, the _Deux Frères_ entered Audierne harbour. +The rough sailors crossed themselves as they looked towards the old +wooden cross upon the headland, facing the great Atlantic. They thought +of the dead "patron" in the little cabin below, and the joyous young +wife, whose snowy head-dress they could almost distinguish upon the pier +among the waiters there. + +Both Christian Vellacott and the Abbé were on deck. They had been there +the whole night. They had lain motionless side by side upon the old +sail. Day vanished, night stole on, and day came again without either +having closed his eyes or opened his lips. + +They now stood near the steersman, and looked upon the land with an +interest which only comes after heavy weather at sea. To the Englishman +this little fishing-port was unknown, and he did not care to ask. The +vessel was now dropping up the river, with anchor swinging, and the +women on the pier were walking inland slowly, keeping pace and waving a +greeting from time to time in answer to a husband's shout. + +"That is she, Monsieur L'Abbé," said Hoel Grall, with a peculiar twitch +of his coarse mouth, as if from pain. "That is she with the little +child!" + +René Drucquer bowed his head, saying nothing. The _Deux Frères_ +slowly edged alongside the old quay in her usual berth above the sardine +boats. A board was thrown across from the rail to the quay, and the +priest stepped ashore alone. He went towards the smiling young wife +without any hesitation; she stood there surrounded by the wives of the +sailors on board the _Deux Frères_, with her snowy coiffe and +spotless apron, holding her golden-haired child by the hand. All the +women curtsied as the priest approached, for in these western provinces +the Church is still respected. + +"My daughter," said the Abbé, "I have bad news for you." + +She smiled still, misunderstanding his calmness. + +"Ah, mon père," she said, "it is the season of the great winds now. What +a long voyage it has been! And you say it is a bad one. My husband is no +doubt in despair, but another voyage is sure to be better; is it not so? +I have not seen Loic upon the deck, but then my sight is not good. I am +not from Audierne, mon père, but from inland where we cannot see so +far." + +The priest changed colour; no smile came into his face in response to +hers. He stepped nearer, and placed his hand upon her comely arm. + +"It has been a very bad voyage for your poor husband," he said. "The +Holy Virgin give you comfort." + +Slowly the colour vanished from the woman's round checks. Her soft, +short-sighted eyes filled with a terrible, hopeless dismay as she stared +at the young priest's bowed head. The women round now began to +understand, and they crossed themselves with a very human prayer of +thankfulness that their husbands and brothers had been spared. + +"Loic is dead?" she said, in a rasping voice. For some moments she stood +motionless, then, in obedience to some strange and unaccountable +instinct, she began turning up the sleeves of her rough brown dress, as +if she were going to begin some kind of manual work. + +"The Holy Virgin comfort you, my daughter; and you, my little one," said +the priest, as he stooped to lay his hand upon the golden head of the +child. + +"Loic is dead! Loic is dead!" spread from mouth to mouth. + +"That comes from having ought to do with the priests," muttered the +customs officer, beneath his heavy moustache. He was an old soldier, who +read the newspapers, and spoke in a loud voice on Sunday evenings in the +Café de l'Ouest. + +The Abbé heard the remark, and looked at the man, but said nothing. He +remembered that no Jesuit must defend himself. + +The girl-widow stepped on board the untidy vessel in a mechanical, +dreamy way. She dragged the little trotting child almost roughly after +her. Christian Vellacott stood at the low cabin door. He was in the +dress of a Probationer of the Society of Jesus, which he had assumed at +the request, hesitatingly made, of René Drucquer, and for the very +practical reason that he had nothing else to wear except a torn +dress-coat and Hoel Grall's Sunday garments. + +"Bless me, mon père," lisped the little one, stopping in front of him. + +"Much good will a blessing of mine do you, little one," he muttered in +English. Nevertheless, he lifted the child up and kissed her rosy cheek. +He kept her by his side, letting the mother go to her dead husband +alone. + +When the woman came from the cabin half-an-hour later, hard-faced, and +with dry, stony eyes, she found the child sitting on Christian's knee, +prattling away in broken French. Tears came to her aching eyes at the +sight of the happy, fatherless child; the hard Breton heart was touched +at last. + +The Abbé's instructions were to keep his prisoner confined under lock +and key in the cabin until nightfall, when he was to be removed inland +in a carriage under the surveillance of two lay-brethren. Christian, +however, never for a moment doubted his ability to escape when he wished +to do so, and acting upon this conviction he volunteered a promise not +to attempt evasion. Dressed as he was, in the garments of a probationer, +there was no necessity of awaiting nightfall, as there was nothing +unusual about him to attract attention. Accordingly the departure from +the _Deux Frères_ was fixed for midday. In the meantime the young +Englishman found himself the object of unremitting attention on the part +of two smooth-faced individuals who looked like domestic servants. These +two men had come on board at the same moment that the Abbé stepped +ashore, and Christian noticed that no word of greeting or recognition +passed between them and René Drucquer. This was to him a further proof +of the minuteness of organisation which has characterised the Order +since Ignatius Loyola wrote down his wonderful "Constitutions," in which +no trifle was too small to be unworthy of attention, no petty dramatic +effect devoid of significance. Each man appeared to have received his +instructions separately, and with no regard to those of his companion. + +In the meantime, however, the journalist had not been wasting his time. +Although he still looked upon the whole affair as a very good farce, he +had not forgotten the fact that his absence must necessarily have been +causing endless anxiety in England. During the long night of wakefulness +he had turned over in his mind every possible event at St. Mary Western +since his sudden disappearance. Again and again he found himself +wondering how they would all take it, and his conclusions were +remarkably near to the truth. He guessed that Mr. Bodery would, sooner +or later, be called in to give his opinion, and he sincerely hoped that +the course taken would be the waiting tactics which had actually been +proposed by the editor of the _Beacon_. + +In this hope he determined to communicate with Sidney Carew, and having +possessed himself of a blank Customs Declaration Form, he proceeded to +write a letter upon the reverse side of it. In this he told his friend +to have no anxiety, and, above all, to institute no manner of search, +because he would return to England as soon as his investigations were +complete. The letter was written in guarded language, because Christian +had arrived at the conclusion that the only means he had of despatching +it was through the hands of René Drucquer. The crew of the _Deux +Frères_ were not now allowed to speak with him. He possessed no +money, and it would have been folly to attempt posting an unstamped +letter addressed to England in a little place like Audierne. + +Accordingly, as they were preparing to leave the vessel (the care of +poor Loic having been handed over to the village curé), Christian boldly +tendered his request. + +"No, my friend, I cannot do it," replied the Abbé promptly. + +"Read it yourself," urged Christian. "No harm can possibly come of it. +My friend will do exactly as I tell him. In fact, it will be to your +benefit that it should go." + +Still the Jesuit shook his head. Suddenly, however, in the midst of an +argument on the part of the Englishman, he gave in and took the letter. + +"Give it to me," he said; "I will risk it." + +Christian watched him place the letter within the breast of his +"soutane," unread. The two lay-brethren were noting every movement. + +Presently the priest removed his broad-brimmed hat and passed through +the little doorway into the dimly lighted cabin where the dead sailor +lay. He left the door ajar. After glancing at the dead man's still face +he fell upon his knees by the side of the low bunk, and remained with +bowed head for some moments. At last he rose to his feet and took the +Englishman's letter from his breast. The envelope was unclosed, and with +smooth, deliberate touch he opened the letter and read it by the light +of the candle at the dead man's head, of which the rays were to +illuminate the wandering soul upon its tortuous way. The priest read +each word slowly and carefully, for his knowledge of English was +limited. Then he stood for some seconds motionless, with arms hanging +straight, staring at the flame of the candle with weary, wondering eyes. +At last he raised his hand and held the flimsy paper in the flame of the +candle till it was all burnt away. The charred remains fluttered to the +ground, and one wavering flake of carbonised paper sank gently upon the +dead man's throat, laid bare by the hand of his frenzied wife. + +"He said that I was not a Jesuit," murmured the priest, as he burnt the +envelope, and across his pale face there flitted an unearthly smile. + +Scarcely had the thin smoke mingled with the incense-laden air when +Christian pushed open the door. The two men looked their last upon the +rigid face dimly illuminated by the light of the wavering candles, and +then turned to leave the ship. + +The carriage was waiting for them on the quay, and Christian noticed +that the two men who had been watching him since his arrival at Audierne +were on the box. René Drucquer and himself were invited to enter the +roomy vehicle, and by the way in which the door shut he divined that it +was locked by a spring. + +At the village post-office the carriage stopped, and, one of the +servants having opened the door, the priest descended and passed into +the little bureau. He said nothing about the letter addressed to Sidney +Carew, but Christian took for granted that it would be posted. Instead +of this, however, the priest wrote a telegram announcing the arrival of +the _Deux Frères_, which he addressed to "Morel et Fils, Merchants, +Quimper." + +"Hoel Grall asked me to despatch this," he said quietly, as he handed +the paper to the old postmaster. + +After this short halt the carriage made its way rapidly inland. Thus +they travelled through the fair Breton country together, these two +strangely contrasting men brought together by a chain of circumstances +of which the links were the merest coincidences. Christian Vellacott +did not appear to chafe against his confinement. He took absolutely no +notice of the two men whose duty it was to watch his every movement. The +spirit of adventure, which is not quite educated out of us Englishmen +yet, was very strong in him, and the rapid movement through an unknown +land to an unknown goal was not without its healthy fascination. He lay +back in the comfortable carriage and sleepily watched the flying +landscape. Withal he noticed by the position of the sun the direction in +which he was being taken, and despite many turns and twists he kept his +bearings fairly well. The carriage had left the high road soon after +crossing the bridge above Audierne, and was now going somewhat heavily +over inferior thoroughfares. + +The sun had set before Vellacott awoke to find that they were still +lumbering on. He had, of course, lost all bearing now, but he soon found +that they had been journeying eastward since leaving the coast. + +A halt was made for refreshment at a small hillside village which +appeared to be mainly inhabited by women, for the men were all sailors. +The accommodation was of the poorest, but bread was procurable, and +eggs, meat being an unknown luxury in the community. + +In the lowering light they journeyed on again, sometimes on the broad +post-road, sometimes through cool and sombre forests. Many times when +Christian spoke kindly, or performed some little act of consideration, +the poor Abbé was on the point of disclosing his own treason. Before his +eyes was the vision of that little cabin. He saw again the dancing flame +of the paper in his hand, throwing its moving light upon the marble +features of that silent witness as the charred fragments fluttered past +the still face to the ground. But as the stone is worn by the dropping +water, so at last is man's better nature overcome by persistent +undermining when the work is carried out by men chosen as possessing "a +mind self-possessed and tranquil, delicate in its perceptions, sure in +its intuitions, and capable of a wide comprehension of various +subjects." What youthful nature could be strong enough to resist the +cunning pressure of influences wielded thus? So René Drucquer carried +the secret in his heart until circumstances rendered it unimportant. + +Man is, after all, only fallible, and those to whom is given the +privilege of accepting or refusing candidates for admission to the great +Society of Jesus had made a fatal error in taking René Drucquer. Never +was a man more unfitted to do his duty in that station of life in which +he was placed. His religious enthusiasm stopped short of fanaticism; his +pliability would not bend so low as duplicity. All this the young +journalist learnt as he penetrated further into the sensitive depths of +his companion's gentle temperament. The priest was of those men to whom +love and brotherly affection are as necessary as the air they breathe. +His wavering instincts were capable of being hardened into convictions; +his natural gifts (and they were many) could be raised into talents; his +life, in fact, could have been made a success by one influence--the love +of a woman--the one influence that was forbidden: the single human +acquirement that must for ever be beyond the priest's reach. This +Christian Vellacott felt in a vague, uncertain way. He did not know very +much about love and its influence upon a man's character, these +questions never having come under his journalistic field of inquiry; but +he had lately begun to wonder whether man's life was given to him to be +influenced by no other thoughts than those in his own brain--whether +there is not in our existence a completing area in the development of +character. + +Looking at the matter from his own personal point of view--from whence +even the best of us look upon most things--he was of the opinion that +love stands in the path of the majority of men. This had been his view +of the matter for many years; probably it was the reflection of his +father's cynically outspoken opinion, and a well-grown idea is hard to +uproot. + +Brought up, as he had been, by a pleasure-seeking and somewhat cynical +man, and passing from his care into the busy and practical journalistic +world, it was only natural that he should have acquired a certain +hardness of judgment which, though useful in the world, is not an +amiable quality. He now felt the presence of a dawning charity towards +the actions of his fellow-men. A month earlier he would have despised +René Drucquer as a weak and incapable man; now there was in his heart +only pity for the young priest. + +Soon after darkness had settled over the country the carriage descended +into a deep and narrow valley through which ran a rapid river of no +great breadth. Here the driver stopped, and the two travellers descended +from the vehicle. The priest exchanged a few words in a low voice with +one of the servants who had leapt down from the box, and then turning to +Vellacott he said in a curt manner-- + +"Follow me, please." + +The Englishman obeyed, and leaving the road they turned along a broad +pathway running at the side of the water. Christian noticed that they +were going upstream. Presently they reached a cottage, and a woman came +from the open doorway at their approach. Without any greeting or word of +welcome she led the way down some wooden steps to the ferry-boat. As she +rowed them across, the journalist took note of everything in his quick, +keen way. The depth of the water, rapidity of current, and even the fact +that the boat woman was not paid for her services. + +"Are we near our destination?" he asked in English when he saw this. + +"We have five minutes more," replied the priest in the same language. + +On landing, they followed another small path for some distance, +down-stream. It was a quiet moss-grown path, with poplar trees on either +side, and appeared to be little used. Suddenly the young priest stopped. +There was the trunk of an elm tree lying on the inside of the path, +evidently cut for the purpose of making a rough seat. + +"Let us sit here a few minutes," said René. + +Christian obeyed. He sat forward and stretched his long legs out. + +"I am aching all over," he said impatiently; "I wonder what it means!" + +The priest ignored the remark entirely. + +"My friend," he said presently, "a few minutes more and my care of you +ceases. This journey will be over. For me it has been very eventful. In +these few days I have learnt more than I did during all the long years +of my education, and what I have learnt will never be forgotten. Without +breathing one word of religion you have taught me to respect yours; +without uttering a single complaint you have made me think with horror +and shame of the part I have played in this affair. I dare ... scarcely +hope that one day you will forgive me!" + +Christian raised his hand slowly to his forehead. The gleam of the +sleek, smooth water flowing past his feet made him giddy. He wondered +vaguely if the strange, dull feeling that was creeping over his senses +was the result of extreme fatigue. + +"You speak as if we were never going to meet again," he said dreamily. + +The priest did not answer for some moments. His slim hands were tightly +clasped upon his knees. + +"It is probable," he said at length, "that such will be the case. If our +friendship is discovered it is certain!" + +"Then our friendship must not be discovered," said the practical +Englishman. + +"But, my friend, that would be deceit--duplicity!" + +"A little duplicity, more or less, cannot matter much," replied +Christian, in a harder voice. + +The priest looked up sharply, half fearing that his own treachery in the +matter of the letter was suspected. But his companion remained silent, +and the darkness prevented the expression of his face from being seen. + +"And," continued the Englishman, after a long pause, "I am to be left +here?" + +There was a peculiar ring of weary indifference in his tone, as if it +mattered little where he was left. The priest noticed it and remembered +it later. + +"I know nothing, my friend. I have but to obey my orders." + +"And close your mind against thought?" + +"I cannot prevent the thoughts from coming into my mind," replied the +priest gently, "but I can keep them prisoners when they have entered." + +He rose suddenly, and led the way along the river bank. Had Christian's +manner been more encouraging he would have told him then and there about +the letter. + +As they passed along the narrow footpath, the dim form of a man rose +from behind the log of wood upon which they had been sitting. It was one +of the lay brethren who had accompanied them from Audierne. Contrary to +René Drucquer's whispered instructions, he had followed them after +quitting the carriage, and had crept up behind the poplars unheard and +unsuspected. He came, however, too late. Unconsciously, Christian had +saved his companion. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + + +GREEK AND GREEK + + +When they had walked about a hundred yards farther on, the footpath was +brought to a sudden termination by a house built across it to the +water's edge. In this lay the explanation of its scanty use and +luxuriant growth of moss. + +It was not a dark night, and without difficulty the priest found the +handle of a bell, of which, however, no sound reached their ears. The +door, cut deep in the stone, was opened after a short delay by a lay +brother who showed no signs of rigid fasting. Again Christian noticed +that no greeting was exchanged, no word of explanation offered or +expected. The lay brother led the way along a dimly lighted corridor, in +which there were doors upon each side at regular intervals. There was a +chill and stony feeling in the atmosphere. + +At the end of the corridor a gleam of light shone through a half-open +door upon the bare stone floor. Into this cell Christian was shown. +Without even noticing whether the priest followed him or not, he entered +the tiny room and threw himself wearily upon the bed. Although it was an +intensely hot night he shivered a little, and as he lay he clasped his +head with either hand. His eyes were dull and lifeless, and the colour +had entirely left his cheeks, though his lips were red and moist. He +took no notice of his surroundings, which, though simple and somewhat +bare, were not devoid of comfort. + +In the meantime, René Drucquer had followed the door-keeper up a broad +flight of stairs to a second corridor which was identical with that +below, except that a room took the place of this small entrance-lobby +and broad door. Thus the windows of this room were immediately above the +river, which rendered them entirely free from overlookers, as the land +on the opposite side was low and devoid of trees. + +The lay brother stopped in front of the door of this apartment, and +allowed the young priest to pass him and knock at the door with his own +hands. The response from within was uttered in such a low tone that if +he had not been listening most attentively René would not have heard it. +He opened the door, which creaked a little on its hinges, and passed +into the room alone. + +In front of him a man dressed in a black soutane was seated at a table +placed before the window. The only lamp in the room, which was long and +narrow, stood on the table before him, so that the light of it was +reflected from his sleek black head disfigured by a tiny tonsure. As +René Drucquer advanced up the room, the occupant raised his head +slightly, but made no attempt to turn round. With a quick, unobtrusive +movement of his large white hand he moved the papers on the table before +him, so that no written matter remained exposed to view. Upon the table +were several books, and on the right-hand side of the plain inkstand +stood a beautifully carved stone crucifix, while upon the left there was +a small mirror no larger than a carte-de-visite. This was placed at a +slight angle upon a tiny wire easel, and by raising his eyes any person +seated at the table could at once see what was passing in the room +behind him--the entire apartment, including the door, being reflected in +the mirror. + +Though seated, the occupant of this peculiarly constructed room was +evidently tall. His shoulders, though narrow, were very square, and in +any other garment than a thin soutane his slightness of build would +scarcely have been noticeable. His head was of singular and remarkable +shape. Very narrow from temple to temple, it was quite level from the +summit of the high forehead to the spot where the tonsure gleamed +whitely, and the length of the skull from front to back was abnormal. +The dullest observer could not have failed to recognise that there was +something extraordinary in such a head, either for good or evil. + +The Abbé Drucquer advanced across the bare stone floor, and took his +stand at the left side of the table, within a yard of his Provincial's +elbow. Before taking any notice of him, the Provincial opened a thick +book bound in dark morocco leather, of which the leaves were of white +unruled paper, interleaved, like a diary, with blotting paper. The pages +were numbered, although there was, apparently, no index attached to the +volume. After a moment's thought, the tall man turned to a certain folio +which was partially covered by a fine handwriting in short paragraphs. +Then for the first time he looked up. + +"Good evening," he said, in full melodious voice. As he raised his face +the light of the lamp fell directly upon it. There was evidently no +desire to conceal any passing expression by the stale old method of a +shaded lamp. The face was worthy of the head. Clean-cut, calm, and +dignified; it was singularly fascinating, not only by reason of its +beauty, which was undeniable, but owing to the calm, almost superhuman +power that lay in the gaze of the velvety eyes. There was no keenness of +expression, no quickness of glance, and no seeking after effect by +mobility of lash or lid. When he raised his eyes, the lower lid was +elevated simultaneously, which peculiarity, concealing the white around +the pupil, imparted an uncomfortable sense of inscrutability. There was +no expression beyond a vague sense of velvety depth, such as is felt +upon gazing for some space of time down a deep well. + +"Good evening," replied René Drucquer, meeting with some hesitation the +slow, kindly glance. + +The Provincial leant forward and took from the tray of the inkstand a +quill pen. With the point of it he followed the lines written in the +book before him. + +"I understand," he said, in a modulated and business-like tone, "that +you have been entirely successful?" + +"I believe so." + +The Provincial turned his head slightly, as if about to raise his eyes +once more to the young priest's face, but after remaining a moment in +the same position with slightly parted lips and the pen poised above the +book, he returned to the written notes. + +"You left," he continued, "on Monday week last. On the Wednesday evening +you ... carried out the instructions given to you. This morning you +arrived at Audierne, and came into the harbour at daybreak. Your part +has been satisfactorily performed. You have brought your prisoner with +all expedition. So--" here the Provincial raised the pen from the book +with a jerk of his wrist and shrugged his shoulders almost +imperceptibly, "so--you have been entirely successful?" + +Although there was a distinct intention of interrogation in the tone in +which this last satisfactory statement was made, the young priest stood +motionless and silent. After a pause, the other continued in the same +kind, even voice: + +"What has not been satisfactory to you, my son?" + +"The 'patron' of the boat, Loic Plufer, was killed by the breaking of a +rope, before we were out of sight of the English coast." + +"Ah! I am sorry. Had you time--were you enabled to administer to him the +Holy Rites?" + +"No, my father. He was killed at one blow." + +The Provincial laid aside his pen and leant back. His soft eyes rested +steadily on the book in front of him. + +"Did the accident have any evil effect upon the crew!" he asked +indifferently. + +"I think not," was the reply. "I endeavoured to prevent such effect +arising, and--and in this the Englishman helped me greatly." + +Without moving a muscle the Provincial turned his eyes towards the young +priest. He did not look up into his face, but appeared to be watching +his slim hands, which were moving nervously upon the surface of his +black soutane. + +"My son," he said smoothly. "As you know, I am a great advocate for +frankness. Frankness in word and thought, in subordinate and superior. I +have always been frank with you, and from you I expect similar +treatment. It appears to me that there is still something unsatisfactory +respecting your successfully executed mission. It is in connection with +this Englishman. Is it not so?" + +René Drucquer moved a little, changing his attitude and clasping his +hands one over the other. + +"He is not such as I expected," he replied after a pause. + +"No," said the Provincial meditatively. "They are a strange race. Some +of them are strong--very strong indeed. But most of them are foolish; +and singularly self-satisfied. He is intelligent, this one; is it not +so?" + +"Yes, I think he is very intelligent." + +"Was he violent or abusive?" + +"No; he was calm and almost indifferent." + +For some moments the Provincial thought deeply. Then he waved his hand +in the direction of a chair which stood with its back towards the window +at the end of the table. + +"Take a seat, my son," he said, "I have yet many questions to ask you. I +am afraid I forgot that you might be tired." + +"Now tell me," he continued, when René had seated himself, "do you think +this indifference was assumed by way of disarming suspicion and for the +purpose of effecting a speedy escape?" + +"No!" + +"Did you converse together to any extent?" + +"We were naturally thrown together a great deal; especially after the +death of the 'patron.' He was of great assistance to me and to Hoel +Grall, the second in command, by reason of his knowledge of seamanship." + +"Ah! He is expert in such matters?" + +"Yes, my father." + +A further note was here added to the partially-filled page of the +manuscript book. + +"Of what subjects did he speak? Of religion, our Order, politics, +himself and his captivity?" + +"Of none of those." + +The Provincial leant back suddenly in his chair, and for some minutes +complete silence reigned in the room. He was evidently thinking deeply, +and his eyes were fixed upon the open book with inscrutable immobility. +Once he glanced slowly towards René Drucquer, who sat with downcast eyes +and interlocked fingers. Then he pressed back his elbows and inhaled a +deep breath, as if weary of sitting in one position. + +"I have met Englishmen," he said speculatively, "of a type similar--I +think--to this man. They never spoke of religion, of themselves or of +their own opinion; and yet they were not silent men. Upon most subjects +they could converse intelligently, and upon some with brilliancy; but +these subjects were invariably treated in a strictly general sense. Such +men _never_ argue, and never appear to be highly interested in that +of which they happen to be speaking.... They make excellent +listeners...." Here the speaker stopped for a moment and passed his long +hand downwards across his eyes as if the light were troubling his sight; +in doing so he glanced again towards the Abbé's fingers, which were now +quite motionless, the knuckles gleaming like ivory. + +"... And one never knows quite how much they remember and how much they +forget. Perhaps it is that they hear everything ... and forget nothing. +Is our friend of this type, my son?" + +"I think he is." + +"It is such men as he who have made that little island what it is. They +are difficult subjects; but they are liable to sacrifice their +opportunities to a mistaken creed they call honour, and therefore they +are not such dangerous enemies as they otherwise might have been." + +The Provincial said these words in a lighter manner, almost amounting to +pleasantry, and did not appear to notice that the priest moved uneasily +in his seat. + +"Then," he continued, "you have learnt nothing of importance during the +few days you have passed with him?" + +"Nothing, my father." + +"Did he make any attempt to communicate with his friends?" + +"He wrote a letter which he requested me to post." + +The Provincial leant forward in his chair and took a pen in his right +hand, while he extended his left across the table towards his companion. + +"I burnt it," said René gently. + +"Ah! That is a pity. Why did you do that?" + +"I had discretion!" replied the young priest, with quiet determination. + +The Provincial examined the point of his pen critically, his perfectly +formed lips slightly apart. + +"Yes," he murmured reflectively. "Yes, of course, you had discretion. +What was in the letter?" + +"A few words in English, telling his friends to have no anxiety, and +asking them particularly to institute no search, as he would return home +as soon as he desired to do so." + +"Ah! He said that, did he? And the letter was addressed to--" + +"Mr. Carew." + +"Thank you." + +The Provincial made another note in the manuscript book. Then he read +the whole page over carefully and critically. His attitude was like that +of a physician about to pronounce a diagnosis. + +"And," he said reflectively, without looking up, "was there nothing +noticeable about him in any way? Nothing characteristic of the man, I +mean, and peculiar. How would you describe him, in fact?" + +"I should say," replied René Drucquer, "that his chief characteristic is +energy; but for some reason, during these last two days this seems to +have slowly evaporated. His resistance on Wednesday night was very +energetic--he dislocated my arm, and reset it later--and when the vessel +was in danger he was full of life. Later this peculiar indifference of +manner came over him, and hour by hour it has increased in power. It +almost seems as if he were anxious to keep away from England just now." + +The Provincial raised his long white finger to his upper lip. It was the +action of a man who is in the habit of tugging gently at his moustache +when in thought, and one would almost have said that the smooth-faced +priest had at no very distant period worn that manly ornament. His +finger passed over the shaded skin with a disagreeable, rasping sound. + +"That does not sound very likely," he said slowly. "Have you any +tangible reason, to offer in support of this theory?" + +"No, my father. But the idea came to me, and so I mention it. It seemed +as if this desire came to him upon reflection, after the ship was out of +danger, and the indifference was contemporaneous with it." + +The Provincial suddenly closed the book and laid aside his pen. + +"Thank you, my son!" he said, in smooth, heartless tones, "I will not +trouble you any more to-night. You will need food and rest. Good night, +my son. You have done well!" + +René Drucquer rose and gravely passed down the long room. Before he +reached the door, however, the clear voice of his superior caused him to +pause for a moment. + +"As you go down to the refectory," he said, "kindly make a request that +Mr. Vellacott be sent to me as soon as he is refreshed. I do not want +you to see him before I do!" + +When the door had closed behind René Drucquer the Provincial rose from +his seat and slowly paced backwards and forwards from the door to the +table. Presently he drew aside the curtain which hid a small recess near +the door, whore a simple bed and a small table were concealed. With a +brush he smoothed back his sleek hair, and, dipping the ends of his +fingers into a basin of water, he wiped them carefully. Thus he prepared +to receive Christian Vellacott. + +He returned to his chair and seated himself somewhat wearily. Although +there were but few papers on the table, he had three hours' hard work +before him yet. He leant back, and again, that singular gesture, as if +to stroke a moustache that was not there, was noticeable. + +"I have a dull presentiment," he muttered reflectively, "that we have +made a mistake here. We have gone about it in the wrong way, and if +there is blame to be attached to any one, Talma is the man. That temper +of his is fatal!" + +After a pause he heaved a weary sigh, and stretched his long arms out on +either side, enjoying a free and open yawn. + +"Ah me!" he sighed, "what an uphill fight this has become, and day by +day it grows harder. Day by day we lose power; one hold after another +slips from our grasp. Perhaps it means that this vast organisation is +effete--perhaps, after all, we are dying of inanition, and yet--yet it +should not be, for we have the people still.... Ah! I hear footsteps. +This is our journalistic friend, no doubt. I think he will prove +interesting." + +A moment later someone knocked softly at the door. There was a slight +shuffling of feet, and Christian Vellacott entered the room alone. There +was a peculiar dull expression in his eyes, as if he were suffering +pain, mental or physical. After glancing at the mirror, the Provincial +rose and bowed formally with his hand upon the back of his chair. As the +Englishman came forward the Jesuit glanced at his face, and with a +polite motion of the hand he said: + +"Sir, take the trouble of seating yourself," speaking in French at once, +with no apology, as if well aware that his companion knew that language +as perfectly as his own. + +"Thank you," replied Christian. He drew the chair slightly forward as he +seated himself, and fixed his eyes upon the Jesuit's face. Through the +entire interview he never removed his gaze, and he noticed that until +the last words were spoken those soft, deep eyes were never raised to +his. + +"I suppose," said the Jesuit at length, almost humbly, "that we are +irreconcilable enemies, Mr. Vellacott?" + +The manner in which this was spoken did not bear the slightest +resemblance to the cold superiority with which René Drucquer had been +treated. + +The Englishman sat with one lean hand resting on the table and watched. +He knew that some reply was expected, but in face of that knowledge he +chose to remain silent. It was a case of Greek meeting Greek. The +inscrutable Provincial had met a foeman worthy of his steel at last. His +strange magnetic influence threw itself vainly against a will as firm as +his own, and he felt that his incidental effects, dramatic and +conversational, fell flat. Instantly he became interested in Christian +Vellacott. + +"I need hardly remind a man of your discrimination, Mr. Vellacott," he +continued tentatively, "that there are two sides to every question." + +The Englishman smiled and moved slightly in his chair, drawing in his +feet and leaning forward. + +"Implying, I presume," he said lightly, "that in this particular +question you are on one side and I upon the other." + +"Alas! it seems so." + +Vellacott leant back in his chair again and crossed his legs. + +"In my turn," he said quietly, "I must remind you, monsieur, that I am a +journalist." + +The Provincial raised his eyebrows almost imperceptibly and waited for +his companion to continue. His silence and the momentary motion of his +eyebrows, which in no way affected the lids, expressed admirably his +failure to see the connection of his companion's remark. + +"Which means," Christian went on to explain, "that my place is not upon +either side of the question, but in the middle. I belong to no party, +and I am the enemy of no man. I do not lead men's opinions. It is my +duty to state facts as plainly and as coldly as possible in order that +my countrymen may form their own judgment. It may appear that at one +time I write upon one side of the question; the next week I may seem to +write upon the other. That is one of the misfortunes of my calling." + +"Then we are not necessarily enemies," said the Jesuit softly. + +"No--not necessarily. On the other hand," continued Christian, with +daring deliberation, "it is not at all necessary that we should be +friends." + +The Jesuit smiled slightly--so slightly that it was the mere ghost of a +smile, affecting the lines of his small mouth, but in no way relieving +the soft darkness of his eyes. + +"Then we are enemies," he said. "He whose follower I am, said that all +who are not with Him are against Him." + +The Englishman's lips closed suddenly, and a peculiar stony look came +over his face. There was one subject upon which he had determined not to +converse. + +"I am instructed," continued the Provincial, with a sudden change of +manner from pleasant to practical, "to ask of you a written promise +never to write one word either for or against the Society of Jesus +again. In exchange for that promise I am empowered to tender to you the +sincere apologies of the Society for the inconvenience to which you may +have been put, and to assist you in every way to return home at once." + +A great silence followed this speech. A small clock suspended somewhere +in the room ticked monotonously, otherwise there was no sound audible. +The two men sat within a yard of each other, each thinking, of the other +in his individual way, from his individual point of view, the Jesuit +with downcast eyes, his companion watching his immobile features. + +At length Christian Vellacott's full and quiet tones broke the spell. + +"Of course," he said simply, "I refuse." + +The Provincial rose from his seat, pushing it back as he did so. + +"Then I will not detain you any longer. You are no doubt fatigued. The +lay brother waiting outside will show you the room assigned to you, and +at whatever time of day or night you may wish to see me, remember that I +am at your service." + +Christian rose also. He appeared to hesitate, and then to grasp the +table with both hands to assist himself. He stood for a moment, and +suddenly tottered forward. Had not the Provincial caught him he would +have fallen. + +"My head turns," he mumbled incoherently. + +"What is the matter? ... what is the matter?" + +The Jesuit slipped his arm round him--a slight arm, but as hard and +strong as steel. + +"You are tired," he said sympathetically, "perhaps you have a little +touch of fever. Come, I will assist you to your room." + +And the two men passed out together. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + + +STRICKEN DOWN + + +In later days Christian Vellacott could bring back to his memory no +distinct recollection of that first night spent in the monastery. There +was an indefinite remembrance of the steady, monotonous clang of a bell +in the first hours, doubtless the tolling of the matins, calling the +elect to prayer at midnight. + +After that he must have fallen into a deep, lethargic sleep, for he +never heard the distant strains of the organ and the melodious chanting +of gruff voices. The strange, unquiet melody hovered over him in the +little cell, following him as he glided away from earth upon the blessed +wings of sleep, and haunted his restless dreams. + +The monks were early astir next morning, for the sweet smell of drying +hay filled the air, and the second crop of the fruitful earth lay +waiting to be stacked. With tucked-up gowns and bared arms the sturdy +devotees worked with rake and pitchfork. No whispered word passed +between them; none raised his head to look around upon the smiling +landscape or search in the cloudless sky for the tiny lark whose morning +hymn rippled down to them. Each worked on in silence, tossing the +scented hay, his mind being no doubt filled with thoughts above all +earthly things. + +Near at hand lay a carefully-kept vegetable garden of large dimensions. +Here grew in profusion all nourishing roots and herbs, but there was no +sign of more luscious fruits. Small birds hopped and fluttered here and +there unheeded and unmolested, calling to each other joyously, and the +warming air was alive with the hum of tinier wings. + +In the midst of this walked man--the lord of all--humbly, silently, with +bowed head and unadmiring eyes--man whose life was vouchsafed for the +enjoyment of all these things. + +A little square patch of sunlight lay on the stone floor of the small +cell allotted to Christian Vellacott. The thick oak door deadened the +sounds of life in the monastery, such as they were, and the strong, +laboured breathing of the young Englishman alone broke the chill +silence. + +Christian lay, all dressed, on the narrow bed. His eyes were half +closed, and the ruddy brown of his cheeks had faded into an ashy grey. +His clenched hands lay numbly at his side. Through his open, swollen +lips meaningless words came in a hoarse whisper. + +Presently the door opened with a creaking sound, but the sleeper moved +no limb or feature. René Drucquer entered the cell and ran quickly to +the bedside. Behind, with more dignity and deliberation, followed the +sub-prior of the monastery. The young priest had obtained permission +from his Provincial to see Christian Vellacott for a few moments before +his hurried departure for India. Thus René had received his mission +sooner than he had hoped for. The astute and far-seeing Provincial had +from the beginning intended that René Drucquer should be removed from +harm's way without delay once his disagreeable mission to St. Mary +Western was performed. + +"My father," exclaimed the young priest in alarm, "he is dying!" + +The venerable sub-prior bent his head over the bed. He was a tall, spare +man, with very sunken cheeks, and a marvellous expression of placid +contentment in his eyes such as one never finds in the face of a young +monk. He was very learned in medicines, and in the administration of +such simple herbs as were required to remedy the illnesses within the +monastery walls. Perhaps some of his patients died when they might have +lived under more skilled treatment, but it is a short and easy step from +life to death within a comfortless cell, and his bony hands were as +tender over his sick brethren as those of a woman. + +He felt the Englishman's pulse and watched his ashen face for some +moments, touching the clammy forehead softly, while René Drucquer stood +by with a great sickening weight of remorse and fear upon his heart. +Then the sub-prior knelt stiffly down, and placed his clean-shaven lips +near to Christian's ear. + +"My son," he said, "do you hear me?" + +Christian breathed less heavily, as if he were listening to some far-off +sound, but never moved a feature. Presently he began to murmur +incoherently, and the sub-prior bent his ear to listen. + +"Much good would a blessing of mine do you, Hilda," observed Christian +into the reverend ear. The old gentleman raised his cadaverous head and +looked somewhat puzzled. Again he listened. + +"Look after Aunt Judy--she cannot last long," murmured the young +Englishman in his native tongue, which was unknown to the monk. + +"It is fever," said the sub-prior presently--"one of those terrible +fevers which kill men as the cold kills flies!" + +No thought seemed to enter the monk's mind of possible infection. He +knelt upon the cold floor with one bare and bony arm beneath the sick +man's head, while the other lay across his breast. He was looking +intently into the veiled eyes, inhaling the very breath of the swollen +lips. + +"Will he die, my father?" asked René Drucquer in a whisper; his face was +as pale as Vellacott's. + +"He is in the hands of the good God," was the pious answer. The tall +monk rose to his feet and stood before the bed thinking. He rubbed his +bony hands together slowly. Through the tiny window a shaft of sunlight +poured down upon his grizzled head, and showed up relentlessly the deep +furrows that ran diagonally down from his cheek-bone to his chin. + +"You must watch here, my son," he continued, "while I inform the +Father-Provincial of this." + +The venerable sub-prior was no Jesuit, and perhaps he would have been +just as well pleased had the Provincial elected to live elsewhere than +in the monastery. But the Prior--an old man of ninety, and incapable of +work or thought--was completely in the power of the Society. + +When he found himself alone with the Englishman, René Drucquer sat +wearily upon a small wooden bench, the only form of seat provided, and +leaned his narrow face upon his hands. + +The prospect that he saw before him as he sat staring vacantly at the +floor of the little cell was black enough. He saw no possible outlet, +and he had not the courage to force his way through the barriers erected +all round him. It must be remembered that he was a Roman Catholic, and +over a sincere disciple of the Mother Church the power of the Jesuits is +greater than man should ever be allowed to exercise. The slavery that +England fought against so restlessly is nothing to it, for mental +bondage is infinitely heavier than physical service. He had determined +to accept the Provincial's offer of missionary work in Asia, but the +sudden horror of realising that he was a Jesuit, and could never be +anything else than a Jesuit for the rest of his days, was fresh upon +him. He was too young yet to find consolation in the thought that he at +all events could attempt to steer a clear, unsullied course through the +shoals and quicksands that surround a priest's existence, and he was too +old to buoy himself up with the false hope that he might, despite his +Jesuit's oath, do some good work for his Church. His awakening had been +rendered more terrible by the brilliancy of the dreams which it had +interrupted. + +He had not looked upon Christian Vellacott as a victim hitherto, for the +bravest receive the least sympathy, and the young Englishman's cool way +of treating his reverse of fortune had repelled pity or commiseration. +But now all that was changed. Whatever this sickness might prove to be, +René Drucquer felt that the blame of it lay at his own door. If +Christian Vellacott were to die, he, René Drucquer, was in the eyes of +God a murderer, for he had forcibly brought him to his death. This was +an unpleasant reflection for a young devotee whose inward soul was full +of human kindness; and the presence of the strong man who lay gasping +for breath upon the narrow, comfortless bed was not reassuring. + +It was only natural that those thoughts, coupled with the realisation of +the aimlessness of his own existence, should have bred in the young +Jesuit's heart a dull fire of antagonism against the man who was in +immediate authority over him, and when the Provincial noiselessly +entered the cell a few minutes later, he felt a sudden thrill of +misgiving at the thought that his feelings were sacred to none--that +this man with his deep, inscrutable eyes could read the face of his very +soul like an open book. + +In this, René Drucquer was right. The Provincial was fully aware of the +presence of this spirit of antagonism, and, moreover, he knew that it +extended to the taciturn sub-prior who accompanied him. But this +knowledge in no way disturbed him. The spirit of antagonism had met him +in every turn of life. It was so familiar that he had learned to despise +it. Hitherto he had never failed in any undertaking, and he had never +been turned aside from the execution of his purpose by the fear of +incurring the enmity of men. Such minds as this make their mark in the +line of life which they take up, and if they do not happen to win the +love of their fellow-beings, they get on remarkably well without it. + +The Provincial came into the cell with a singular noiselessness of +motion. His pale face expressed neither surprise nor annoyance, and his +eyes rested upon the form of the sick man with no sign of apprehension. +He approached, and with his long white finger touched Christian's wrist. +For a few moments he watched the uneasy movements of his flushed face, +and then he turned aside, without, however, leaving the bedside. Here +again there seemed to be no fear or thought of infection. + +The sub-prior stood behind him with clasped hands, while René, who had +risen from his seat, was near at hand. + +"This man, my father," said the Provincial coldly, "must not die. You +must take every care, and spare no expense or trouble. If it is +necessary you can have doctors from Nantes. I will bear every expense, +and I shall be grieved to hear of his death!" + +Then he turned to leave the cell. He was a busy man, and his visit had +already lasted nearly three minutes. + +René Drucquer stepped forward hurriedly. He was between his superior and +the door, so that he was in a position to command attention. + +"My father," he pleaded, "may I nurse him?" + +The Provincial raised his eyebrows almost imperceptibly; then he waved +his hand, commanding the young priest to stand aside. + +"No," he said softly, "you must leave for Nantes in half-an-hour," and +he passed out into the noiseless corridor. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + + +BACK TO LIFE + + +One mellow autumnal evening, when the sunlight reflected from the white +monastery walls upon the fruit trees climbing there was still warm and +full of ripening glow, the Provincial was taking his post-prandial +promenade. + +It is, perhaps, needless to observe that he was alone. No one ever +walked with the Provincial. No footstep ever crushed the gravel in +harmony with his gliding tread. Perhaps, indeed, no one had ever walked +with him thus, in the twilight, since a fairy, dancing form had moved in +the shadow of his tall person, and footsteps lighter than his own had +vainly endeavoured to keep time with his longer limbs. But that was in +no monastery garden; and the useful, vegetable producing enclosure bore +little resemblance to the château terrace. In those days it may be that +there was a gleam of life in the man's deep, velvety eyes--perhaps, +indeed, a moustache adorned the short, twisted lip where the white +fingers rasped so frequently now. + +The pious monks were busy with their evening meal, and the Provincial +was quite alone in the garden. All around him the leaves glowed ruddily +in the warm light. Everywhere the fruits of earth were ripe and full +with mature beauty; but the solitary walker noted none of these. He +paced backwards and forwards with downcast eyes, turning slowly and +indifferently as if it mattered little where he walked. The merry +blackbirds in the hay field adjoining the garden called to each other +continuously, and from a hidden rookery came the voice of the dusky +settlers, which is, perhaps, the saddest sound in all nature's +harmonies. But the Jesuit resolutely refused to listen. Once, however, +he stopped and stood motionless for some seconds, with his head turned +slightly to meet the distant cry; but he never raised his eyes, which +were deep and lifeless in their gaze. It may be that there was a rookery +near that southern château, where he once had walked in the solemn +evening hour, or perhaps he did not hear that sound at all though his +ear was turned towards it. + +It would be hard indeed to read from the priest's still features the +thoughts that might be passing through his powerful brain; but the +strange influence of his being was such as makes itself felt without any +spoken word. As he walked there with his long hands clasped behind his +back, his peculiarly shaped head bent slightly forward, and his perfect +lips closely pressed, no one could have looked at him without feeling +instinctively that no ordinary mind was busy beneath the tiny +tonsure--that no ordinary soul breathed there for weal or woe, seeking +after higher things in the right way or the wrong. The man's cultivated +repose of manner, his evident intellectuality, and his subtle strength +of purpose visible in every glance of his eyes, betrayed that although +his life might be passed in the calm retreat of a monastery, his soul +was not there. The man was never created to pass his existence in +prayerful meditation; his mission was one of strife and contention +amidst the strong minds of the age. One felt that he was living in this +quiet Breton valley for a purpose; that from this peaceful spot he was +dexterously handling wires that caused puppets--aye, puppets with golden +crowns--to dance, and smirk, and bow in the farthest corners of the +earth. + +Presently the Jesuit heard footsteps upon the gravel at the far side of +the garden, but he did not raise his head. His interest in the trivial +incidents of everyday life appeared to be quite dead. + +"Softly, softly!" said a deep, rough voice, which the Provincial +recognised as that of the sub-prior; then he raised his eyes slightly +and looked across the garden, without, however, altering his pace. + +He saw there Christian Vellacott walking by the side of the hard-faced +old monk with long, hesitating strides, like a man who had forgotten how +to use his legs. It was exactly six weeks since the young journalist had +passed through that garden with René Drucquer, and those weeks had been +to him a strange and not unpleasant dream. It seemed as if the man lying +upon that little bed was in no way connected with the wiry, energetic +Christian Vellacott of old. As he lay there semi-somnolent and lazily +comfortable from sheer weakness, his interest in life was of a +speculative description, as if he looked on things from afar off. +Nothing seemed to matter much. There was an all-pervading sense of +restful indifference as to whether it might be night or day, morning, +noon, or evening. All responsibility in existence seemed to have left +him: his ready pride of self-dependence had given way to a gentle +obedience, and the passage from wakefulness to sleep was very sweet. + +Through all those dreamy hours he heard the soft rustle of woollen +garments and the suppressed shuffle of sandalled feet. Whenever he +opened his heavy eyes he discerned vaguely in the dim light a grey, +still form seated upon the plain wooden bench at his bedside. Whenever +he tried to change his position upon the hard bed and his weary bones +refused their function, strong, hard hands were slipped beneath him and +kind assistance freely given. As a rule, it was the tall sub-prior who +ministered to the sick man, fighting the dread fever with all his simple +knowledge; his hands smoothed oftenest the tossed pillow; but many +clean-shaven, strong, and weary faces were bowed over the bed during +those six weeks, for there was a competition for the post of sick-nurse. +The monks loved to feel that they were performing some tangible good, +and not spending their hours over make-believe tasks like a +man-of-warsman in fine weather. + +One frequent visitor, however, Christian Vellacott never saw beneath his +lazy lashes. The Provincial never entered that little cell unless he was +positively informed that its inmate was asleep. The inscrutable Jesuit +seemed almost to be ashamed of the anxiety that he undoubtedly felt +respecting the sick man thus thrown upon his hands by a peculiar chain +of incidents. He spoke coldly and sarcastically to the sub-prior +whenever he condescended to mention the subject at all; but no day +passed in which he failed to pay at least one visit to the little cell +at the end of the long, silent corridor. + +"Softly, softly!" said the old sub-prior, holding out his bony hand to +stay his companion's progress, "you are too ambitious, my son." + +Christian laughed in a low, weak voice, and raised his head to look +round him. The laugh ceased suddenly as he caught sight of the +Provincial, and across the potato-bed the two strong men looked +speculatively into each other's eyes in the peaceful twilight. The +Jesuit's gaze fell first, and with a dignified bow he moved gently away. + +"I am stronger than I look, my father," said Christian, turning to his +companion. Then they walked slowly on, and presently rested upon a +wooden bench built against the monastery wall. + +The young Englishman leaned back and watched the Provincial, who was +pacing backwards and forwards where they had first seen him. The old +monk sat with clasped hands, and gravely contemplated the gravel beneath +his feet. Thus they waited together within the high, whitewashed walls, +while the light faded from the western sky. Three types, as strangely +contrasted as the student of human kind could wish to see: the old monk +with his placid bloodless face and strong useless arms--a wasted +energy, a mere monument to mistaken zeal; and the younger men so widely +severed by social circumstances, and yet resembling each other somewhat +in heart and soul. Each had a strong individuality--each a great and +far-reaching vitality. Each was, in his way, a power in the world, as +all strong minds are; for in face of what may be said (and with apparent +justice) respecting chance and mere good fortune, good men must come to +the top among their fellows. They must--and most assuredly they do. As +in olden days the doughtiest knights sought each other in the +battlefield to measure steel, so in these later times the ruling +intellects of the day meet and clear a circle round them. The Provincial +was a power in the Society of Jesus; perhaps he was destined one day to +be General of it; and Christian Vellacott had suddenly appeared upon the +field of politic strife, heralding his arrival with two most deadly +blows dealt in masterly succession. From the first they were sure to +come together, sooner or later; and now, when they were separated by +nothing more formidable than a bed of potatoes, they were glancing +askance and longing to be at each other. But it could not be. Had the +sub-prior left the garden it would have made no difference. It was +morally impossible that those two men could speak what they were +thinking, for one of them was a Jesuit. + +The Provincial, however, made the first move, and the Englishman often +wondered in later days what his intention might have been. He walked on +to the northern end of the garden, where a few thick-stemmed pear trees +were trained against the wall. The fruit was hanging in profusion, for +it was not consumed in the monastery but given to the poor at +harvest-time. The Provincial selected a brown, ripe pear, and broke it +delicately from the tree without allowing his fingers to come in contact +with the fruit itself. Then he turned and walked with the same lazy +precision towards the two other occupants of the garden. At his approach +the sub-prior rose from his seat and stood motionless with clasped +hands; there was a faint suggestion of antagonism in his attitude, which +was quite devoid of servility. Christian, however, remained seated, +raising his keen grey eyes to the Provincial's face with a quiet +self-assertion which the Jesuit ignored. + +"I am glad, Monsieur, to see you restored to health," he said coldly to +Christian, meeting his gaze for a moment. + +The Englishman bowed very slightly, and there was a peculiar +expressiveness in the action which betrayed his foreign education, but +the cool silence with which he waited for the Provincial to speak again +was essentially British. The Jesuit moved and glanced slowly beneath his +lowered eyelids towards the motionless figure of the sub-prior. He was +too highly bred to allow himself to be betrayed into any sign of +embarrassment, and too clever to let the Englishman see that he was +hesitating. After a momentary pause he turned gravely to the sub-prior, +and said: + +"Will you allow your patient, my brother, to taste of our fruit? it is +ripe and wholesome." + +Then, without awaiting a reply, he presented the pear to Vellacott. It +was a strange action, and no doubt there was some deep intention in it. +The Jesuit must have known, however, from René Drucquer's report, and +from his own observations, that Christian Vellacott was of too firm a +mould to allow his feelings to be influenced by a petty action of this +description, however sincere and conciliatory might have been the spirit +in which it was conceived. Perhaps he read the Englishman's character +totally wrong, although his experience of men must have been very great; +or perhaps he really wished to conciliate him, and took this first step +with the graceful delicacy of his nation, with a view to following it +up. + +With a conventional word of thanks, Vellacott took the pear and set it +down upon the bench at his side. Whatever the Jesuit's intention might +have been, it was frustrated by his quiet action. It would have been so +easy to have said a few words of praise regarding the fruit, and it was +only natural to have begun eating it at once; but Vellacott read a +deeper meaning in all this, and he chose a more difficult course. It was +assuredly harder to keep silence then than to talk, and a weaker-minded +man would have thanked the Provincial with effusion. The manner in which +Vellacott laid the fruit upon the bench, his quiet and deliberate +silence, conveyed unmistakably and intentionally that the Provincial's +society was as unwelcome as it was unnecessary. There was nothing to be +done but take the hint; and in the lowering twilight the solitary, +miserable man moved reluctantly away. With contemplative hardness of +heart the Englishman watched him go; there was no feeling of triumph in +his soul--neither, however, was there pity. The Jesuit had chosen his +own path, he had reached his goal, and that most terrible thirst--the +thirst for power--was nearly slaked. If at times--at the end of a long +day of hard mental work, when men's hearts are softened by weariness and +lowering peace--he desired something else than power, some little touch +of human sympathy perhaps, his was the blame if no heart responded to +his own. Christian Vellacott sat and wondered dreamily, with the +nonchalance of a man who has been at the very gates of death, if power +were worth this purchase-money. + +The sub-prior had seated himself again, and with his strong hands meekly +clasped he waited. He knew that something was passing which he could not +understand: his dull instincts told him vaguely that between these two +strong men there was war-fare, dumb, sullen, and merciless; but unused +as he was to the ways of men, unlearned in the intricacies of human +thoughts, he could not read more. + +"You have not told me yet, my father," said Vellacott, "how long I have +been ill." + +"Six weeks, my son," replied the taciturn monk. + +"And it was very bad?" + +"Yes, very bad." + +Christian slowly rubbed his thin hands together. His fingers were moist +and singularly white, with a bleached appearance about the knuckles. His +face was thin, but not emaciated, his long jaw and somewhat pronounced +chin were not more bony than of old, but the expression of his mouth was +quite changed; his lips were no longer thrust upward with a determined +curve, and a smile seemed nearer at hand. + +"I have a faint recollection of being very tenderly nursed and cared +for; generally by you, I think. No doubt you saved my life." + +The sub-prior moved a little, and drew in his feet. + +"The matter was not in my hands," he said quietly. + +The Englishman, with some tact, allowed this remark to pass in +acquiescent silence. + +"Did you ever think that ... I was not ... going back to England?" he +asked presently, in a lighter tone, though the thought of returning +home brought no smile to his face. + +The sub-prior did not reply at once. He appeared to be thinking deeply, +for he leaned forward in an unmonastic attitude with his knees apart, +his elbows resting upon them, and his hands clasped. He gazed across the +prosaic potato-bed with his colourless lips slightly apart. + +"One night," he began meditatively, "I went to sit with you after the +bell for matins had been rung. From midnight till three o'clock you +never moved. Then I gave you some cordial, and as I stooped over you the +candle flickered a little; there were strange shadows upon your face, +but around your lips there was a deeper shade. I had seen it once +before, on my brother's face when he lay upon the hard Paris pavement +with a bullet in his lungs, and his breath whistling through the orifice +as the wind whistles round our walls in winter. I held the candle closer +to your face, and as I did so, a hand came over my shoulder and took it +from my fingers. The Father Provincial had come to help me. He said no +word, but set the candle down upon the bed, and I held you up while he +administered the cordial drop by drop, as a man oils a cartwheel." + +"Ah!" said Christian slowly and suggestively, "_he_ was there!" + +The monk made no reply. He sat motionless, with a calm, acquired +silence, which might have meant much or nothing. + +"Did he come often?" inquired the Englishman. + +"Very often." + +"I never saw him." + +This, again, was met with silence. Presently the sub-prior continued his +narrative. + +"When daylight came at last," he said, "the shadow had left your lips. I +think that night was the worst; it was then that you were nearer ... +nearer than at any other time." + +Christian Vellacott was strong enough now to take his usual interest in +outward things. With the writer's instinct he went through the world +looking round him, always studying men and things, watching, listening, +and storing up experience. The Provincial interested him greatly, but he +did not dare to show his curiosity; he hesitated to penetrate the +darkness that surrounded the man's life, past, present, and future. In a +minor degree the taciturn sub-prior arrested his attention. The old monk +was in a communicative humour, and the Englishman led him on a little +without thinking much about the fairness of it. + +"Did your brother die?" he asked sympathetically. + +"He died," was the reply. "Yes, my son, he died--died cursing the +tyrant's bullet in his lungs. He threw away his life in a vain attempt +to alter human nature, to set straight that which is crooked and cannot +be set straight. He sought to bring about at once that which cometh not +until the lion shall eat straw like an ox. See, my son, that you do not +attempt the same." + +"I think," said Christian, after a pause, "that we all try a little, and +perhaps some day a great accumulation of little efforts will take place. +You, my father, have tried as well!" + +The monk slowly shook his head, without, however, any great display of +conviction. + +"I was not always a monk," he said, as if seeking to excuse a bygone +folly. + +It was nearly dark now. The birds were silent, and only the whispering +of the crisp, withering leaves broke the solemn hush of eventide. The +two men sat side by side without speaking. They had learnt to know each +other fairly well during the last weeks--so well that between them +silence was entirely restful. At length Christian moved restlessly. He +had reached that stage of convalescence where a position becomes irksome +after a short time. It was merely a sign of returning strength. + +"Where is the Abbé Drucquer," he asked abruptly. + +"He left us some time ago," was the guarded reply. + +"He spoke of going abroad," said Christian, deliberately ignoring the +sub-prior's tone. + +"The Father Provincial told me that the Abbé had gone abroad--to +India--to spread there the Holy Light to such as are still in darkness." + +The young journalist thought that he detected again a faint suggestion +of antagonism in the sub-prior's voice. The manner in which the +information was imparted was almost an insult to the Provincial. It was +a repetition of his words, given in such a manner that had the speaker +been a man of subtle tongue it would have implied grave doubt. + +Christian was somewhat surprised that René Drucquer should have attained +his object so quickly. He never suspected that he himself might have had +much to do with it, that it had been deemed expedient to remove the +young priest beyond the possible reach of his influence, because he was +quite unconscious of this influence. He did not know that its power had +affected René Drucquer, and that some reflection of it had even touched +the self-contained Provincial--that it was even now making this old +sub-prior talk more openly than was prudent or wise. He happened to be +taking the question from a very different point of view. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + + +BACK TO WORK + + +Day by day Christian Vellacott recovered strength. The enforced rest, +and perhaps also the monastic peacefulness of his surroundings, +contributed greatly towards this. In mental matters as in physical we +are subject to contagion, and from the placid recluses, vegetating +unheeded in the heart of Brittany, their prisoner acquired a certain +restfulness of mind which was eminently beneficial to his body. Life +inside those white walls was so sleepy and withal so pleasant that it +was physically and mentally impossible to think and worry over events +that might be passing in the outer world. + +Presently, however, Christian began to feel idle, which is a good sign +in invalids; and soon the days became long and irksome. He began to take +an increased interest in his surroundings, and realised at once how +little he knew of the existence going on about him. Though he frequently +passed, in the dim corridors and cloisters, a silent, grey-clad figure, +exchanging perhaps with him a scarcely perceptible salutation, he had +never spoken with any other inmates of the monastery than the Provincial +and the sub-prior. + +He noticed also that the watchful care of the nurse had imperceptibly +glided into that of a warder. He was never allowed out of his cell +unless accompanied by the sub-prior--in fact, he was a state prisoner. +His daily walks never extended beyond the one path near the potato bed, +or backwards and forwards at the sunny end of the garden, where the huge +pears hung ripely. From neither point was any portion of the surrounding +country visible, but the Provincial could not veil the sun, and +Christian knew where lay the west and where the east. + +No possible opportunity for escape presented itself, but the Englishman +was storing up strength and knowledge all the while. He knew that things +would not go on for long like this, and felt that the Provincial would +sooner or later summon him to the long room at the end of the corridor +upon the upper floor. + +This call came to him three weeks after the day when the two men had met +in the garden--nine weeks after the Englishman's captivity had +commenced. + +"My son," said the sub-prior one afternoon, "the Father Provincial +wishes to speak with you to-day at three." + +Christian glanced up at the great monastery clock, which declared the +time to be a quarter to three. + +"I am ready," he said quietly. There was no tremor in his voice or light +in his eyes, and he continued walking leisurely by the side of the old +monk; but a sudden thrill of pleasant anticipation warmed his heart. + +A little later they entered the monastery and mounted the stone stairs +together. As they walked along the corridor the clock in the tower +overhead struck three. + +"I will wait for you at the foot of the stairs," said the monk slowly, +as if with some compunction. Then he led the way to the end of the +corridor and knocked at the door. He stood back, as if the Provincial +were in the habit of keeping knockers waiting. Such was, at all events, +the case now, and some minutes elapsed before a clear, low voice bade +him enter. + +The monk opened the door and stood back against the wall for Christian +to pass in. The Provincial was seated at the table near the window, +which was open, the afternoon being sultry although the autumn was +nearly over. At his left hand stood the small Venetian mirror which +enabled him to see who was behind him without turning round. + +As Christian crossed the room the Provincial rose and bowed slightly, +with one of his slow, soft glances. Then he indicated the chair at the +left-hand side of the table, and said, without looking up: + +"Be good enough--Mr. Vellacott." + +When they were both seated the Provincial suddenly raised his eyes and +fixed them upon the Englishman's face. The action was slightly dramatic, +but very effective, and clearly showed that he was accustomed to find +the eyes of others quail before his. Christian met the gaze with a +calmness more difficult to meet than open defiance. After a moment they +turned away simultaneously. + +"I need scarcely," said the Provincial, with singular sweetness of +manner, which, however, was quite devoid of servility, "apologise to +you, Monsieur, for speaking in French, as it is almost your native +language." + +Christian bowed, at the same time edging somewhat nearer to the table. + +"There are one or two matters," continued the Jesuit, speaking faster, +"upon which I have been instructed to treat with you; but first I must +congratulate you upon your restoration to health. Your illness has been +very serious... I trust that you have had nothing to complain of... in +the treatment which you have received at our hands." + +Christian, while sitting quite motionless, was making an exhaustive +survey of the room. + +"On the contrary," he said, in a conventional tone which, in comparison +to his companion's manner, was almost brutal, "it is probably owing to +the care of the sub-prior that I am alive at the present moment, and--" + +He stopped suddenly; an almost imperceptible motion of the Jesuit's +straight eyebrows warned him. + +"And...?" repeated the Provincial, interrogatively. He leant back in his +chair with an obvious air of interest. + +"And I am very grateful----to him." + +"The reverend father is a great doctor," said the Jesuit lightly. +"Excuse me," he continued, rising and leaning across the table, "I will +close the window; the air from the river begins to grow cool." + +The journalist moved slightly, looking over his shoulder towards the +window; at the same moment he altered, with his elbow, the position of +the small mirror standing upon the table. Instead of reflecting the +whole room, including the door at the end, it now reproduced the blank +wall at the side opposed to the curtained recess where the bed was +placed. + +"And now, Mr. Vellacott," continued the Jesuit, reseating himself, "I +must beg your attention. I think there can be no harm in a little mutual +frankness, and--and it seems to me that a certain allowance for +respective circumstances can well be demanded." + +He paused, and opening the leather-bound manuscript book, became +absorbed for a moment in the perusal of one of its pages. + +"From your pen," he then said, in a businesslike monotone, "there has +emanated a serious and hitherto unproved charge against the Holy Society +of Jesus. It came at a critical moment in the political strife then +raging in France; and, in proportion to the attention it attracted, harm +and calumny accrued to the Society. I am told that your motives were +purely patriotic, and your desire was nothing beyond a most laudable one +of keeping your countrymen out of difficulties. Before I had the +pleasure of seeing you I said, 'This is a young journalist who, at any +expense, and even at the sacrifice of truth, wishes to make a name in +the world and force himself into public attention.' Since then I have +withdrawn that opinion." + +During these remarks the Provincial had not raised his eyes from the +table. He now leant back in the chair and contemplated his own clasped +hands. Christian had listened attentively. His long, grave face was +turned slightly towards the Provincial, and his eyes were perhaps a +little softer in their gaze. + +"I endeavoured," he said, "some weeks ago, to explain my position." + +The Jesuit inclined his head. Then he raised his long white finger to +his upper lip, stroking the blue skin pensively. + +Presently he raised his eyes to the Englishman's face, and in their +velvety depths Christian thought he detected an expression which was +almost pleading. It seemed to express a desire for help, for some slight +assistance in the performance of a difficult task. He never again looked +into those eyes in all his life, but the remembrance of them remained in +his heart for many years after the surrounding incidents had passed away +from memory and interest. He knew that the Soul looking forth from that +pale and heartless face was of no ordinary mould or strength. In later +years, when they were both grey-haired men whose Yea or No was of some +weight in the world--one speaking with the great and open voice of the +Press, the other working subtly, dumbly, secretly--their motives may +have clashed once more, their souls may have met and touched, as it +were, over the heads of the People, but they never looked into each +other's eyes again. + +The Provincial moved uneasily. + +"It has been a most unfortunate business," he said gently, and after a +pause continued more rapidly, with his eyes upon the book. "I am +instructed to lay before you the apologies of the Society for the +inconvenience to which you have been put. Your own sense of justice will +tell you that we were bound to defend ourselves in every way. You have +done us a great injury, and, as is our custom, we have contradicted +nothing. The Society of Jesus does not defend itself in the vain hope of +receiving justice at the hands of men. I am now in a position to inform +you again that you are at liberty--free to go where you will, when you +will--and that any sum you may require is at your disposal to convey you +home to England ... on your signing a promise never to write another +word for private or public circulation on the subject of the Holy Order +of Jesus, or to dictate to the writing of another." + +"I must refuse," said Christian laconically, almost before the words had +left the Jesuit's lips. "As I explained before, I am simply a public +servant; what I happen to know must ever be at the public disposal or I +am useless." + +A short silence followed this remark. When at length the Provincial +spoke his tone was cold and reserved. + +"Of course," he said, "I expected a refusal--at first. I am instructed +to ask you to reconsider your refusal and to oblige me, at the end of a +week, with the result of your meditations. If it remains a refusal, +another week will be accorded, and so on." + +"Until--?" + +The Jesuit closed the book upon the table in front of him and with great +care altered its position so that it lay quite squarely. He raised his +eyebrows slightly and glanced sideways towards the Englishman. At that +moment the bell began summoning the devotees to their evening meal, its +deep tone vibrating weirdly through the bare corridors. + +"Until you accept," suggested he softly. + +Christian looked at him speculatively. The faintest suspicion of a smile +hovered for a moment in his eyes, and then he turned and looked out of +the window. + +"I hope, Monsieur," continued the Jesuit, "that when I have the pleasure +of seeing you--a week hence--your health will be quite re-established!" + +"Thank you!" + +"And in the meantime I shall feel honoured by your asking for anything +you may require." + +"Thank you!" answered Christian again. He was still looking over his +shoulder, down at the brown river which ran immediately below the +window. + +"Please excuse my rising to open the door for you," said the Provincial, +with cool audacity, "but I have a few words to write before joining our +brethren at their evening repast." + +Christian turned and looked at him vaguely. There was a peculiar gleam +in his eyes, and he was breathing heavily. Then he rose and, as he +passed the Jesuit, bowed slightly in acknowledgment of his grave +salutation. He walked quickly down the length of the room, which was not +carpeted, and opened the door, closing it again with some noise +immediately. But he never crossed the threshold. To the man sitting at +the table it was as if the Englishman had left the room, closing the +door after him. + +Presently the Provincial glanced at the mirror, from mere habit, and +found that it was displaced. He re-arranged it thoughtfully, so that the +entire room was included in its field of reflection. + +"I wonder," he said aloud, "when and why he did that!" + +Then he returned to his writing. In a few minutes, however, he rose and +pushed back his chair. With his hands clasped behind his back he stood +and gazed fixedly out of the window. Beneath him the brown water glided +past with curling eddy and gleaming ripple, while its soft murmur was +the only sound that broke the pathetic silence surrounding this lonely +man. His small and perfectly formed face was quite expressionless; the +curve of his thin lips meant nothing; all the suppressed vitality of his +being lay in those deep, soft eyes over which there seemed to be a veil. +Presently he turned, and with lithe, smooth steps passed down the long +room and out of the door. + +Instantly Christian Vellacott came from his hiding-place within the +recess. He ran to the window and opened it noiselessly. A moment later +he was standing upon the stone sill. The afternoon sun shone full upon +his face as he stood there, and showed a deep red flush on either cheek. +Slowly he stooped forward, holding with one hand to the woodwork of the +window while he examined critically the surface of the water. Suddenly +he threw his arms forward and like a black shadow dived noiselessly, +passing into the depth without a splash. When he rose to the surface he +turned to look at the monastery. The Provincial's window was the only +outlet directly on to the river. + +The stream was rapid, and after swimming with it for a short time he +left the water and lay down to recover his breath under the friendly +cover of some bushes. There he remained for some time, while the short +October twilight closed over the land. A man just dragged from the jaws +of death, he lay in his wet clothes where he first found shelter without +even troubling to move his limbs from the pools of water slowly +accumulating. Already the monastery was a thing of the past. With the +rapid forethought of his generation he was already looking to the +future. He knew too well the spirit of the people in France to fear +pursuit. The monks never ventured beyond their own walls except on +ostentatious missions of charity. The machinations of the Society of +Jesus were less to be feared in France than in England, and he had only +to take his story to the nearest sub-prefecture to raise a storm of +popular opinion in his favour. But this was not his project. With him, +as in all human plans, his own personal feelings came before the +possible duty he owed to the public. He lay beneath the bramble +undergrowth, and speculated as to what might have taken place subsequent +to his disappearance. At that moment the fortunes of the _Beacon_ +gave him no food for thought. What Mr. Bodery and his subordinate might, +or might not, think found no interest in his mind. All his speculations +were confined to events at St. Mary Western, and the outcome of his +meditations was that when the friendly cover of darkness lay on the land +he rose and started to walk briskly across the well-tilled country +towards the north. + +That portion of Brittany which lies along the northern coast is a +pastoral land where sleep occupies the larger half of man's life. +Although it was only evening, an hour when Paris and London recover, as +it were, from the previous night's vigil and brighten up into vigour, +the solitary Englishman passed unheeded through the squalid villages, +unmolested along the winding roads. Mile after mile of scanty forest +land and rich meadow were left behind, while, except for a few +heavily-breathing cattle, he met no sign of life. At last he came upon +a broader road which bore unmistakable signs of military workmanship in +its construction, and here he met, and passed with laconic greeting, a +few peasant women returning with empty baskets from some neighbouring +market; or perhaps a "cantonnier" here and there, plodding home with +"sabots" swinging heavily and round shoulders bent beneath the burden +of his weighty stone-breaking implements. + +Following the direction of this road his course was now towards the +north-east, with more tendency to the eastward than he desired, but +there was no choice. About eight o'clock he passed through a small +village, which appeared to be already wrapped in stupid slumber such as +attends the peasant's pillow. A cock crowed loudly, and in reply a dog +barked with some alarm, but Christian was already beyond the village +upon the deserted high road again. + +He now began to feel the weakening effect of his illness; his legs +became cramped, and he frequently rested at the roadside. The highway +was running still more to the eastward now, and Christian was just +beginning to consider the advisability of taking to the country again, +when it joined a broader road cut east and west. Here he stopped short, +and, raising his head, stood quite still for some moments. + +"Ah!" he muttered. "The sea. I smell the sea." + +He now turned to the left, and advanced along the newly-discovered road +towards the west. As he progressed the pungent odour of seaweed +refreshed him and grew stronger every moment. Suddenly he became aware +that although high land lay upon his left hand there was to his right a +hollow darkness without shadow or depth. No merry plash of waves came to +explain this; the smell of the sea was there, but the joyous tumble of +its waters was not to be heard. The traveller stooped low and peered +into the darkness. Gradually he discerned a distant line of horizon, and +to that point there seemed to stretch a vast dead sheet of water without +light or motion. Upon his ears there stole a soft bubbling sound, varied +occasionally by a tiny ripple. Suddenly a flash of recollection appeared +to pass through the watcher's mind, and he muttered an exclamation of +surprise as he turned towards the east and endeavoured to pierce the +gloom. He was right. Upon the distant line of horizon a jagged outline +cut the sky. It was like the form of a huge tooth jutting out from the +softer earth. Such is Mont St. Michel standing grandly alone in the +midst of a shallow, sullen sea. The only firm thing among the quaking +sands, the only stone for miles around. + +"The Bay of Cancale!" reflected Christian. "If I keep to the westward I +shall reach St. Mâlo before ten o'clock!" + +And he set off with renewed vigour. From his feet there stretched away +to the north a great dead level of quicksand, seething, bubbling, and +heaving in the darkness. The sea, and yet no sea. Neither honest land +nor rolling water. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + + +SIGNOR BRUNO + + +Silas Lebrun, captain and part-owner of the brig _Agnes and Mary_ +of Jersey, was an early riser. Moreover, the old gentleman entertained +peculiar views as to the homage due to Morpheus. He made no elaborate +toilet before entering the presence of that most lovable god. Indeed he +always slept in his boots, and the cabin-boy had on several occasions +invited the forecastle hands to believe that he neither removed the +ancient sealskin cap from his head nor the wooden pipe from his lips +when slumber soothed his senses; but this statement was always set aside +as unauthenticated. + +In person the ancient sailor was almost square, with short legs and a +body worthy of promotion to something higher. His face was wrinkled and +brown, like the exterior of that incomprehensible fruit the medlar, +which is never ripe till it is bad, and then it is to be avoided. A +yellow-grey beard clustered closely round a short chin, and when +perchance the sealskin cap was absent yellow-grey hair of a similar hue +completed the circle, standing up as high from his brow as fell the +beard downward from his chin. A pair of intensely blue eyes, liquid +always with the milk of human kindness, rendered the hirsute medlar a +pleasant thing to look at. + +The _Agnes and Mary_ was ready for sea, her cargo of potatoes, with +a little light weight in the way of French beans and eggs, comfortably +stowed, and as Captain Lebrun emerged from what he was pleased to call +his "state-room" with the first breath of a clear morning he performed +his matinal toilet with a certain sense of satisfaction. This +operation was simple, consisting merely in the passage of four very +brown fingers through the yellow-grey hair, and a hurried dispersal of +the tobacco ash secreted in his beard. + +The first object that met the mariner's astonished gaze was the long +black form of a man stretched comfortably upon the cabin locker. The +green mud adhering to the sleeper's thin shoes showed that he had +climbed on board at low tide when the harbour was dry. + +Captain Lebrun gazed meditatively at the intruder for some moments. Then +he produced a powerfully-scented pipe of venerable appearance, which had +been, at various stages of its existence, bound in a seaman-like manner +with pieces of tarred yarn. He slowly filled this object, and proceeded +to inform it in a husky voice that he was "blowed." The pipe was, +apparently, in a similar condition, as it refused absolutely to answer +to the powerful suction applied to it. + +He then seated himself with some difficulty upon the corner of the low +table, and examined the sleeper critically. + +"Poor devil," he again said, addressing himself to his pipe. "He's one +of them priest fellows.--Hi, mister!" he observed, raising his voice. + +Christian Vellacott woke up at once, and took in the situation without +delay. He was not of those who must go through terrible contortions +before regaining their senses after sleep. + +"Good morning, Captain!" he observed pleasantly. + +"Oh--yourn't a parlee voo, then!" + +"No, I'm an Englishman." + +"Indeed. Then you'll excuse me, but what in the name of glory are you +doing here?" + +Christian sat up and looked at his muddy shoes with some interest. + +"Well, the truth is that I am bolting. I want to get across to England. +I saw where you hailed from by your rig, and clambered on board last +night. It seemed to me that when an Englishman is in a hole he cannot do +better than go to a fellow-countryman for help." + +Captain Lebrun made a mighty effort to force a passage through his pipe, +and was rewarded by a very high-pitched squeak. + +"Ay!" he said doubtfully. "But what sort of hole is it? Nothing dirty, +I'm hopin'. Who are yer? Why are ye runnin' away, and who are ye runnin' +from?" + +Though a trifle blunt the sailor's manner was not unfriendly, and +Christian laughed before replying. + +"Well," he said, "to tell you the whole story would take a long time. +You remember perhaps there was a row, about two months ago, respecting +some English rifles found in Paris?" + +"Of course I remember that; we had a lot o' trouble with the Customs +just then. The thing was ferreted out by a young newspaper fellow!" + +Christian rubbed his hands slowly together. He was terribly anxious to +hear the sequel. + +"I am that newspaper fellow," he said, with a quick smile. + +Captain Lebrun slowly stood up. He contemplated his pipe thoughtfully, +then laying it upon the table he turned solemnly towards Christian, and +held out a broad brown hand which was covered with scales in lieu of +skin. + +"Shake hands, mister?" he said. + +Christian obliged him. + +"And now," he said quickly, "I want to know what has happened +since--since I left England. Has there been a great row? Has ... has +anybody wondered where I was?" + +The old sailor may have had his suspicions. He may have guessed that +Christian Vellacott had not left England at the dictates of his own free +will, for he looked at him very kindly with his liquid blue eyes, and +replied slowly:-- + +"I couldn't say that _nobody_ hasn't been wonderin' where ye was, +but--but there's been nothing in the papers!" + +"That is all right! And now will you give me a passage, Captain?" + +"Course I will! We sail about eleven this morning. I'm loaded and +cleared out. But I should like you to have a change o' clothes. Can't +bear to see ye in them black things. It makes me feel as if I was +talkin' to a priest." + +"I should like nothing better," replied Christian, as he rose and +contemplated his own person reflectively. + +"Come into my state-room then. I've got a few things of my own, and a +bit of a slop-chest: jerseys and things as I sell to the men." + +The Captain's wardrobe was of a marine character and somewhat rough in +texture. He had, however, a coat and waistcoat of thick blue pilot-cloth +which fitted Christian remarkably well, but the continuations thereof +were so absurdly out of keeping with the young fellow's long limbs as to +precipitate the skipper on to the verge of apoplexy. When he recovered, +and his pipe was re-lighted, he left the cabin and went forward to +borrow a pair of the required articles from Tom Slake, an ordinary +seaman of tall and slim proportions. In a short time Christian Vellacott +bore the outward semblance of a very fair specimen of the British tar, +except that his cheeks were bleached and sunken, which discrepancy was +promptly commented upon by the blunt old sailor. + +Secrecy was absolutely necessary, so Tom, of the long legs, was the only +person to whom Christian's presence was made known; and he it was who +(in view of a possible berth as steward later on) was entrusted with the +simple culinary duties of the vessel. + +Breakfast, as served up by Tom, was of a noble simplicity. A long shiny +loaf of yesterday's bread, some butter in a saucer--which vessel was +deemed entirely superfluous in connection with cups--brown sugar in an +old mustard-tin, with portions of yellow paper adhering to it, and solid +slices of bacon brought from the galley in their native frying-pan. Such +slight drawbacks, however, as there might have been in the matter of +table-ware disappeared before the sense of kindly hospitality with which +Captain Lebrun poured the tea into a cracked cup and a borrowed +pannikin, dropping in the sugar with careful judgment from his brown +fingers. Such defects as there might have lurked in the culinary art as +carried on in the galley vanished before the friendly solicitude with +which Tom tilted the frying-pan to pour into Christian's plate a bright +flow of bacon-fat cunningly mingled with cinders. + +When the meal had been duly despatched Captain Lebrun produced his pipe +and proceeded to fill it, after having extracted from its inward parts +the usual high-toned squeak. + +Christian leant back against the bulkhead with his hands buried deeply +in Tom's borrowed pockets. He felt much more at home in pilot cloth than +in cashmere. + +"There is one more thing I should like to borrow," he said. + +"Ay?" repeated the captain interrogatively, as he searched in his +waistcoat-pocket for a match. + +"Ay, what is it?" + +"A pipe. I have not had a smoke for two months." + +The Captain struck a light upon his leg. + +"I've got one somewhere," he replied reassuringly; "carried it for many +years now, just in case this one fell overboard or got broke." + +Tom, who happened to be present, smiled audibly behind a hand which was +hardly a recommendation for the coveted berth of steward, but Christian +looked at the battered pipe with sympathetic gravity. + +At ten o'clock the _Agnes and Mary_ warped out of harbour and +dropped lazily down the Rance, setting sail as she went. Christian had +spent most of the morning in the little cabin smoking Captain Lebrun's +reserve pipe, and seeking to establish order among the accounts of the +ship. The accounts were the _bête noire_ of the old sailor's +existence. Upon his own confession he "wasn't no arithmetician," and +Christian found, upon inspecting his accounts, no cause to contradict +this ambiguous statement. + +When the _Agnes and Mary_ was clear of the harbour he went on deck, +where activity and maritime language reigned supreme. The channel was +narrow and the wind light, consequently the little brig drifted more or +less at her own sweet will. This would have been well enough had the +waterway been clear of other vessels, but the Jersey steamer was coming +in, with her yellow funnel gleaming in the sunlight, her mail-flag +fluttering at her foremast, and her captain swearing on the bridge, with +the whistle-pull in his hand. + +Seeing that the _Agnes and Mary_ had no steerage way, the captain +stopped his engines for a few minutes, and then went ahead again at +half-speed. This brought the vessels close together, and, as is the +invariable custom in such circumstances, the two crews stared stonily at +each other. On the deck were one or two passengers enjoying the morning +air after a cramped and uncomfortable night. Among these was an old man +with a singularly benign expression; he was standing near the +after-wheel, gazing with senile placidity towards St. Mâlo. As the +vessels neared each other, however, he walked towards the rail, and +stood there with a pleasant smile upon his face, as if ready to exchange +a greeting with any kindred soul upon the _Agnes and Mary_. + +Christian Vellacott, seated upon the rail of the after-deck, saw the old +man and watched him with some interest--not, however, altering his +position or changing countenance. The vessels moved slowly on, and, in +due course, the two men were opposite to each other, each at the extreme +stern of his ship. + +Then the young journalist removed Captain Lebrun's spare pipe from his +lips, and leaning sideways over the water, called out: + +"Good morning, Signor Bruno!" + +The effect of this friendly greeting upon the benevolent old gentleman +was peculiar. He grasped the rail before him with both hands, and stared +at the young Englishman. Then he stamped upon the deck with a sudden +access of fury. + +"Ah!" he exclaimed fiercely, while a tiger-like gleam shone out from +beneath his smooth white brows. "Ah! it is you!" + +Christian swung his legs idly, and smiled with some amusement across the +little strip of water. + +Suddenly the old man plunged his hand into the breast-pocket of his +coat. He appeared to be tugging wildly at some article which was caught +in the lining of his clothes, when a remarkable change came over his +face. A dull red colour flew to his cheeks, and his eyes gleamed +ruddily, as if shot with blood. Then without a word he fell forward with +his breast against the painted rail, remained there a second, and as the +two ships passed away from each other, rolled over upon his back on the +clean deck, grasping a pistol in his right hand. + +Christian Vellacott sat still upon the rail, swinging one leg, and +smiling reflectively. He saw the old man fall and the other passengers +crowd round him, but the _Agnes and Mary_ had now caught the breeze +and was moving rapidly out to sea, where the sunlight danced upon the +water in little golden bars. + +"Apperlexy!" said a voice in the journalist's ear. He turned and found +Captain Lebrun standing at his side looking after the steamer. +"Apperlexy!" + +"Do you think so?" asked Christian. + +"I do," was the reply, given with some conviction. "I seen a man fall +just like that; he was a broad-built man wi' a thick neck, and in a +moment of excitement he fell just like that, and died a'most at once. +Apperlexy they said it was." + +"It seemed to come over him very suddenly, did it not?" said Christian +absently. + +"Ay, it did," said the captain. "Ye seemed to know him!" + +Christian turned and looked his companion full in the face. "I have met +him twice," he said quietly. "He was in England for some years, I +believe; a political refugee, he called himself." + +By sea and land Captain Lebrun had learnt to devote an exclusive +attention to his own affairs, allowing other men to manage theirs, well +or ill, according to their fancy. He knew that Christian Vellacott +wished to tell him no more, and he was content that it should be so, but +he had noticed a circumstance which, from the young journalist's +position, was probably invisible. He turned to give an order to the man +at the wheel, and then walked slowly and with some difficulty (for +Captain Lebrun suffered, in a quiet way, agonies from rheumatism) back +towards his passenger. + +"Seemed to me," he said reflectively, as he looked upwards to see if the +foretopsail was shivering, "as if he had something in his hand when a' +fell." + +Christian followed the Captain's gaze. The sails were now filling well, +and there was an exhilarating sound of straining cordage in the air +while the vessel glided on. The young journalist was not an +impressionable man, but he felt all these things. The sense of open +freedom, the gentle rise and fall of the vessel, the whirring breeze, +and the distant line of high land up the Rance towards Dinant--all +these were surely worth hearing, feeling, and seeing; assuredly, they +added to the joy of living. + +"Something in his hand," he repeated gravely; "what was it?" + +Captain Lebrun turned sideways towards the steersman, and made a little +gesture with his left hand. A wrinkle had appeared in one corner of the +foretopsail. Then he looked round the horizon with a sailor's +far-seeing gaze, before replying. + +"Seemed to me," he mumbled, without taking his pipe from his lips, +"that it was a revolver." + +Then the two men smoked in silence for some time. The little vessel +moved steadily out towards the blue water, passing a lighthouse built +upon a solitary rock, and later a lightship, with its clean red hull +gleaming in the sunlight as it rose and fell lazily. So close were they +to the latter that the man watching on deck waved his hand in +salutation. + +Still Vellacott had vouchsafed no reply to Captain Lebrun's strange +statement. He sat on the low rail, swinging one leg monotonously, while +the square little sailor stood at his side with that patient maritime +reflectiveness which is being slowly killed by the quicker ways of +steam. + +"My calling brings me into contact with a rum lot of people," said the +young fellow at last, "and I suppose all of us make enemies without +knowing it." + +With this vague elucidation the little skipper was forced to content +himself. He gave a grunt of acquiescence, and walked forward to +superintend the catheading of the anchor. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + + +IN THE RUE ST. GINGOLPHE AGAIN + + +One would almost have said that the good citizen Jacquetot was restless +and disturbed. It was not that the little tobacco shop left aught to be +desired in the way of order, neither had the tobacconist quitted his +seat at the window-end of the counter. But he was not smoking, and at +short intervals he drew aside the little red curtain and looked out into +the quiet Rue St. Gingolphe with a certain eagerness. + +The tobacconist was not in the habit of going to meet things. He usually +waited for them to come to him. But on this particular evening of +September in a year which it is not expedient to name, he seemed to be +looking out into the street in order that he might not be taken by +surprise in the event of an arrival. Moreover he mopped his vast +forehead at unnecessarily frequent intervals, just as one may note a +snuff-taker have recourse to that solace more frequently when he is +agitated than when a warm calm reigns within his breast. + +"So quiet--so quiet," he muttered, "in our little street--and in the +others--who knows? It would appear that they have their shutters lowered +there." + +He listened intently, but there was no sound except the clatter of an +occasional cart or the distant whistle of a Seine steamer. + +Then the tobacconist returned to the perusal of the _Petit +Journal_. Before he had skimmed over many lines, he looked up sharply +and drew aside the red curtain. Yes! It was some one at last. The +footsteps were hurried and yet hesitating--the gait of a person not +knowing his whereabouts. And yet the man who entered the shop a moment +later was evidently the same who had come to the citizen Jacquetot when +last we met him. + +"Ah!" exclaimed the tobacconist. "It is you!" + +"No," replied the other. "It is not. I am not the citizen...Morot--I +think you call it." + +"But, yes!" exclaimed the fat man in amazement. "You are that citizen, +and you are also the Vicomte d'Audierne." + +The new-comer was looking round him curiously; he stepped towards the +curtained door, and turned the handle. + +"I am," he said, "his brother. We are twins. There is a resemblance. Is +this the room? Yes!" + +"Yes, monsieur. It is! But never was there such a resemblance." + +The tobacconist mopped his head breathlessly. + +"Go," said the other, "and get a mattress. Bring it and lay it on this +table. My brother is wounded. He has been hit." + +Jacquetot rose laboriously from his seat. He knew now that this was not +the Vicomte d'Audierne. This man's method was quite different. He spoke +with a quiet air of command, not doubting that his orders would be +obeyed. He was obviously not in the habit of dealing with the People. +The Vicomte d'Audierne had a different manner of speaking to different +people--this man, who resembled him so strangely, gave his orders +without heeding the reception of them. + +The tobacconist was essentially a man of peace. He passed out of a small +door in the corner of the shop, obeying without a murmur, and leaving +the new-comer alone. + +A moment later the sound of wheels awoke the peaceful stillness of the +Rue St. Gingolphe. The vehicle stopped, and at the same instant the man +passed through the little curtained doorway into the room at the back of +the shop, closing the door after him. + +The gas was turned very low, and in the semi-darkness he stood quite +still, waiting. He had not long to wait; he had scarcely closed the door +when it was opened again, and some one entered rapidly, closing it +behind him. Then the first comer raised his arm and turned up the gas. + +Across the little table, in the sudden flood of light, two men stood +looking at each other curiously. They were so startlingly alike, in +height and carriage and every feature, that there was something weird +and unpleasant in their action--in their silence. + +"Ah!" said the last comer. "It is thou. I almost fired!" + +And he threw down on the table a small revolver. + +"Why have you done this?" continued the Vicomte d'Audierne. "I thought +we agreed sixteen years ago that the world was big enough to contain us +both without meeting, if we exercised a little care." + +"She is dead," replied the brother. "She died two years ago--the wife of +Prangius--what does it matter now?" + +"I know that--but why did you come?" + +"I was ordered to Paris by the General. I was near you at the barricade, +and I heard the bullet hit you. Where is it?" + +The Vicomte looked down at his hand, which was pressed to his breast; +the light of the gas flickered, and gleamed on his spectacles as he did +so. + +"In my chest," he replied. "I am simply dripping with blood. It has +trickled down my legs into my boots. Very hot at first--and then very +cold." + +The other looked at him curiously, and across his velvety eyes there +passed that strange contraction which has been noted in the glance of +the Vicomte d'Audierne. + +"I have sent for a mattress," he said. "That bullet must come out. A +doctor is following me; he will be here on the instant." + +"One of your Jesuits?" + +"Yes--one of my Jesuits." + +The Vicomte d'Audierne smiled and winced. He staggered a little, and +clutched at the back of a chair. The other watched him without emotion. + +"Why do you not sit down?" he suggested coldly. "There are none of +your--_People_--here to be impressed." + +Again the Vicomte smiled. + +"Yes," he said smoothly, "we work on different lines, do we not? I +wonder which of us has dirtied his hands the most. Which of the two--the +two fools who quarrelled about a woman. Ha? And she married a third--a +dolt. Thus are they made--these women!" + +"And yet," said the Jesuit, "you have not forgotten." + +The Vicomte looked up slowly. It seemed that his eyelids were heavy, +requiring an effort to lift them. + +"I do not like to hear the rooks call--that is all," he said. + +The other turned away his soft, slow glance, the glance that had failed +to overcome Christian Vellacott's quiet defiance-- + +"Nor I," he said. "It makes one remember." + +There was a short silence, and then the Jesuit spoke--sharply and +suddenly. + +"Sit down, you fool!" he said. "You are fainting." + +The Vicomte obeyed, and at the same moment the door opened and the +tobacconist appeared, pushing before him a mattress. + +The Jesuit laid aside his hat, revealing the tonsure gleaming whitely +amidst his jetty hair, and helped to lay the mattress upon the table. +Then the two men, the Provincial and the tobacconist of the Rue St. +Gingolphe, lifted the wounded aristocrat gently and placed him upon the +improvised bed. True to his blood, the Vicomte d'Audierne uttered no +sound of agony, but as his brother began to unbutton the butcher's +blouse in which he was disguised he fainted quietly. Presently the +doctor arrived. He was quite a young man, with shifting grey eyes, and +he saluted the Provincial with a nervous obsequity which was unpleasant +to look upon. The deftness with which he completed the task of laying +bare the wound was notable. His fingers were too clever to be quite +honest. When, however, he was face to face with the little blue-rimmed +orifice that disfigured the Vicomte's muscular chest, the expression of +his face--indeed his whole manner--changed. His eyes lost their +shiftiness--he seemed to forget the presence of the great man standing +at the other side of the table. + +While he was selecting a probe from his case of instruments the Vicomte +d'Audierne opened his eyes. + +"Ah!" said the doctor, noting this at once. "You got this on the +Boulevard?" + +"Yes." + +"How did you get here?" He was feeling the wounded man's pulse now. + +"Cab." + +"All the way?" + +"Of course." + +"Who carried you into this room?" asked the doctor, returning to his +case of instruments. + +"No one! I walked." The doctor's manner, quick and nonchalant, evidently +aggravated his patient. + +"Why did you do that?" + +He was making his preparations while he spoke, and never looked at the +Vicomte. + +"In order to avoid attracting attention." + +This brought the doctor's glance to his face, and the result was +instantaneous. The young man started, and into his eyes there came again +the shifty expression, as he looked from the face of the patient to that +of the Provincial standing motionless at the other side of the table. He +said nothing, however, and returned with a peculiar restraint to his +preparations. It is probable that his silence was brought about by the +persistent gaze of two pairs of deep velvety eyes which never left his +face. + +"Will Monsieur take chloroform," he asked, unfolding a clean +pocket-handkerchief, and taking from his waistcoat pocket a small phial. + +"No!" + +"But--I beg of you------" + +"It is not necessary," persisted the Vicomte calmly. + +The doctor looked across to the Provincial and made a hopeless little +movement of the shoulders, accompanied by an almost imperceptible +elevation of the eyebrows. + +The Jesuit replied by looking meaningly at the small glass-stoppered +bottle. + +Then the doctor muttered: + +"As you will!" + +He had laid his instruments out upon the mattress--the gas was turned up +as high as it would go. Everything was ready. Then he turned his back a +moment and took off his coat, which he laid upon a chair, returning +towards the bed with one hand behind his back. + +Quick as thought, he suddenly darted forward and pressed the clean +handkerchief over the wounded man's mouth and nose. The Vicomte +d'Audierne gave a little smothered exclamation of rage, and raised his +arms; but the Jesuit was too quick for him, and pinned him down upon the +mattress. + +After a moment the doctor removed the handkerchief, and the Vicomte lay +unconscious and motionless, his delicate lips drawn back in anger, so +that the short white teeth gleamed dangerously. + +"It is possible," said the surgeon, feeling his pulse again, "that +Monsieur has killed himself by walking into this room." + +Like a cat over its prey, the young doctor leant across the mattress. +Without looking round he took up the instruments he wanted, knowing the +order in which they lay. He had been excellently taught. The noiseless +movements of his white fingers were marvellously dexterous--neat, rapid, +and finished. The evil-looking instruments gleamed and flashed beneath +the gaslight. He had a peculiar little habit of wiping each one on his +shirt-sleeve before and after use, leaving a series of thin red stripes +there. + +After the lapse of a minute he raised his head, wiped something which he +held in his fingers, and passed it across to the Provincial. + +"That is the bullet, my father," he said, without ceasing his +occupation, and without raising his eyes from the wounded man. + +"Will he live?" asked the Jesuit casually, while he examined the bullet. + +"If he tries, my father," was the meaning reply. + +The young doctor was bandaging now, skilfully and rapidly. + +"This would be the death of a dog," said the Provincial, as if musing +aloud; for the surgeon was busy at his trade, and the tobacconist had +withdrawn some time before. + +"Better than the life of a dog," replied the Vicomte, in his smoothly +mocking way, without opening his eyes. + +It was very easy to blame one woman, and to cast reflections upon the +entire sex. If these brothers had not quarrelled about that woman, they +would have fallen out over something else. Some men are so: they are +like a strong spirit--light and yet potent--that floats upon the top of +all other liquids and will mingle with none. + +It would seem that these two could not be in the same room without +quarrelling. It was only with care that (as the Jesuit had coldly +observed) they could exist in the same world without clashing. Never +was the Vicomte d'Audierne so cynical, so sceptical, as in the presence +of his brother. Never was Raoul d'Audierne so cold, so heartless, so +Jesuitical, as when meeting his brother's scepticism. + +Sixteen years of their life had made no difference. They were as far +apart now as on one grey morning sixteen years ago, when the Vicomte +d'Audierne had hurried away from the deserted shore of the Côte du Nord, +leaving his brother lying upon the sand with an ugly slit in his neck. +That slit had healed now, but the scar was always at his throat, and in +both their hearts. + +True to his training, the Provincial had not spoken the truth when he +said that he had been ordered to Paris. There was only one man in the +world who could order him to do anything, and that man was too wise to +test his authority. Raoul d'Audierne had come to Paris for the purpose +of seeing his brother--senior by an hour. There were many things of +which he wished to speak, some belonging to the distant past, some to a +more recent date. He wished to speak of Christian Vellacott--one of the +few men who had succeeded in outwitting him--of Signor Bruno, or Max +Talma, who had died within pistol range of that same Englishman, a +sudden, voiceless death, the result of a terrible access of passion at +the sight of his face. + +But this man was a Jesuit and a d'Audierne, which latter statement is +full of import to those who, having studied heredity, know that +wonderful _inner_ history of France which is the most romantic +story of human kind. And so Raoul d'Audierne--the man whose power in the +world is like that of the fires burning within the crust of the earth, +unseen, immeasurable--and so he took his hat, and left the little room +behind the tobacconist's shop in the Rue St. Gingolphe--beaten, +frustrated. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + + +THE MAKING OF CHRISTIAN VELLACOTT + + +"Money," Captain Lebrun was saying emphatically, as the _Agnes and +Mary_ drifted slowly past Gravesend pier on the rising tide. "Hang +money! Now, I should think that you make as much of it in a month as I +do in a year. You're a young man, and as far as I know ye, ye're a +successful one. Life spreads out before you like a clean chart. I'm an +old 'un--my time is nearly up. I've lived what landsmen call a hard +life, and now I'm slowly goin' home. Ay, Mr. Vellacott, goin' home! And +you think that with all your manifold advantages you're a happier man +than me. Not a bit of it! And why? 'Cause you belong to a generation +that looks so far ahead that it's afraid of bein' happy, just for fear +there's sorrow a comin'. Money, and lookin' ahead, that's what spoils +yer lives nowadays." + +The skipper emphasised these weighty observations by expectorating +decisively into the water, and walked away, leaving Christian Vellacott +with a vaguely amused smile upon his face. It is just possible that +Silas Lebrun, master and owner of the _Agnes and Mary_, was nearer +the mark than he thought. + +An hour later, Vellacott was walking along the deserted embankment above +Westminster, on the Chelsea side of the river. It was nine o'clock, for +which fact Big Ben solemnly gave his word, far up in the fog. The +morning was very dark, and the street lamps were still alight, while +every window sent forth a gleam suggestive of early autumnal fires. + +Turning up his own street he increased his pace, realising suddenly that +he had not been within his own doors for more than four months. Much +might have happened in that time--to change his life, perhaps. As he +approached the house he saw a strange servant, an elderly woman, on her +knees at the steps, and somehow the sight conveyed to his mind the +thought that there was something waiting for him within that peaceful +little house. He almost ran those last few yards, and sprang up the +steps past the astonished woman without a word of explanation. + +The gas in the narrow entrance-hall was lighted, and as he threw aside +his cap he perceived a warm gleam of firelight through the half-open +door of the dining-room. He crossed the carpeted hall, and pushed open +that door. + +Near the little breakfast-table, just under the gas, stood Hilda Carew. +In _his_ room, standing among _his_ multifarious possessions, +in the act of pouring from _his_ coffee-pot. She was dressed in +black--he noticed that. Instead of being arranged high upon her head, +her marvellous hair hung in one massive plait down her back. She looked +like a tall and beautiful school-girl. He had not seen her hair like +that since the old days when he had been as one of the Carews. + +As he pushed open the door, she looked up; and for a moment they stood +thus. She set down the coffee-pot, carefully and symmetrically, in the +centre of the china stand provided for its reception--and the colour +slowly left her face. + +"You have come back at last!" she said quite monotonously. It sounded +like a remark made for the purpose of filling up an awkward silence. + +Then he entered the room, and mechanically closed the door behind him. +She noticed the action, but did not move. He passed round the table, +behind Aunt Judy's chair, and they shook hands conventionally. + +"Yes," he said almost breathlessly; "I am back; you do not seem elated +by the fact." + +Suddenly she smiled--the smile that suggested, in some subtle way, a +kitten. + +"Of course--I am glad ... to see you." + +In a peculiar dreamy way she began to add milk to the coffee. It seemed +as if this were mere play-acting, and not real life at all. + +"How is it that you are here?" he asked, with a broken, disjointed +laugh. "You cannot imagine how strange an effect it was ... for me ... +to come in and see you ... here--of all people." + +She looked at him gravely, and moved a step towards him. + +"Aunt Judy is dead!" she explained; "and Aunt Hester is very ill. Mother +is upstairs with them--_her_--now. I have just come from the room, +where I have been since midnight." + +She stopped, raised her hand to her hair as if recollecting something, +and stood looking sideways out of the window. + +"There is something about you this morning," he said, with a +concentrated deliberation, "that brings back the old Prague days. I +suppose it is that I have not seen your hair as you have it +to-day--since then." + +She turned quite away from his hungry gaze, looking out of the window. + +After a pause she broke the silence--with infinite tact--not speaking +too hurriedly. + +"It has been a terrible week," she said. "Mother heard from Mr. Bodery +that they were very ill; so we came. I never dreamt that it was so bad +when you spoke of them. Five years it has been going on?" + +"Yes; five years. Thank you for coming, but I am sorry you should have +seen it." + +"Why?" + +"Every one should keep guard over his own skeleton." + +She was looking at him now. + +"You look very ill," she said curtly. "Where have you been?" + +"I was kidnapped," he said, with a short laugh, "and then I got typhoid. +The monks nursed me." + +"You were in a monastery?" + +"Yes; in Brittany." + +She was idly arranging the cups and saucers with her left hand, which +she seemed desirous of bringing under his notice; but he could look at +nothing but her face. + +"Then," she said, "it would have been impossible to find you?" + +"Quite," he replied, and after a pause he added, in a singularly easy +manner, "Tell me what happened after I disappeared." + +She did not seem to like the task. + +"Well--we searched--oh! Christian, it was horrid!" + +"I wondered," he said, in a deep, soft voice, "whether you would find it +so." + +"Yes, of course, we _all_ did." + +This did not appear to satisfy him. + +"But you," he persisted, "you, yourself--what did you think?" + +"I do not know," she answered, with painful hesitation. "I don't think I +thought at all." + +"Then what did you do, Hilda?" + +"I--oh, we searched. We telegraphed for Mr. Bodery, who came down at +once. Then Fred rode over, and placed himself at Mr. Bodery's disposal. +First he went to Paris, then to Brest. He did everything that could be +done, but of course it was of no avail. By Mr. Bodery's advice +everything was kept secret. There was nothing in the newspapers." + +She stopped suddenly, and there was a silence in the room. He was +looking at her curiously, still ignoring that little left hand. Only one +word of her speech seemed to have attached itself to his understanding. + +"Fred?" he said. "Fred Farrar?" + +"Yes--my husband!" + +He turned away--walked towards the door, and then returned to the +hearthrug, where he stood quite still. + +"I suppose it was a quiet wedding," he said in a hard voice, "on my +account; eh?" + +"Yes," she whispered. He waited, but she added nothing. + +Then suddenly he laughed. + +"I have made a most extraordinary mistake!" he said, and again laughed. + +"Oh, don't" she exclaimed. + +"Don't what?" + +"Laugh." + +He came nearer to her--quite near, until his sleeve almost touched her +bowed head. + +"I thought--at St. Mary Western--that you loved _me_." + +She seemed to shrink away from him. + +"What made me think so, Hilda?" + +She raised her head, and her eyes flashed one momentary appeal for +mercy--like the eyes of a whipped dog. + +"Tell me," he said sternly. + +"It was," she whispered, "because _I_ thought so myself." + +"And when I was gone you found out that you had made a mistake?" + +"Yes; he was so kind, so _brave_, Christian--because he knew of my +mistake." + +Christian Vellacott turned away, and looked thoughtfully out of the +window. + +"Well," he said, after a pause, "so long as you do not suffer by it--" + +"Oh--h," she gasped, as if he were whipping her. She did not quite know +what he meant. She does not know now. + +At last he spoke again, slowly, deliberately, and without emotion. + +"Some day," he said, "when you are older, when you have more experience +of the world, you will probably fall into the habit of thanking God, in +your prayers, that I am what I am. It is not because I am good ... +perhaps it is because I am ambitious--my father, you may remember, was +considered heartless; it may be _that_. But if I were different--if +I were passionate instead of being what the world calls cold and +calculating--you would be ... your life would be--" he stopped, and +turning away he sat down wearily in Aunt Judy's armchair. "You will +know some day!" he said. + +It is probable that she does know now. She knows, in all likelihood, +that her husband would have been powerless to save her from Christian +Vellacott--from herself--from that Love wherein there are no roses but +only thorns. + +And in the room above them Aunt Hester was dying. So wags the world. +There is no attention paid to the laws of dramatic effect upon the stage +of life. The scenes are produced without sequence, without apparent +rhyme or reason; and Chance, the scene-shifter, is very careless, for +comedies are enacted amid scenic effects calculated to show off to +perfection the deepest tragedy, while tragedies are spoilt by their +surroundings. + +The doctor and Mrs. Carew stood at the bedside, and listened to the old +woman's broken murmurings. Into her mind there had perhaps strayed a +gleam of that Light which is not on the earth, for she was not abusing +her great-nephew. + +"Ah, Christian," she was murmuring, "I wish you would come. I want to +thank you for your kindness, more especially to Aunt Judy. She is old, +and we must make allowances. I know she is aggravating. It happened long +ago, when your father was a little boy--but it altered her whole life. I +think women are like that. There is something that only comes to them +once. I am feeling far from well, nephew Vellacott. I think I should +like to see a doctor. What does Aunt Judy think? Is she asleep?" + +She turned her head to where she expected to find her sister, and in the +act of turning her eyes closed. She slumbered peacefully. The two +sisters had slept together for seventy years--seventy long, monotonous +years, in which there had been no incident, no great joy, no deep +sorrow--years lost. Except for the natural growth and slow decay of +their frames, they had remained stationary, while around them children +had grown into men and women and had passed away. + +Presently Aunt Hester opened her eyes, and they rested on the vacant +pillow at her side. After a pause she slowly turned her head, and fixed +her gaze upon the doctor's face. He thought that the power of speech had +left her, but suddenly she spoke, quite clearly. + +"Where is my sister Judith?" she asked. + +There are times when the truth must be spoken, though it kill. + +"Your sister died yesterday," replied the doctor. + +Aunt Hester lay quite still, staring at the ceiling. Her shrivelled +fingers were picking at the counter-pane. Then a gleam of intelligence +passed across her face. + +"And now," she said, "I shall have a bed to myself. I have waited long +enough." + +Aunt Hester was very human, although the shadow of an angel's wing lay +across her bed. + + * * * * * + +It was many years later that Christian Vellacott found himself in the +presence of the Angel of Death again. A telegram from Havre was one day +handed to him in the room at the back of the tall house in the Strand, +and the result was that he crossed from Southampton to Havre that same +night. + +As the sun rose over the sea the next morning, its earliest rays glanced +gaily through the open port-hole of a cabin in a large ocean steamer, +still panting from her struggle through tepid Eastern seas. + +In this little cabin lay the Jesuit missionary, René Drucquer, watching +the moving reflections of the water, which played ceaselessly on the +painted ceiling overhead. He had been sent home from India by a +kind-hearted army surgeon; a doomed man, stricken by a climatic disease +in which there was neither hope nor hurry. When the steamer arrived in +the Seine it was found expedient to let the young missionary die where +he lay. The local agent of the Society of Jesus was a kind-hearted man, +and therefore a faithless servant. He acceded to René Drucquer's prayer +to telegraph for Christian Vellacott. + +And now Vellacott was actually coming down the cabin stairs. He entered +the cabin and stood by the sick man's bed. + +"Ah, you have come," said the Frenchman, with that peculiar tone of +pathetic humour which can only be rendered in the language that he +spoke. + +"But how old! Do I look as old as that, I wonder? And hard--yes, hard as +steel." + +"Oh no," replied Vellacott. "It may be that the hardness that was once +there shows now upon my face--that is all." + +The Frenchman looked lovingly at him, with eyes like the eyes of a +woman. + +"And now you are a great man, they tell me." + +Vellacott shrugged his shoulders. + +"In my way," he admitted. "And you?" + +"I--I have taught." + +"Ah! and has it been a success?" + +"In teaching I have learnt." + +Vellacott merely nodded his head. + +"Do you know why I sent for you?" continued the missionary. + +"No." + +"I sent for you in order to tell you that I burnt that letter at +Audierne." + +"I came to that conclusion, for it never arrived." + +"I want you to forgive me." + +Vellacott laughed. + +"I never thought of it again," he replied heartily. + +The priest was looking keenly at him. + +"I did not say 'thou,' but '_you_,'" he persisted gently. + +Vellacott's glance wavered; he raised his head, and looked out of the +open port-hole across the glassy waters of the river. + +"What do you mean?" he inquired. + +"I thought," said René Drucquer, "there might be some one else--some +woman--who was waiting for news." + +After a little pause the journalist replied. + +"My dear Abbé," he said, "there is no woman in the whole world who wants +news of me. And the result is, as you kindly say, I am a great man +now--in my way." + +But he knew that he might have been a greater. + + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Slave Of The Lamp, by Henry Seton Merriman + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SLAVE OF THE LAMP *** + +***** This file should be named 9195-8.txt or 9195-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/9/1/9/9195/ + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Véronique Durand, and the +Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at + www.gutenberg.org/license. + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at 809 +North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email +contact links and up to date contact information can be found at the +Foundation's web site and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. +To donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For forty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + |