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diff --git a/2683-h/2683-h.htm b/2683-h/2683-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7db885c --- /dev/null +++ b/2683-h/2683-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,13490 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="iso-8859-1"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + Saints Progress, by John Galsworthy + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd7; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 2em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Saint's Progress, by John Galsworthy + +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: Saint's Progress + +Author: John Galsworthy + +Release Date: June 14, 2006 [EBook #2683] +Last Updated: February 18, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SAINT'S PROGRESS *** + + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h1> + SAINTS PROGRESS + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By John Galsworthy + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PART1"> <b>PART I</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> V </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> VI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> VII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> VIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> IX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> X </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PART2"> <b>PART II</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0014"> II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0015"> III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0016"> IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0017"> V </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0018"> VI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0019"> VII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0020"> VIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0021"> IX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0022"> X </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PART3"> <b>PART III</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0024"> I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0025"> II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0026"> III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0027"> IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0028"> V </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0029"> VI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0030"> VII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0031"> VIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0032"> IX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0033"> X </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0034"> XI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0035"> XII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0036"> XIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0037"> XIV </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PART4"> <b>PART IV</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0039"> I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0040"> II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0041"> III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0042"> IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0043"> V </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0044"> VI </a> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PART1" id="link2H_PART1"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + PART I + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + I + </h2> + <p> + Such a day made glad the heart. All the flags of July were waving; the sun + and the poppies flaming; white butterflies spiring up and twining, and the + bees busy on the snapdragons. The lime-trees were coming into flower. Tall + white lilies in the garden beds already rivaled the delphiniums; the York + and Lancaster roses were full-blown round their golden hearts. There was a + gentle breeze, and a swish and stir and hum rose and fell above the head + of Edward Pierson, coming back from his lonely ramble over Tintern Abbey. + He had arrived at Kestrel, his brother Robert's home on the bank of the + Wye only that morning, having stayed at Bath on the way down; and now he + had got his face burnt in that parti-coloured way peculiar to the faces of + those who have been too long in London. As he came along the narrow, + rather overgrown avenue, the sound of a waltz thrummed out on a piano fell + on his ears, and he smiled, for music was the greatest passion he had. His + dark grizzled hair was pushed back off his hot brow, which he fanned with + his straw hat. Though not broad, that brow was the broadest part of a + narrow oval face whose length was increased by a short, dark, pointed + beard—a visage such as Vandyk might have painted, grave and gentle, + but for its bright grey eyes, cinder-lashed and crow's-footed, and its + strange look of not seeing what was before it. He walked quickly, though + he was tired and hot; tall, upright, and thin, in a grey parsonical suit, + on whose black kerseymere vest a little gold cross dangled. + </p> + <p> + Above his brother's house, whose sloping garden ran down to the railway + line and river, a large room had been built out apart. Pierson stood where + the avenue forked, enjoying the sound of the waltz, and the cool whipping + of the breeze in the sycamores and birches. A man of fifty, with a sense + of beauty, born and bred in the country, suffers fearfully from nostalgia + during a long unbroken spell of London; so that his afternoon in the old + Abbey had been almost holy. He had let his senses sink into the sunlit + greenery of the towering woods opposite; he had watched the spiders and + the little shining beetles, the flycatchers, and sparrows in the ivy; + touched the mosses and the lichens; looked the speedwells in the eye; + dreamed of he knew not what. A hawk had been wheeling up there above the + woods, and he had been up there with it in the blue. He had taken a real + spiritual bath, and washed the dusty fret of London off his soul. + </p> + <p> + For a year he had been working his parish single-handed—no joke—for + his curate had gone for a chaplain; and this was his first real holiday + since the war began, two years ago; his first visit, too, to his brother's + home. He looked down at the garden, and up at the trees of the avenue. Bob + had found a perfect retreat after his quarter of a century in Ceylon. Dear + old Bob! And he smiled at the thought of his elder brother, whose burnt + face and fierce grey whiskers somewhat recalled a Bengal tiger; the + kindest fellow that ever breathed! Yes, he had found a perfect home for + Thirza and himself. And Edward Pierson sighed. He too had once had a + perfect home, a perfect wife; the wound of whose death, fifteen years ago, + still bled a little in his heart. Their two daughters, Gratian and Noel, + had not “taken after” her; Gratian was like his own mother, + and Noel's fair hair and big grey eyes always reminded him of his cousin + Leila, who—poor thing!—had made that sad mess of her life, and + now, he had heard, was singing for a living, in South Africa. Ah! What a + pretty girl she had been! + </p> + <p> + Drawn by that eternal waltz tune he reached the doorway of the music-room. + A chintz curtain hung there, and to the sound of feet slipping on polished + boards, he saw his daughter Noel waltzing slowly in the arms of a young + officer in khaki: Round and round they went, circling, backing, moving + sideways with curious steps which seemed to have come in recently, for he + did not recognise them. At the piano sat his niece Eve, with a teasing + smile on her rosy face. But it was at his young daughter that Edward + Pierson looked. Her eyes were half-closed, her cheeks rather pale, and her + fair hair, cut quite short, curled into her slim round neck. Quite cool + she seemed, though the young man in whose arms she was gliding along + looked fiery hot; a handsome boy, with blue eyes and a little golden down + on the upper lip of his sunny red-cheeked face. Edward Pierson thought: + 'Nice couple!' And had a moment's vision of himself and Leila, dancing at + that long-ago Cambridge May Week—on her seventeenth birthday, he + remembered, so that she must have been a year younger than Nollie was now! + This would be the young man she had talked of in her letters during the + last three weeks. Were they never going to stop? + </p> + <p> + He passed into view of those within, and said: + </p> + <p> + “Aren't you very hot, Nollie?” + </p> + <p> + She blew him a kiss; the young man looked startled and self-conscious, and + Eve called out: + </p> + <p> + “It's a bet, Uncle. They've got to dance me down.” + </p> + <p> + Pierson said mildly: + </p> + <p> + “A bet? My dears!” + </p> + <p> + Noel murmured over her shoulder: + </p> + <p> + “It's all right, Daddy!” And the young man gasped: + </p> + <p> + “She's bet us one of her puppies against one of mine, sir!” + </p> + <p> + Pierson sat down, a little hypnotized by the sleepy strumming, the slow + giddy movement of the dancers, and those half-closed swimming eyes of his + young daughter, looking at him over her shoulder as she went by. He sat + with a smile on his lips. Nollie was growing up! Now that Gratian was + married, she had become a great responsibility. If only his dear wife had + lived! The smile faded from his lips; he looked suddenly very tired. The + struggle, physical and spiritual, he had been through, these fifteen + years, sometimes weighed him almost to the ground: Most men would have + married again, but he had always felt it would be sacrilege. Real unions + were for ever, even though the Church permitted remarriage. + </p> + <p> + He watched his young daughter with a mixture of aesthetic pleasure and + perplexity. Could this be good for her? To go on dancing indefinitely with + one young man could that possibly be good for her? But they looked very + happy; and there was so much in young creatures that he did not + understand. Noel, so affectionate, and dreamy, seemed sometimes possessed + of a little devil. Edward Pierson was naif; attributed those outbursts of + demonic possession to the loss of her mother when she was such a mite; + Gratian, but two years older, had never taken a mother's place. That had + been left to himself, and he was more or less conscious of failure. + </p> + <p> + He sat there looking up at her with a sort of whimsical distress. And, + suddenly, in that dainty voice of hers, which seemed to spurn each word a + little, she said: + </p> + <p> + “I'm going to stop!” and, sitting down beside him, took up his + hat to fan herself. + </p> + <p> + Eve struck a triumphant chord. “Hurrah I've won!” + </p> + <p> + The young man muttered: + </p> + <p> + “I say, Noel, we weren't half done!” + </p> + <p> + “I know; but Daddy was getting bored, weren't you, dear? This is + Cyril Morland.” + </p> + <p> + Pierson shook the young man's hand. + </p> + <p> + “Daddy, your nose is burnt!” + </p> + <p> + “My dear; I know.” + </p> + <p> + “I can give you some white stuff for it. You have to sleep with it + on all night. Uncle and Auntie both use it.” + </p> + <p> + “Nollie!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Eve says so. If you're going to bathe, Cyril, look out for + that current!” + </p> + <p> + The young man, gazing at her with undisguised adoration, muttered: + </p> + <p> + “Rather!” and went out. + </p> + <p> + Noel's eyes lingered after him; Eve broke a silence. + </p> + <p> + “If you're going to have a bath before tea, Nollie, you'd better + hurry up.” + </p> + <p> + “All right. Was it jolly in the Abbey, Daddy?” + </p> + <p> + “Lovely; like a great piece of music.” + </p> + <p> + “Daddy always puts everything into music. You ought to see it by + moonlight; it's gorgeous then. All right, Eve; I'm coming.” But she + did not get up, and when Eve was gone, cuddled her arm through her + father's and murmured: + </p> + <p> + “What d'you think of Cyril?” + </p> + <p> + “My dear, how can I tell? He seems a nice-looking young man.” + </p> + <p> + “All right, Daddy; don't strain yourself. It's jolly down here, + isn't it?” She got up, stretched herself a little, and moved away, + looking like a very tall child, with her short hair curling in round her + head. + </p> + <p> + Pierson, watching her vanish past the curtain, thought: 'What a lovely + thing she is!' And he got up too, but instead of following, went to the + piano, and began to play Mendelssohn's Prelude and Fugue in E minor. He + had a fine touch, and played with a sort of dreamy passion. It was his way + out of perplexities, regrets, and longings; a way which never quite failed + him. + </p> + <p> + At Cambridge, he had intended to take up music as a profession, but family + tradition had destined him for Holy Orders, and an emotional Church + revival of that day had caught him in its stream. He had always had + private means, and those early years before he married had passed happily + in an East-End parish. To have not only opportunity but power to help in + the lives of the poor had been fascinating; simple himself, the simple + folk of his parish had taken hold of his heart. When, however, he married + Agnes Heriot, he was given a parish of his own on the borders of East and + West, where he had been ever since, even after her death had nearly killed + him. It was better to go on where work and all reminded him of one whom he + had resolved never to forget in other ties. But he knew that his work had + not the zest it used to have in her day, or even before her day. It may + well be doubted whether he, who had been in Holy Orders twenty-six years, + quite knew now what he believed. Everything had become circumscribed, and + fixed, by thousands of his own utterances; to have taken fresh stock of + his faith, to have gone deep into its roots, would have been like taking + up the foundations of a still-standing house. Some men naturally root + themselves in the inexpressible—for which one formula is much the + same as another; though Edward Pierson, gently dogmatic, undoubtedly + preferred his High-Church statement of the inexpressible to that of, say, + the Zoroastrians. The subtleties of change, the modifications by science, + left little sense of inconsistency or treason on his soul. Sensitive, + charitable, and only combative deep down, he instinctively avoided + discussion on matters where he might hurt others or they hurt him. And, + since explanation was the last thing which o could be expected of one who + did not base himself on Reason, he had found but scant occasion ever to + examine anything. Just as in the old Abbey he had soared off into the + infinite with the hawk, the beetles, and the grasses, so now, at the + piano, by these sounds of his own making, he was caught away again into + emotionalism, without realising that he was in one of his, most religious + moods. + </p> + <p> + “Aren't you coming to tea, Edward?” + </p> + <p> + The woman standing behind him, in a lilac-coloured gown, had one of those + faces which remain innocent to the end of the chapter, in spite of the + complete knowledge of life which appertains to mothers. In days of + suffering and anxiety, like these of the great war, Thirza Pierson was a + valuable person. Without ever expressing an opinion on cosmic matters, she + reconfirmed certain cosmic truths, such as that though the whole world was + at war, there was such a thing as peace; that though all the sons of + mothers were being killed, there remained such a thing as motherhood; that + while everybody was living for the future, the present still existed. Her + tranquil, tender, matter-of-fact busyness, and the dew in her eyes, had + been proof against twenty-three years of life on a tea-plantation in the + hot part of Ceylon; against Bob Pierson; against the anxiety of having two + sons at the front, and the confidences of nearly every one she came + across. Nothing disturbed her. She was like a painting of “Goodness” + by an Old Master, restored by Kate Greenaway. She never went to meet life, + but when it came, made the best of it. This was her secret, and Pierson + always felt rested in her presence. + </p> + <p> + He rose, and moved by her side, over the lawn, towards the big tree at the + bottom of the garden. + </p> + <p> + “How d'you think Noel is looking, Edward?” + </p> + <p> + “Very pretty. That young man, Thirza?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; I'm afraid he's over head and ears in love with her.” + </p> + <p> + At the dismayed sound he uttered, she slipped her soft round arm within + his. “He's going to the front soon, poor boy!” + </p> + <p> + “Have they talked to you?” + </p> + <p> + “He has. Nollie hasn't yet.” + </p> + <p> + “Nollie is a queer child, Thirza.” + </p> + <p> + “Nollie is a darling, but rather a desperate character, Edward.” + </p> + <p> + Pierson sighed. + </p> + <p> + In a swing under the tree, where the tea-things were set out, the “rather + desperate character” was swaying. “What a picture she is!” + he said, and sighed again. + </p> + <p> + The voice of his brother came to them,—high and steamy, as though + corrupted by the climate of Ceylon: + </p> + <p> + “You incorrigible dreamy chap, Ted! We've eaten all the raspberries. + Eve, give him some jam; he must be dead! Phew! the heat! Come on, my dear, + and pour out his tea. Hallo, Cyril! Had a good bathe? By George, wish my + head was wet! Squattez-vous down over there, by Nollie; she'll swing, and + keep the flies off you.” + </p> + <p> + “Give me a cigarette, Uncle Bob—” + </p> + <p> + “What! Your father doesn't—” + </p> + <p> + “Just for the flies. You don't mind, Daddy?” + </p> + <p> + “Not if it's necessary, my dear.” + </p> + <p> + Noel smiled, showing her upper teeth, and her eyes seemed to swim under + their long lashes. + </p> + <p> + “It isn't necessary, but it's nice.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, ha!” said Bob Pierson. “Here you are, Nollie!” + </p> + <p> + But Noel shook her head. At that moment she struck her father as + startlingly grown-up-so composed, swaying above that young man at her + feet, whose sunny face was all adoration. 'No longer a child!' he thought. + 'Dear Nollie!' + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II + </h2> + <p> + 1 + </p> + <p> + Awakened by that daily cruelty, the advent of hot water, Edward Pierson + lay in his chintz-curtained room, fancying himself back in London. A wild + bee hunting honey from the bowl of flowers on the window-sill, and the + scent of sweetbrier, shattered that illusion. He drew the curtain, and, + kneeling on the window-seat thrust his head out into the morning. The air + was intoxicatingly sweet. Haze clung over the river and the woods beyond; + the lawn sparkled with dew, and two wagtails strutted in the dewy + sunshine. 'Thank God for loveliness!' he thought. 'Those poor boys at the + front!' And kneeling with his elbows on the sill, he began to say his + prayers. The same feeling which made him beautify his church, use + vestments, good music, and incense, filled him now. God was in the + loveliness of His world, as well as in His churches. One could worship Him + in a grove of beech trees, in a beautiful garden, on a high hill, by the + banks of a bright river. God was in the rustle of the leaves, and the hum + of a bee, in the dew on the grass, and the scent of flowers; God was in + everything! And he added to his usual prayer this whisper: “I give + Thee thanks for my senses, O Lord. In all of us, keep them bright, and + grateful for beauty.” Then he remained motionless, prey to a sort of + happy yearning very near, to melancholy. Great beauty ever had that effect + on him. One could capture so little of it—could never enjoy it + enough! Who was it had said not long ago: “Love of beauty is really + only the sex instinct, which nothing but complete union satisfies.” + Ah! yes, George—Gratian's husband. George Laird! And a little frown + came between his brows, as though at some thorn in the flesh. Poor George! + But then, all doctors were materialists at heart—splendid fellows, + though; a fine fellow, George, working himself to death out there in + France. One must not take them too seriously. He plucked a bit of + sweetbrier and put it to his nose, which still retained the shine of that + bleaching ointment Noel had insisted on his using. The sweet smell of + those little rough leaves stirred up an acute aching. He dropped them, and + drew back. No longings, no melancholy; one ought to be out, this beautiful + morning! + </p> + <p> + It was Sunday; but he had not to take three Services and preach at least + one sermon; this day of rest was really to be his own, for once. It was + almost disconcerting; he had so long felt like the cab horse who could not + be taken out of the shafts lest he should fall down. He dressed with + extraordinary deliberation, and had not quite finished when there came a + knock on his door, and Noel's voice said: “Can I come in, Daddy?” + </p> + <p> + In her flax-blue frock, with a Gloire de Dijon rose pinned where it met on + her faintly browned neck, she seemed to her father a perfect vision of + freshness. + </p> + <p> + “Here's a letter from Gratian; George has been sent home ill, and + he's gone to our house. She's got leave from her hospital to come home and + nurse him.” + </p> + <p> + Pierson read the letter. “Poor George!” + </p> + <p> + “When are you going to let me be a nurse, Daddy?” + </p> + <p> + “We must wait till you're eighteen, Nollie.” + </p> + <p> + “I could easily say I was. It's only a month; and I look much more.” + </p> + <p> + Pierson smiled. + </p> + <p> + “Don't I?” + </p> + <p> + “You might be anything from fifteen to twenty-five, my dear, + according as you behave.” + </p> + <p> + “I want to go out as near the front as possible.” + </p> + <p> + Her head was poised so that the sunlight framed her face, which was rather + broad—the brow rather too broad—under the waving light-brown + hair, the nose short and indeterminate; cheeks still round from youth, + almost waxen-pale, and faintly hollowed under the eyes. It was her lips, + dainty yet loving, and above all her grey eyes, big and dreamily alive, + which made her a swan. He could not imagine her in nurse's garb. + </p> + <p> + “This is new, isn't it, Nollie?” + </p> + <p> + “Cyril Morland's sisters are both out; and he'll be going soon. + Everybody goes.” + </p> + <p> + “Gratian hasn't got out yet: It takes a long time to get trained.” + </p> + <p> + “I know; all the more reason to begin.” + </p> + <p> + She got up, looked at him, looked at her hands, seemed about to speak, but + did not. A little colour had come into her cheeks. Then, obviously making + conversation, she asked: + </p> + <p> + “Are you going to church? It's worth anything to hear Uncle Bob read + the Lessons, especially when he loses his place. No; you're not to put on + your long coat till just before church time. I won't have it!” + </p> + <p> + Obediently Pierson resigned his long coat. + </p> + <p> + “Now, you see, you can have my rose. Your nose is better!” She + kissed his nose, and transferred her rose to the buttonhole of his short + coat. “That's all. Come along!” And with her arm through his, + they went down. But he knew she had come to say something which she had + not said. + </p> + <p> + 2 + </p> + <p> + Bob Pierson, in virtue of greater wealth than the rest of the + congregation, always read the Lessons, in his high steamy voice, his + breathing never adjusted to the length of any period. The congregation, + accustomed, heard nothing peculiar; he was the necessary gentry with the + necessary finger in the pie. It was his own family whom he perturbed. In + the second row, Noel, staring solemnly at the profile of her father in the + front row, was thinking: 'Poor Daddy! His eyes look as if they were coming + out. Oh, Daddy! Smile! or it'll hurt you!' Young Morland beside her, rigid + in his tunic, was thinking: 'She isn't thinking of me!' And just then her + little finger crooked into his. Edward Pierson was thinking: 'Oh! My dear + old Bob! Oh!' And, beside him, Thirza thought: 'Poor dear Ted I how nice + for him to be having a complete rest! I must make him eat he's so thin!' + And Eve was thinking: 'Oh, Father! Mercy!' But Bob Pierson was thinking: + 'Cheer oh! Only another three verses!' Noel's little finger unhooked + itself, but her eyes stole round to young Morland's eyes, and there was a + light in them which lingered through the singing and the prayers. At last, + in the reverential rustle of the settling congregation, a surpliced figure + mounted the pulpit. + </p> + <p> + “I come not to bring Peace, but a sword.” + </p> + <p> + Pierson looked up. He felt deep restfulness. There was a pleasant light in + this church; the hum of a country bluebottle made all the difference to + the quality of silence. No critical thought stirred within him, nor any + excitement. He was thinking: 'Now I shall hear something for my good; a + fine text; when did I preach from it last?' Turned a little away from the + others, he saw nothing but the preacher's homely face up there above the + carved oak; it was so long since he had been preached to, so long since he + had had a rest! The words came forth, dropped on his forehead, penetrated, + met something which absorbed them, and disappeared. 'A good plain sermon!' + he thought. 'I suppose I'm stale; I don't seem—' “Let us not, + dear brethren,” droned the preacher's earnest voice, “think + that our dear Lord, in saying that He brought a sword, referred to a + physical sword. It was the sword of the spirit to which He was undoubtedly + referring, that bright sword of the spirit which in all ages has cleaved + its way through the fetters imposed on men themselves by their own + desires, imposed by men on other men in gratification of their ambitions, + as we have had so striking an example in the invasion by our cruel enemies + of a little neighbouring country which had done them no harm. Dear + brethren, we may all bring swords.” Pierson's chin jerked; he raised + his hand quickly and passed it over his face. 'All bring swords,' he + thought, 'swords—I wasn't asleep—surely!' “But let us be + sure that our swords are bright; bright with hope, and bright with faith, + that we may see them flashing among the carnal desires of this mortal + life, carving a path for us towards that heavenly kingdom where alone is + peace, perfect peace. Let us pray.” + </p> + <p> + Pierson did not shut his eyes; he opened them as he fell on his knees. In + the seat behind, Noel and young Morland had also fallen on their knees + their faces covered each with a single hand; but her left hand and his + right hung at their sides. They prayed a little longer than any others + and, on rising, sang the hymn a little louder. + </p> + <p> + 3 + </p> + <p> + No paper came on Sundays—not even the local paper, which had so long + and so nobly done its bit with headlines to win the war. No news whatever + came, of men blown up, to enliven the hush of the hot July afternoon, or + the sense of drugging—which followed Aunt Thirza's Sunday lunch. + Some slept, some thought they were awake; but Noel and young Morland + walked upward through the woods towards a high common of heath and furze, + crowned by what was known as Kestrel rocks. Between these two young people + no actual word of love had yet been spoken. Their lovering had advanced by + glance and touch alone. + </p> + <p> + Young Morland was a school and college friend of the two Pierson boys now + at the front. He had no home of his own, for his parents were dead; and + this was not his first visit to Kestrel. Arriving three weeks ago, for his + final leave before he should go out, he had found a girl sitting in a + little wagonette outside the station, and had known his fate at once. But + who knows when Noel fell in love? She was—one supposes—just + ready for that sensation. For the last two years she had been at one of + those high-class finishing establishments where, in spite of the healthy + curriculum, perhaps because of it, there is ever an undercurrent of + interest in the opposing sex; and not even the gravest efforts to + eliminate instinct are quite successful. The disappearance of every young + male thing into the maw of the military machine put a premium on instinct. + The thoughts of Noel and her school companions were turned, perforce, to + that which, in pre-war freedom of opportunity they could afford to regard + as of secondary interest. Love and Marriage and Motherhood, fixed as the + lot of women by the countless ages, were threatened for these young + creatures. They not unnaturally pursued what they felt to be receding. + </p> + <p> + When young Morland showed, by following her about with his eyes, what was + happening to him, Noel was pleased. From being pleased, she became a + little excited; from being excited she became dreamy. Then, about a week + before her father's arrival, she secretly began to follow the young man + about with her eyes; became capricious too, and a little cruel. If there + had been another young man to favour—but there was not; and she + favoured Uncle Bob's red setter. Cyril Morland grew desperate. During + those three days the demon her father dreaded certainly possessed her. And + then, one evening, while they walked back together from the hay-fields, + she gave him a sidelong glance; and he gasped out: “Oh! Noel, what + have I done?” She caught his hand, and gave it a quick squeeze. What + a change! What blissful alteration ever since! + </p> + <p> + Through the wood young Morland mounted silently, screwing himself up to + put things to the touch. Noel too mounted silently, thinking: 'I will kiss + him if he kisses me!' Eagerness, and a sort of languor, were running in + her veins; she did not look at him from under her shady hat. Sun light + poured down through every chink in the foliage; made the greenness of the + steep wood marvellously vivid and alive; flashed on beech leaves, ash + leaves, birch leaves; fell on the ground in little runlets; painted bright + patches on trunks and grass, the beech mast, the ferns; butterflies chased + each other in that sunlight, and myriads of ants and gnats and flies + seemed possessed by a frenzy of life. The whole wood seemed possessed, as + if the sunshine were a happy Being which had come to dwell therein. At a + half-way spot, where the trees opened and they could see, far below them, + the gleam of the river, she sat down on the bole of a beech-tree, and + young Morland stood looking at her. Why should one face and not an other, + this voice and not that, make a heart beat; why should a touch from one + hand awaken rapture, and a touch from another awaken nothing? He knelt + down and pressed his lips to her foot. Her eyes grew very bright; but she + got up and ran on—she had not expected him to kiss her foot. She + heard him hurrying after her, and stopped, leaning against a birch trunk. + He rushed to her, and, without a word spoken, his lips were on her lips. + The moment in life, which no words can render, had come for them. They had + found their enchanted spot, and they moved no further, but sat with their + arms round each other, while the happy Being of the wood watched. A + marvellous speeder-up of Love is War. What might have taken six months, + was thus accomplished in three weeks. + </p> + <p> + A short hour passed, then Noel said: + </p> + <p> + “I must tell Daddy, Cyril. I meant to tell him something this + morning, only I thought I'd better wait, in case you didn't.” + </p> + <p> + Morland answered: “Oh, Noel!” It was the staple of his + conversation while they sat there. + </p> + <p> + Again a short hour passed, and Morland said: + </p> + <p> + “I shall go off my chump if we're not married before I go out.” + </p> + <p> + “How long does it take?” + </p> + <p> + “No time, if we hurry up. I've got six days before I rejoin, and + perhaps the Chief will give me another week, if I tell him.” + </p> + <p> + “Poor Daddy! Kiss me again; a long one.” + </p> + <p> + When the long one was over, she said: + </p> + <p> + “Then I can come and be near you till you go out? Oh, Cyril!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Noel!” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you won't go so soon. Don't go if you can help it!” + </p> + <p> + “Not if I can help it, darling; but I shan't be able.” + </p> + <p> + “No, of course not; I know.” + </p> + <p> + Young Morland clutched his hair. “Everyone's in the same boat, but + it can't last for ever; and now we're engaged we can be together all the + time till I've got the licence or whatever it is. And then—!” + </p> + <p> + “Daddy won't like our not being married in a church; but I don't + care!” + </p> + <p> + Looking down at her closed eyes, and their lashes resting on her cheeks, + young Morland thought: + </p> + <p> + 'My God! I'm in heaven!' + </p> + <p> + Another short hour passed before she freed herself. + </p> + <p> + “We must go, Cyril. Kiss me once more!” + </p> + <p> + It was nearly dinner-time, and they ran down. 4 + </p> + <p> + Edward Pierson, returning from the Evening Service, where he had read the + Lessons, saw them in the distance, and compressed his lips. Their long + absence had vexed him. What ought he to do? In the presence of Love's + young dream, he felt strange and helpless. That night, when he opened the + door of his room, he saw Noel on the window-seat, in her dressing-gown, + with the moonlight streaming in on her. + </p> + <p> + “Don't light up, Daddy; I've got something to say.” + </p> + <p> + She took hold of the little gold cross on his vest, and turned it over. + </p> + <p> + “I'm engaged to Cyril; we want to be married this week.” + </p> + <p> + It was exactly as if someone had punched him in the ribs; and at the sound + he made she hurried on: + </p> + <p> + “You see, we must be; he may be going out any day.” + </p> + <p> + In the midst of his aching consternation, he admitted a kind of reason in + her words. But he said: + </p> + <p> + “My dear, you're only a child. Marriage is the most serious thing in + life; you've only known him three weeks.” + </p> + <p> + “I know all that, Daddy” her voice sounded so ridiculously + calm; “but we can't afford to wait. He might never come back, you + see, and then I should have missed him.” + </p> + <p> + “But, Noel, suppose he never did come back; it would only be much + worse for you.” + </p> + <p> + She dropped the little cross, and took hold of his hand, pressing it + against her heart. But still her voice was calm: + </p> + <p> + “No; much better, Daddy; you think I don't know my own feelings, but + I do.” + </p> + <p> + The man in Pierson softened; the priest hardened. + </p> + <p> + “Nollie, true marriage is the union of souls; and for that, time is + wanted. Time to know that you feel and think the same, and love the same + things.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know; but we do.” + </p> + <p> + “You can't tell that, my dear; no one could in three weeks.” + </p> + <p> + “But these aren't ordinary times, are they? People have to do things + in a hurry. Oh, Daddy! Be an angel! Mother would have understood, and let + me, I know!” + </p> + <p> + Pierson drew away his hand; the words hurt, from reminder of his loss, + from reminder of the poor substitute he was. + </p> + <p> + “Look, Nollie!” he said. “After all these years since + she left us, I'm as lonely as ever, because we were really one. If you + marry this young man without knowing more of your own hearts than you can + in such a little time, you may regret it dreadfully; you may find it turn + out, after all, nothing but a little empty passion; or again, if anything + happens to him before you've had any real married life together, you'll + have a much greater grief and sense of loss to put up with than if you + simply stay engaged till after the war. Besides, my child, you're much too + young.” + </p> + <p> + She sat so still that he looked at her in alarm. “But I must!” + </p> + <p> + He bit his lips, and said sharply: “You can't, Nollie!” + </p> + <p> + She got up, and before he could stop her, was gone. With the closing of + the door, his anger evaporated, and distress took its place. Poor child! + What to do with this wayward chicken just out of the egg, and wanting to + be full-fledged at once? The thought that she would be lying miserable, + crying, perhaps, beset him so that he went out into the passage and tapped + on her door. Getting no answer, he went in. It was dark but for a streak + of moonlight, and in that he saw her, lying on her bed, face down; and + stealing up laid his hand on her head. She did not move; and, stroking her + hair, he said gently: + </p> + <p> + “Nollie dear, I didn't mean to be harsh. If I were your mother, I + should know how to make you see, but I'm only an old bumble-daddy.” + </p> + <p> + She rolled over, scrambling into a cross-legged posture on the bed. He + could see her eyes shining. But she did not speak; she seemed to know that + in silence was her strength. + </p> + <p> + He said with a sort of despair: + </p> + <p> + “You must let me talk it over with your aunt. She has a lot of good + sense.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + He bent over and kissed her hot forehead. + </p> + <p> + “Good night, my dear; don't cry. Promise me!” + </p> + <p> + She nodded, and lifted her face; he felt her hot soft lips on his + forehead, and went away a little comforted. + </p> + <p> + But Noel sat on her bed, hugging her knees, listening to the night, to the + emptiness and silence; each minute so much lost of the little, little time + left, that she might have been with him. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + III + </h2> + <p> + Pierson woke after a troubled and dreamful night, in which he had thought + himself wandering in heaven like a lost soul. + </p> + <p> + After regaining his room last night nothing had struck him more forcibly + than the needlessness of his words: “Don't cry, Nollie!” for + he had realised with uneasiness that she had not been near crying. No; + there was in her some emotion very different from the tearful. He kept + seeing her cross-legged figure on the bed in that dim light; tense, + enigmatic, almost Chinese; kept feeling the feverish touch of her lips. A + good girlish burst of tears would have done her good, and been a + guarantee. He had the uncomfortable conviction that his refusal had passed + her by, as if unspoken. And, since he could not go and make music at that + time of night, he had ended on his knees, in a long search for guidance, + which was not vouchsafed him. + </p> + <p> + The culprits were demure at breakfast; no one could have told that for the + last hour they had been sitting with their arms round each other, watching + the river flow by, talking but little, through lips too busy. Pierson + pursued his sister-in-law to the room where she did her flowers every + morning. He watched her for a minute dividing ramblers from pansies, + cornflowers from sweet peas, before he said: + </p> + <p> + “I'm very troubled, Thirza. Nollie came to me last night. Imagine! + They want to get married—those two!” + </p> + <p> + Accepting life as it came, Thirza showed no dismay, but her cheeks grew a + little pinker, and her eyes a little rounder. She took up a sprig of + mignonette, and said placidly: + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my dear!” + </p> + <p> + “Think of it, Thirza—that child! Why, it's only a year or two + since she used to sit on my knee and tickle my face with her hair.” + </p> + <p> + Thirza went on arranging her flowers. + </p> + <p> + “Noel is older than you think, Edward; she is more than her age. And + real married life wouldn't begin for them till after—if it ever + began.” + </p> + <p> + Pierson experienced a sort of shock. His sister-in-law's words seemed + criminally light-hearted. + </p> + <p> + “But—but—” he stammered; “the union, Thirza! + Who can tell what will happen before they come together again!” + </p> + <p> + She looked at his quivering face, and said gently: + </p> + <p> + “I know, Edward; but if you refuse, I should be afraid, in these + days, of what Noel might do. I told you there's a streak of desperation in + her.” + </p> + <p> + “Noel will obey me.” + </p> + <p> + “I wonder! There are so many of these war marriages now.” + </p> + <p> + Pierson turned away. + </p> + <p> + “I think they're dreadful. What do they mean—Just a momentary + gratification of passion. They might just as well not be.” + </p> + <p> + “They mean pensions, as a rule,” said Thirza calmly. + </p> + <p> + “Thirza, that is cynical; besides, it doesn't affect this case. I + can't bear to think of my little Nollie giving herself for a moment which + may come to nothing, or may turn out the beginning of an unhappy marriage. + Who is this boy—what is he? I know nothing of him. How can I give + her to him—it's impossible! If they had been engaged some time and I + knew something of him—yes, perhaps; even at her age. But this hasty + passionateness—it isn't right, it isn't decent. I don't understand, + I really don't—how a child like that can want it. The fact is, she + doesn't know what she's asking, poor little Nollie. She can't know the + nature of marriage, and she can't realise its sacredness. If only her + mother were here! Talk to her, Thirza; you can say things that I can't!” + </p> + <p> + Thirza looked after the retreating figure. In spite of his cloth, perhaps + a little because of it, he seemed to her like a child who had come to show + her his sore finger. And, having finished the arrangement of her flowers, + she went out to find her niece. She had not far to go; for Noel was + standing in the hall, quite evidently lying in wait. They went out + together to the avenue. + </p> + <p> + The girl began at once: + </p> + <p> + “It isn't any use talking to me, Auntie; Cyril is going to get a + license.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! So you've made up your minds?” + </p> + <p> + “Quite.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think that's fair by me, Nollie? Should I have asked him + here if I'd thought this was going to happen?” + </p> + <p> + Noel only smiled. + </p> + <p> + “Have you the least idea what marriage means?” + </p> + <p> + Noel nodded. + </p> + <p> + “Really?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course. Gratian is married. Besides, at school—” + </p> + <p> + “Your father is dead against it. This is a sad thing for him. He's a + perfect saint, and you oughtn't to hurt him. Can't you wait, at least till + Cyril's next leave?” + </p> + <p> + “He might never have one, you see.” + </p> + <p> + The heart of her whose boys were out there too, and might also never have + another leave; could not but be responsive to those words. She looked at + her niece, and a dim appreciation of this revolt of life menaced by death, + of youth threatened with extinction, stirred in her. Noel's teeth were + clenched, her lips drawn back, and she was staring in front of her. + </p> + <p> + “Daddy oughtn't to mind. Old people haven't to fight, and get + killed; they oughtn't to mind us taking what we can. They've had their + good time.” + </p> + <p> + It was such a just little speech that Thirza answered: + </p> + <p> + “Yes; perhaps he hasn't quite realised that.” + </p> + <p> + “I want to make sure of Cyril, Auntie; I want everything I can have + with him while there's the chance. I don't think it's much to ask, when + perhaps I'll never have any more of him again.” + </p> + <p> + Thirza slipped her hand through the girl's arm. + </p> + <p> + “I understand,” she said. “Only, Nollie, suppose, when + all this is over, and we breathe and live naturally once more, you found + you'd made a mistake?” + </p> + <p> + Noel shook her head. “I haven't.” + </p> + <p> + “We all think that, my dear; but thousands of mistakes are made by + people who no more dream they're making them than you do now; and then + it's a very horrible business. It would be especially horrible for you; + your father believes heart and soul in marriage being for ever.” + </p> + <p> + “Daddy's a darling; but I don't always believe what he believes, you + know. Besides, I'm not making a mistake, Auntie! I love Cyril ever so.” + </p> + <p> + Thirza gave her waist a squeeze. + </p> + <p> + “You mustn't make a mistake. We love you too much, Nollie. I wish we + had Gratian here.” + </p> + <p> + “Gratian would back me up,” said Noel; “she knows what + the war is. And you ought to, Auntie. If Rex or Harry wanted to be + married, I'm sure you'd never oppose them. And they're no older than + Cyril. You must understand what it means to me Auntie dear, to feel that + we belong to each other properly before—before it all begins for + him, and—and there may be no more. Daddy doesn't realise. I know + he's awfully good, but—he's forgotten.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear, I think he remembers only too well. He was desperately + attached to your mother.” + </p> + <p> + Noel clenched her hands. + </p> + <p> + “Was he? Well, so am I to Cyril, and he to me. We wouldn't be + unreasonable if it wasn't—wasn't necessary. Talk, to Cyril, Auntie; + then you'll understand. There he is; only, don't keep him long, because I + want him. Oh! Auntie; I want him so badly!” + </p> + <p> + She turned; and slipped back into the house; and Thirza, conscious of + having been decoyed to this young man, who stood there with his arms + folded, like Napoleon before a battle, smiled and said: + </p> + <p> + “Well, Cyril, so you've betrayed me!” + </p> + <p> + Even in speaking she was conscious of the really momentous change in this + sunburnt, blue-eyed, lazily impudent youth since the day he arrived, three + weeks ago, in their little wagonette. He took her arm, just as Noel had, + and made her sit down beside him on the rustic bench, where he had + evidently been told to wait. + </p> + <p> + “You see, Mrs. Pierson,” he said, “it's not as if Noel + were an ordinary girl in an ordinary time, is it? Noel is the sort of girl + one would knock one's brains out for; and to send me out there knowing + that I could have been married to her and wasn't, will take all the heart + out of me. Of course I mean to come back, but chaps do get knocked over, + and I think it's cruel that we can't take what we can while we can. + Besides, I've got money; and that would be hers anyway. So, do be a + darling, won't you?” He put his arm round her waist, just as if he + had been her son, and her heart, which wanted her own boys so badly, felt + warmed within her. + </p> + <p> + “You see, I don't know Mr. Pierson, but he seems awfully gentle and + jolly, and if he could see into me he wouldn't mind, I know. We don't mind + risking our lives and all that, but we do think we ought to have the run + of them while we're alive. I'll give him my dying oath or anything, that I + could never change towards Noel, and she'll do the same. Oh! Mrs. Pierson, + do be a jolly brick, and put in a word for me, quick! We've got so few + days!” + </p> + <p> + “But, my dear boy,” said Thirza feebly, “do you think + it's fair to such a child as Noel?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I do. You don't understand; she's simply had to grow up. She + is grown-up—all in this week; she's quite as old as I am, really—and + I'm twenty-two. And you know it's going to be—it's got to be—a + young world, from now on; people will begin doing things much earlier. + What's the use of pretending it's like what it was, and being cautious, + and all that? If I'm going to be killed, I think we've got a right to be + married first; and if I'm not, then what does it matter?” + </p> + <p> + “You've known each other twenty-one days, Cyril.” + </p> + <p> + “No; twenty-one years! Every day's a year when—Oh! Mrs. + Pierson, this isn't like you, is it? You never go to meet trouble, do you?” + </p> + <p> + At that shrewd remark, Thirza put her hand on the hand which still clasped + her waist, and pressed it closer. + </p> + <p> + “Well, my dear,” she said softly, “we must see what can + be done.” + </p> + <p> + Cyril Morland kissed her cheek. “I will bless you for ever,” + he said. “I haven't got any people, you know, except my two sisters.” + </p> + <p> + And something like tears started up on Thirza's eyelashes. They seemed to + her like the babes in the wood—those two! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IV + </h2> + <h3> + 1 + </h3> + <p> + In the dining-room of her father's house in that old London Square between + East and West, Gratian Laird, in the outdoor garb of a nurse, was writing + a telegram: “Reverend Edward Pierson, Kestrel, Tintern, + Monmouthshire. George terribly ill. Please come if you can. Gratian.” + Giving it to a maid, she took off her long coat and sat down for a moment. + She had been travelling all night, after a full day's work, and had only + just arrived, to find her husband between life and death. She was very + different from Noel; not quite so tall, but of a stronger build; with dark + chestnut-coloured hair, clear hazel eyes, and a broad brow. The expression + of her face was earnest, with a sort of constant spiritual enquiry; and a + singularly truthful look: She was just twenty; and of the year that she + had been married, had only spent six weeks with her husband; they had not + even a house of their own as yet. After resting five minutes, she passed + her hand vigorously over her face, threw back her head, and walked up + stairs to the room where he lay. He was not conscious, and there was + nothing to be done but sit and watch him. + </p> + <p> + 'If he dies,' she thought, 'I shall hate God for His cruelty. I have had + six weeks with George; some people have sixty years.' She fixed her eyes + on his face, short and broad, with bumps of “observation” on + the brows. He had been sunburnt. The dark lashes of his closed eyes lay on + deathly yellow cheeks; his thick hair grew rather low on his broad + forehead. The lips were just open and showed strong white teeth. He had a + little clipped moustache, and hair had grown on his clean-cut jaw. His + pyjama jacket had fallen open. Gratian drew it close. It was curiously + still, for a London day, though the window was wide open. Anything to + break this heavy stupor, which was not only George's, but her own, and the + very world's! The cruelty of it—when she might be going to lose him + for ever, in a few hours or days! She thought of their last parting. It + had not been very loving, had come too soon after one of those arguments + they were inclined to have, in which they could not as yet disagree with + suavity. George had said there was no future life for the individual; she + had maintained there was. They had grown hot and impatient. Even in the + cab on the way to his train they had pursued the wretched discussion, and + the last kiss had been from lips on lips yet warm from disagreement. + </p> + <p> + Ever since, as if in compunction, she had been wavering towards his point + of view; and now, when he was perhaps to solve the problem—find out + for certain—she had come to feel that if he died, she would never + see him after. It was cruel that such a blight should have come on her + belief at this, of all moments. + </p> + <p> + She laid her hand on his. It was warm, felt strong, although so motionless + and helpless. George was so vigorous, so alive, and strong-willed; it + seemed impossible that life might be going to play him false. She recalled + the unflinching look of his steel-bright eyes, his deep, queerly vibrating + voice, which had no trace of self-consciousness or pretence. She slipped + her hand on to his heart, and began very slowly, gently rubbing it. He, as + doctor, and she, as nurse, had both seen so much of death these last two + years! Yet it seemed suddenly as if she had never seen death, and that the + young faces she had seen, empty and white, in the hospital wards, had just + been a show. Death would appear to her for the first time, if this face + which she loved were to be drained for ever of light and colour and + movement and meaning. + </p> + <p> + A humblebee from the Square Garden boomed in and buzzed idly round the + room. She caught her breath in a little sob.... + </p> + <p> + 2 + </p> + <p> + Pierson received that telegram at midday, returning from a lonely walk + after his talk with Thirza. Coming from Gratian so self-reliant—it + meant the worst. He prepared at once to catch the next train. Noel was + out, no one knew where: so with a sick feeling he wrote: + </p> + <p> + “DEAREST CHILD, + </p> + <p> + “I am going up to Gratian; poor George is desperately ill. If it + goes badly you should be with your sister. I will wire to-morrow morning + early. I leave you in your aunt's hands, my dear. Be reasonable and + patient. God bless you. + </p> + <p> + “Your devoted + </p> + <p> + “DADDY.” + </p> + <p> + He was alone in his third-class compartment, and, leaning forward, watched + the ruined Abbey across the river till it was out of sight. Those old + monks had lived in an age surely not so sad as this. They must have had + peaceful lives, remote down here, in days when the Church was great and + lovely, and men laid down their lives for their belief in her, and built + everlasting fanes to the glory of God! What a change to this age of rush + and hurry, of science, trade, material profit, and this terrible war! He + tried to read his paper, but it was full of horrors and hate. 'When will + it end?' he thought. And the train with its rhythmic jolting seemed + grinding out the answer: “Never—never!” + </p> + <p> + At Chepstow a soldier got in, followed by a woman with a very flushed face + and curious, swimmy eyes; her hair was in disorder, and her lip bleeding, + as if she had bitten it through. The soldier, too, looked strained and + desperate. They sat down, far apart, on the seat opposite. Pierson, + feeling that he was in their way, tried to hide himself behind his paper; + when he looked again, the soldier had taken off his tunic and cap and was + leaning out of the window. The woman, on the seat's edge, sniffing and + wiping her face, met his glance with resentful eyes, then, getting up, she + pulled the man's sleeve. + </p> + <p> + “Sit dahn; don't 'ang out o' there.” + </p> + <p> + The soldier flung himself back on the seat and looked at Pierson. + </p> + <p> + “The wife an' me's 'ad a bit of a row,” he said companionably. + “Gits on me nerves; I'm not used to it. She was in a raid, and 'er + nerves are all gone funny; ain't they, old girl? Makes me feel me 'ead. + I've been wounded there, you know; can't stand much now. I might do + somethin' if she was to go on like this for long.” + </p> + <p> + Pierson looked at the woman, but her eyes still met his resentfully. The + soldier held out a packet of cigarettes. “Take one,” he said. + Pierson took one and, feeling that the soldier wanted him to speak, + murmured: “We all have these troubles with those we're fond of; the + fonder we are of people, the more we feel them, don't we? I had one with + my daughter last night.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said the soldier; “that's right. The wife and + me'll make it up. 'Ere, come orf it, old girl.” + </p> + <p> + From behind his paper he soon became conscious of the sounds of + reconciliation—reproaches because someone had been offered a drink, + kisses mixed with mild slappings, and abuse. When they got out at Bristol + the soldier shook his hand warmly, but the woman still gave him her + resentful stare, and he thought dreamily: 'The war! How it affects + everyone!' His carriage was invaded by a swarm of soldiers, and the rest + of the journey was passed in making himself small. When at last he reached + home, Gratian met him in the hall. + </p> + <p> + “Just the same. The doctor says we shall know in a few hours now. + How sweet of you to come! You must be tired, in this heat. It was dreadful + to spoil your holiday.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear! As if—May I go up and see him?” + </p> + <p> + George Laird was still lying in that stupor. And Pierson stood gazing down + at him compassionately. Like most parsons, he had a wide acquaintance with + the sick and dying; and one remorseless fellowship with death. Death! The + commonest thing in the world, now—commoner than life! This young + doctor must have seen many die in these last two years, saved many from + death; and there he lay, not able to lift a finger to save himself. + Pierson looked at his daughter; what a strong, promising young couple they + were! And putting his arm round her, he led her away to the sofa, whence + they could see the sick man. + </p> + <p> + “If he dies, Dad—” she whispered. + </p> + <p> + “He will have died for the Country, my love, as much as ever our + soldiers do.” + </p> + <p> + “I know; but that's no comfort. I've been watching here all day; + I've been thinking; men will be just as brutal afterwards—more + brutal. The world will go on the same.” + </p> + <p> + “We must hope not. Shall we pray, Gracie?” + </p> + <p> + Gratian shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “If I could believe that the world—if I could believe + anything! I've lost the power, Dad; I don't even believe in a future life. + If George dies, we shall never meet again.” + </p> + <p> + Pierson stared at her without a word. + </p> + <p> + Gratian went on: “The last time we talked, I was angry with George + because he laughed at my belief; now that I really want belief, I feel + that he was right.” + </p> + <p> + Pierson said tremulously: + </p> + <p> + “No, no, my dear; it's only that you're overwrought. God in His + mercy will give you back belief.” + </p> + <p> + “There is no God, Dad” + </p> + <p> + “My darling child, what are you saying?” + </p> + <p> + “No God who can help us; I feel it. If there were any God who could + take part in our lives, alter anything without our will, knew or cared + what we did—He wouldn't let the world go on as it does.” + </p> + <p> + “But, my dear, His purposes are inscrutable. We dare not say He + should not do this or that, or try to fathom to what ends He is working.” + </p> + <p> + “Then He's no good to us. It's the same as if He didn't exist. Why + should I pray for George's life to One whose ends are just His own? I know + George oughtn't to die. If there's a God who can help, it will be a wicked + shame if George dies; if there's a God who can help, it's a wicked shame + when babies die, and all these millions of poor boys. I would rather think + there's no God than a helpless or a wicked God—” + </p> + <p> + Her father had suddenly thrown up his hands to his ears. She moved closer, + and put her arm round him. + </p> + <p> + “Dad dear, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you.” + </p> + <p> + Pierson pressed her face down to his shoulder; and said in a dull voice: + </p> + <p> + “What do you think would have happened to me, Gracie, if I had lost + belief when your mother died? I have never lost belief. Pray God I never + shall!” + </p> + <p> + Gratian murmured: + </p> + <p> + “George would not wish me to pretend I believe—he would want + me to be honest. If I'm not honest, I shan't deserve that he should live. + I don't believe, and I can't pray.” + </p> + <p> + “My darling, you're overtired.” + </p> + <p> + “No, Dad.” She raised her head from his shoulder and, clasping + her hands round her knees, looked straight before her. “We can only + help ourselves; and I can only bear it if I rebel.” + </p> + <p> + Pierson sat with trembling lips, feeling that nothing he could say would + touch her just then. The sick man's face was hardly visible now in the + twilight, and Gratian went over to his bed. She stood looking down at him + a long time. + </p> + <p> + “Go and rest, Dad; the doctor's coming again at eleven. I'll call + you if I want anything. I shall lie down a little, beside him.” + </p> + <p> + Pierson kissed her, and went out. To lie there beside him would be the + greatest comfort she could get. He went to the bare narrow little room he + had occupied ever since his wife died; and, taking off his boots, walked + up and down, with a feeling of almost crushing loneliness. Both his + daughters in such trouble, and he of no use to them! It was as if Life + were pushing him utterly aside! He felt confused, helpless, bewildered. + Surely if Gratian loved George, she had not left God's side, whatever she + might say. Then, conscious of the profound heresy of this thought, he + stood still at the open window. + </p> + <p> + Earthly love—heavenly love; was there any analogy between them? + </p> + <p> + From the Square Gardens the indifferent whisper of the leaves answered; + and a newsvendor at the far end, bawling his nightly tale of murder. 3 + </p> + <p> + George Laird passed the crisis of his illness that night, and in the + morning was pronounced out of danger. He had a splendid constitution, and—Scotsman + on his father's side—a fighting character. He came back to life very + weak, but avid of recovery; and his first words were: “I've been + hanging over the edge, Gracie!” + </p> + <p> + A very high cliff, and his body half over, balancing; one inch, the merest + fraction of an inch more, and over he would have gone. Deuced rum + sensation! But not so horrible as it would have been in real life. With + the slip of that last inch he felt he would have passed at once into + oblivion, without the long horror of a fall. So this was what it was for + all the poor fellows he had seen slip in the past two years! Mercifully, + at the end, one was not alive enough to be conscious of what one was + leaving, not alive enough even to care. If he had been able to take in the + presence of his young wife, able to realise that he was looking at her + face, touching her for the last time—it would have been hell; if he + had been up to realising sunlight, moonlight, the sound of the world's + life outside, the softness of the bed he lay on—it would have meant + the most poignant anguish of defraudment. Life was a rare good thing, and + to be squashed out of it with your powers at full, a wretched mistake in + Nature's arrangements, a wretched villainy on the part of Man—for + his own death, like all those other millions of premature deaths, would + have been due to the idiocy and brutality of men! He could smile now, with + Gratian looking down at him, but the experience had heaped fuel on a fire + which had always smouldered in his doctor's soul against that half + emancipated breed of apes, the human race. Well, now he would get a few + days off from his death-carnival! And he lay, feasting his returning + senses on his wife. She made a pretty nurse, and his practised eye judged + her a good one—firm and quiet. + </p> + <p> + George Laird was thirty. At the opening of the war he was in an East-End + practice, and had volunteered at once for service with the Army. For the + first nine months he had been right up in the thick of it. A poisoned arm; + rather than the authorities, had sent him home. During that leave he + married Gratian. He had known the Piersons some time; and, made conscious + of the instability of life, had resolved to marry her at the first chance + he got. For his father-in-law he had respect and liking, ever mixed with + what was not quite contempt and not quite pity. The blend of authority + with humility, cleric with dreamer, monk with artist, mystic with man of + action, in Pierson, excited in him an interested, but often irritated, + wonder. He saw things so differently himself, and had little of the + humorous curiosity which enjoys what is strange simply because it is + strange. They could never talk together without soon reaching a point when + he wanted to say: “If we're not to trust our reason and our senses + for what they're worth, sir—will you kindly tell me what we are to + trust? How can we exert them to the utmost in some matters, and in others + suddenly turn our backs on them?” Once, in one of their discussions, + which often bordered on acrimony, he had expounded himself at length. + </p> + <p> + “I grant,” he had said, “that there's a great ultimate + Mystery, that we shall never know anything for certain about the origin of + life and the principle of the Universe; but why should we suddenly shut up + our enquiring apparatus and deny all the evidence of our reason—say, + about the story of Christ, or the question of a future life, or our moral + code? If you want me to enter a temple of little mysteries, leaving my + reason and senses behind—as a Mohammedan leaves his shoes—it + won't do to say to me simply: 'There it is! Enter!' You must show me the + door; and you can't! And I'll tell you why, sir. Because in your brain + there's a little twist which is not in mine, or the lack of a little twist + which is in mine. Nothing more than that divides us into the two main + species of mankind, one of whom worships, and one of whom doesn't. Oh, + yes! I know; you won't admit that, because it makes your religions natural + instead of what you call supernatural. But I assure you there's nothing + more to it. Your eyes look up or they look down—they never look + straight before them. Well, mine do just the opposite.” + </p> + <p> + That day Pierson had been feeling very tired, and though to meet this + attack was vital, he had been unable to meet it. His brain had stammered. + He had turned a little away, leaning his cheek on his hand, as if to cover + that momentary break in his defences. Some days later he had said: + </p> + <p> + “I am able now to answer your questions, George. I think I can make + you understand.” + </p> + <p> + Laird had answered: “All right, sir; go ahead.” + </p> + <p> + “You begin by assuming that the human reason is the final test of + all things. What right have you to assume that? Suppose you were an ant. + You would take your ant's reason as the final test, wouldn't you? Would + that be the truth?” And a smile had fixed itself on his lips above + his little grave beard. + </p> + <p> + George Laird also had smiled. + </p> + <p> + “That seems a good point, sir,” he said, “until you + recognise that I don't take, the human reason as final test in any + absolute sense. I only say it's the highest test we can apply; and that, + behind that test all is quite dark and unknowable.” + </p> + <p> + “Revelation, then, means nothing to you?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't think we can usefully go on, George.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't think we can, sir. In talking with you, I always feel like + fighting a man with one hand tied behind his back.” + </p> + <p> + “And I, perhaps, feel that I am arguing with one who was blind from + birth.” + </p> + <p> + For all that, they had often argued since; but never without those + peculiar smiles coming on their faces. Still, they respected each other, + and Pierson had not opposed his daughter's marriage to this heretic, whom + he knew to be an honest and trustworthy man. It had taken place before + Laird's arm was well, and the two had snatched a month's honeymoon before + he went back to France, and she to her hospital in Manchester. Since then, + just one February fortnight by the sea had been all their time + together.... + </p> + <p> + In the afternoon he had asked for beef tea, and, having drunk a cup, said: + </p> + <p> + “I've got something to tell your father.” + </p> + <p> + But warned by the pallor of his smiling lips, Gratian answered: + </p> + <p> + “Tell me first, George.” + </p> + <p> + “Our last talk, Gracie; well—there's nothing—on the + other side. I looked over; it's as black as your hat.” + </p> + <p> + Gratian shivered. + </p> + <p> + “I know. While you were lying here last night, I told father.” + </p> + <p> + He squeezed her hand, and said: “I also want to tell him.” + </p> + <p> + “Dad will say the motive for life is gone.” + </p> + <p> + “I say it leaps out all the more, Gracie. What a mess we make of it—we + angel-apes! When shall we be men, I wonder? You and I, Gracie, will fight + for a decent life for everybody. No hands-upping about that! Bend down! + It's good to touch you again; everything's good. I'm going to have a + sleep....” + </p> + <p> + After the relief of the doctor's report in the early morning Pierson had + gone through a hard struggle. What should he wire to Noel? He longed to + get her back home, away from temptation to the burning indiscretion of + this marriage. But ought he to suppress reference to George's progress? + Would that be honest? At last he sent this telegram: “George out of + danger but very weak. Come up.” By the afternoon post, however, he + received a letter from Thirza: + </p> + <p> + “I have had two long talks with Noel and Cyril. It is impossible to + budge them. And I really think, dear Edward, that it will be a mistake to + oppose it rigidly. He may not go out as soon as we think. How would it be + to consent to their having banns published?—that would mean another + three weeks anyway, and in absence from each other they might be + influenced to put it off. I'm afraid this is the only chance, for if you + simply forbid it, I feel they will run off and get married somewhere at a + registrar's.” + </p> + <p> + Pierson took this letter out with him into the Square Garden, for painful + cogitation. No man can hold a position of spiritual authority for long + years without developing the habit of judgment. He judged Noel's conduct + to be headlong and undisciplined, and the vein of stubbornness in his + character fortified the father and the priest within him. Thirza + disappointed him; she did not seem to see the irretrievable gravity of + this hasty marriage. She seemed to look on it as something much lighter + than it was, to consider that it might be left to Chance, and that if + Chance turned out unfavourable, there would still be a way out. To him + there would be no way out. He looked up at the sky, as if for inspiration. + It was such a beautiful day, and so bitter to hurt his child, even for her + good! What would her mother have advised? Surely Agnes had felt at least + as deeply as himself the utter solemnity of marriage! And, sitting there + in the sunlight, he painfully hardened his heart. He must do what he + thought right, no matter what the consequences. So he went in and wrote + that he could not agree, and wished Noel to come back home at once. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + V + </h2> + <h3> + 1 + </h3> + <p> + But on the same afternoon, just about that hour, Noel was sitting on the + river-bank with her arms folded tight across her chest, and by her side + Cyril Morland, with despair in his face, was twisting a telegram “Rejoin + tonight. Regiment leaves to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + What consolation that a million such telegrams had been read and sorrowed + over these last two years! What comfort that the sun was daily blotted dim + for hundreds of bright eyes; the joy of life poured out and sopped up by + the sands of desolation! + </p> + <p> + “How long have we got, Cyril?” + </p> + <p> + “I've engaged a car from the Inn, so I needn't leave till midnight. + I've packed already, to have more time.” + </p> + <p> + “Let's have it to ourselves, then. Let's go off somewhere. I've got + some chocolate.” + </p> + <p> + Morland answered miserably: + </p> + <p> + “I can send the car up here for my things, and have it pick me up at + the Inn, if you'll say goodbye to them for me, afterwards. We'll walk down + the line, then we shan't meet anyone.” + </p> + <p> + And in the bright sunlight they walked hand in hand on each side of a + shining rail. About six they reached the Abbey. + </p> + <p> + “Let's get a boat,” said Noel. “We can come back here + when it's moonlight. I know a way of getting in, after the gate's shut.” + </p> + <p> + They hired a boat, rowed over to the far bank, and sat on the stern seat, + side by side under the trees where the water was stained deep green by the + high woods. If they talked, it was but a word of love now and then, or to + draw each other's attention to a fish, a bird, a dragon-fly. What use + making plans—for lovers the chief theme? Longing paralysed their + brains. They could do nothing but press close to each other, their hands + enlaced, their lips meeting now and then. On Noel's face was a strange + fixed stillness, as if she were waiting—expecting! They ate their + chocolates. The sun set, dew began to fall; the river changed, and grew + whiter; the sky paled to the colour of an amethyst; shadows lengthened, + dissolved slowly. It was past nine already; a water-rat came out, a white + owl flew over the river, towards the Abbey. The moon had come up, but shed + no light as yet. They saw no beauty in all this—too young, too + passionate, too unhappy. + </p> + <p> + Noel said: “When she's over those trees, Cyril, let's go. It'll be + half dark.” + </p> + <p> + They waited, watching the moon, which crept with infinite slowness up and + up, brightening ever so little every minute. + </p> + <p> + “Now!” said Noel. And Morland rowed across. + </p> + <p> + They left the boat, and she led the way past an empty cottage, to a shed + with a roof sloping up to the Abbey's low outer wall. + </p> + <p> + “We can get over here,” she whispered. + </p> + <p> + They clambered up, and over, to a piece of grassy courtyard, and passed on + to an inner court, under the black shadow of the high walls. + </p> + <p> + “What's the time?” said Noel. + </p> + <p> + “Half-past ten.” + </p> + <p> + “Already! Let's sit here in the dark, and watch for the moon.” + </p> + <p> + They sat down close together. Noel's face still had on it that strange + look of waiting; and Morland sat obedient, with his hand on her heart, and + his own heart beating almost to suffocation. They sat, still as mice, and + the moon crept up. It laid a first vague greyness on the high wall, which + spread slowly down, and brightened till the lichen and the grasses up + there were visible; then crept on, silvering the dark above their heads. + Noel pulled his sleeve, and whispered: “See!” There came the + white owl, soft as a snowflake, drifting across in that unearthly light, + as if flying to the moon. And just then the top of the moon itself looked + over the wall, a shaving of silvery gold. It grew, became a bright spread + fan, then balanced there, full and round, the colour of pale honey. + </p> + <p> + “Ours!” Noel whispered. + </p> + <p> + 2 + </p> + <p> + From the side of the road Noel listened till the sound of the car was lost + in the folds of the valley. She did not cry, but passed her hands over her + face, and began to walk home, keeping to the shadow of the trees. How many + years had been added to her age in those six hours since the telegram + came! Several times in that mile and a half she stepped into a patch of + brighter moonlight, to take out and kiss a little photograph, then slip it + back next her heart, heedless that so warm a place must destroy any + effigy. She felt not the faintest compunction for the recklessness of her + love—it was her only comfort against the crushing loneliness of the + night. It kept her up, made her walk on with a sort of pride, as if she + had got the best of Fate. He was hers for ever now, in spite of anything + that could be done. She did not even think what she would say when she got + in. She came to the avenue, and passed up it still in a sort of dream. Her + uncle was standing before the porch; she could hear his mutterings. She + moved out of the shadow of the trees, went straight up to him, and, + looking in his perturbed face, said calmly: + </p> + <p> + “Cyril asked me to say good-bye to you all, Uncle. Good night!” + </p> + <p> + “But, I say, Nollie look here you!” + </p> + <p> + She had passed on. She went up to her room. There, by the door, her aunt + was standing, and would have kissed her. She drew back: + </p> + <p> + “No, Auntie. Not to-night!” And, slipping by, she locked her + door. + </p> + <p> + Bob and Thirza Pierson, meeting in their own room, looked at each other + askance. Relief at their niece's safe return was confused by other + emotions. Bob Pierson expressed his first: + </p> + <p> + “Phew! I was beginning to think we should w have to drag the river. + What girls are coming to!” + </p> + <p> + “It's the war, Bob.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't like her face, old girl. I don't know what it was, but I + didn't like her face.” + </p> + <p> + Neither did Thirza, but she would not admit it, and encourage Bob to take + it to heart. He took things so hardly, and with such a noise! + </p> + <p> + She only said: “Poor young things! I suppose it will be a relief to + Edward!” + </p> + <p> + “I love Nollie!” said Bob Pierson suddenly. “She's an + affectionate creature. D-nit, I'm sorry about this. It's not so bad for + young Morland; he's got the excitement—though I shouldn't like to be + leaving Nollie, if I were young again. Thank God, neither of our boys is + engaged. By George! when I think of them out there, and myself here, I + feel as if the top of my head would come off. And those politician chaps + spouting away in every country—how they can have the cheek!” + </p> + <p> + Thirza looked at him anxiously. + </p> + <p> + “And no dinner!” he said suddenly. “What d'you think + they've been doing with themselves?” + </p> + <p> + “Holding each other's hands, poor dears! D'you know what time it is, + Bob? Nearly one o'clock.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, all I can say is, I've had a wretched evening. Get to bed, + old girl. You'll be fit for nothing.” + </p> + <p> + He was soon asleep, but Thirza lay awake, not exactly worrying, for that + was not her nature, but seeing Noel's face, pale, languid, passionate, + possessed by memory. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VI + </h2> + <h3> + 1 + </h3> + <p> + Noel reached her father's house next day late in the afternoon. There was + a letter in the hall for her. She tore it open, and read: + </p> + <p> + “MY DARLING LOVE, + </p> + <p> + “I got back all right, and am posting this at once to tell you we + shall pass through London, and go from Charing Cross, I expect about nine + o'clock to-night. I shall look out for you, there, in case you are up in + time. Every minute I think of you, and of last night. Oh! Noel! + </p> + <p> + “Your devoted lover, + </p> + <p> + “C.” + </p> + <p> + She looked at the wrist-watch which, like every other little patriot, she + possessed. Past seven! If she waited, Gratian or her father would seize on + her. + </p> + <p> + “Take my things up, Dinah. I've got a headache from travelling; I'm + going to walk it off. Perhaps I shan't be in till past nine or so. Give my + love to them all.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Miss Noel, you can't,—” + </p> + <p> + But Noel was gone. She walked towards Charing Cross; and, to kill time, + went into a restaurant and had that simple repast, coffee and a bun, which + those in love would always take if Society did not forcibly feed them on + other things. Food was ridiculous to her. She sat there in the midst of a + perfect hive of creatures eating hideously. The place was shaped like a + modern prison, having tiers of gallery round an open space, and in the air + was the smell of viands and the clatter of plates and the music of a band. + Men in khaki everywhere, and Noel glanced from form to form to see if by + chance one might be that which represented, for her, Life and the British + Army. At half-past eight she went out and made her way: through the crowd, + still mechanically searching “khaki” for what she wanted; and + it was perhaps fortunate that there was about her face and walk something + which touched people. At the station she went up to an old porter, and, + putting a shilling into his astonished hand, asked him to find out for her + whence Morland's regiment would start. He came back presently, and said: + </p> + <p> + “Come with me, miss.” + </p> + <p> + Noel went. He was rather lame, had grey whiskers, and a ghostly thin + resemblance to her uncle Bob, which perhaps had been the reason why she + had chosen him. 64 + </p> + <p> + “Brother goin' out, miss?” + </p> + <p> + Noel nodded. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! It's a crool war. I shan't be sorry when it's over. Goin' out + and comin' in, we see some sad sights 'ere. Wonderful spirit they've got, + too. I never look at the clock now but what I think: 'There you go, + slow-coach! I'd like to set you on to the day the boys come back!' When I + puts a bag in: 'Another for 'ell' I thinks. And so it is, miss, from all I + can 'ear. I've got a son out there meself. It's 'ere they'll come along. + You stand quiet and keep a lookout, and you'll get a few minutes with him + when he's done with 'is men. I wouldn't move, if I were you; he'll come to + you, all right—can't miss you, there.' And, looking at her face, he + thought: 'Astonishin' what a lot o' brothers go. Wot oh! Poor little + missy! A little lady, too. Wonderful collected she is. It's 'ard!'.rdquo; + And trying to find something consoling to say, he mumbled out: “You + couldn't be in a better place for seen'im off. Good night, miss; anything + else I can do for you?” + </p> + <p> + “No, thank you; you're very kind.” + </p> + <p> + He looked back once or twice at her blue-clad figure standing very still. + He had left her against a little oasis of piled-up empty milk-cans, far + down the platform where a few civilians in similar case were scattered. + The trainway was empty as yet. In the grey immensity of the station and + the turmoil of its noise, she felt neither lonely nor conscious of others + waiting; too absorbed in the one thought of seeing him and touching him + again. The empty train began backing in, stopped, and telescoped with a + series of little clattering bangs, backed on again, and subsided to rest. + Noel turned her eyes towards the station arch ways. Already she felt + tremulous, as though the regiment were sending before it the vibration of + its march. + </p> + <p> + She had not as yet seen a troop-train start, and vague images of brave + array, of a flag fluttering, and the stir of drums, beset her. Suddenly + she saw a brown swirling mass down there at the very edge, out of which a + thin brown trickle emerged towards her; no sound of music, no waved flag. + She had a longing to rush down to the barrier, but remembering the words + of the porter, stayed where she was, with her hands tightly squeezed + together. The trickle became a stream, a flood, the head of which began to + reach her. With a turbulence of voices, sunburnt men, burdened up to the + nose, passed, with rifles jutting at all angles; she strained her eyes, + staring into that stream as one might into a walking wood, to isolate a + single tree. Her head reeled with the strain of it, and the effort to + catch his voice among the hubbub of all those cheery, common, + happy-go-lucky sounds. Some who saw her clucked their tongues, some went + by silent, others seemed to scan her as though she might be what they were + looking for. And ever the stream and the hubbub melted into the train, and + yet came pouring on. And still she waited motionless, with an awful fear. + How could he ever find her, or she him? Then she saw that others of those + waiting had found their men. And the longing to rush up and down the + platform almost overcame her; but still she waited. And suddenly she saw + him with two other officer boys, close to the carriages, coming slowly + down towards her. She stood with her eyes fixed on his face; they passed, + and she nearly cried out. Then he turned, broke away from the other two, + and came straight to her. He had seen her before she had seen him. He was + very flushed, had a little fixed frown between his blue eyes and a set + jaw. They stood looking at each other, their hands hard gripped; all the + emotion of last night welling up within them, so that to speak would have + been to break down. The milk-cans formed a kind of shelter, and they stood + so close together that none could see their faces. Noel was the first to + master her power of speech; her words came out, dainty as ever, through + trembling lips: + </p> + <p> + “Write to me as much as ever you can, Cyril. I'm going to be a nurse + at once. And the first leave you get, I shall come to you—don't + forget.” + </p> + <p> + “Forget! Move a little back, darling; they can't see us here. Kiss + me!” She moved back, thrust her face forward so that he need not + stoop, and put her lips up to his. Then, feeling that she might swoon and + fall over among the cans, she withdrew her mouth, leaving her forehead + against his lips. He murmured: + </p> + <p> + “Was it all right when you got in last night?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; I said good-bye for you.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Noel—I've been afraid—I oughtn't—I oughtn't—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes; nothing can take you from me now.” + </p> + <p> + “You have got pluck. More than!” + </p> + <p> + Along whistle sounded. Morland grasped her hands convulsively: + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye, my little wife! Don't fret. Goodbye! I must go. God bless + you, Noel!” + </p> + <p> + “I love you.” + </p> + <p> + They looked at each other, just another moment, then she took her hands + from his and stood back in the shadow of the milk-cans, rigid, following + him with her eyes till he was lost in the train. + </p> + <p> + Every carriage window was full of those brown figures and red-brown faces, + hands were waving vaguely, voices calling vaguely, here and there one + cheered; someone leaning far out started to sing: “If auld + acquaintance—” But Noel stood quite still in the shadow of the + milk-cans, her lips drawn in, her hands hard clenched in front of her; and + young Morland at his window gazed back at her. + </p> + <p> + 2 + </p> + <p> + How she came to be sitting in Trafalgar Square she did not know. Tears had + formed a mist between her and all that seething, summer-evening crowd. Her + eyes mechanically followed the wandering search-lights, those new milky + ways, quartering the heavens and leading nowhere. All was wonderfully + beautiful, the sky a deep dark blue, the moonlight whitening the spire of + St. Martin's, and everywhere endowing the great blacked-out buildings with + dream-life. Even the lions had come to life, and stared out over this + moonlit desert of little human figures too small to be worth the + stretching out of a paw. She sat there, aching dreadfully, as if the + longing of every bereaved heart in all the town had settled in her. She + felt it tonight a thousand times worse; for last night she had been + drugged on the new sensation of love triumphantly fulfilled. Now she felt + as if life had placed her in the corner of a huge silent room, blown out + the flame of joy, and locked the door. A little dry sob came from her. The + hay-fields and Cyril, with shirt unbuttoned at the neck, pitching hay and + gazing at her while she dabbled her fork in the thin leavings. The bright + river, and their boat grounded on the shallows, and the swallows flitting + over them. And that long dance, with the feel of his hand between her + shoulder-blades! Memories so sweet and sharp that she almost cried out. + She saw again their dark grassy courtyard in the Abbey, and the white owl + flying over them. The white owl! Flying there again to-night, with no + lovers on the grass below! She could only picture Cyril now as a brown + atom in that swirling brown flood of men, flowing to a huge brown sea. + Those cruel minutes on the platform, when she had searched and searched + the walking wood for her, one tree, seemed to have burned themselves into + her eyes. Cyril was lost, she could not single him out, all blurred among + those thousand other shapes. And suddenly she thought: 'And I—I'm + lost to him; he's never seen me at home, never seen me in London; he won't + be able to imagine me. It's all in the past, only the past—for both + of us. Is there anybody so unhappy?' And the town's voices-wheels, and + passing feet, whistles, talk, laughter—seemed to answer callously: + 'Not one.' She looked at her wrist-watch; like his, it had luminous hands: + 'Half-past ten' was greenishly imprinted there. She got up in dismay. They + would think she was lost, or run over, or something silly! She could not + find an empty taxi, and began to walk, uncertain of her way at night. At + last she stopped a policeman, and said: + </p> + <p> + “Which is the way towards Bloomsbury, please? I can't find a taxi.” + The man looked at her, and took time to think it over; then he said: + </p> + <p> + “They're linin' up for the theatres,” and looked at her again. + Something seemed to move in his mechanism: + </p> + <p> + “I'm goin' that way, miss. If you like, you can step along with me.” + Noel stepped along. + </p> + <p> + “The streets aren't what they ought to be,” the policeman + said. “What with the darkness, and the war turning the girls heads—you'd + be surprised the number of them that comes out. It's the soldiers, of + course.” + </p> + <p> + Noel felt her cheeks burning. + </p> + <p> + “I daresay you wouldn't have noticed it,” the policeman went + on: “but this war's a funny thing. The streets are gayer and more + crowded at night than I've ever seen them; it's a fair picnic all the + time. What we're goin' to settle down to when peace comes, I don't know. I + suppose you find it quiet enough up your way, miss?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Noel; “quite quiet.” + </p> + <p> + “No soldiers up in Bloomsbury. You got anyone in the Army, miss?” + </p> + <p> + Noel nodded. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! It's anxious times for ladies. What with the Zeps, and their + brothers and all in France, it's 'arassin'. I've lost a brother meself, + and I've got a boy out there in the Garden of Eden; his mother carries on + dreadful about him. What we shall think of it when it's all over, I can't + tell. These Huns are a wicked tough lot!” + </p> + <p> + Noel looked at him; a tall man, regular and orderly, with one of those + perfectly decent faces so often seen in the London police. + </p> + <p> + “I'm sorry you've lost someone,” she said. “I haven't + lost anyone very near, yet.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, let's 'ope you won't, miss. These times make you feel for + others, an' that's something. I've noticed a great change in folks you'd + never think would feel for anyone. And yet I've seen some wicked things + too; we do, in the police. Some of these English wives of aliens, and + 'armless little German bakers, an' Austrians, and what-not: they get a + crool time. It's their misfortune, not their fault, that's what I think; + and the way they get served—well, it makes you ashamed o' bein' + English sometimes—it does straight: And the women are the worst. I + said to my wife only last night, I said: 'They call themselves + Christians,' I said, 'but for all the charity that's in 'em they might as + well be Huns.' She couldn't see it-not she!' Well, why do they drop + bombs?' she says. 'What!' I said, 'those English wives and bakers drop + bombs? Don't be silly,' I said. 'They're as innocent as we.' It's the + innocent that gets punished for the guilty. 'But they're all spies,' she + says. 'Oh!' I said, 'old lady! Now really! At your time of life!' But + there it is; you can't get a woman to see reason. It's readin' the papers. + I often think they must be written by women—beggin' your pardon, + miss—but reely, the 'ysterics and the 'atred—they're a fair + knockout. D'you find much hatred in your household, miss?” + </p> + <p> + Noel shook her head. “No; my father's a clergyman, you see.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said the policeman. And in the glance he bestowed on her + could be seen an added respect. + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” he went on, “you're bound to have a sense + of justice against these Huns; some of their ways of goin' on have been + above the limit. But what I always think is—of course I don't say + these things—no use to make yourself unpopular—but to meself I + often think: Take 'em man for man, and you'd find 'em much the same as we + are, I daresay. It's the vicious way they're brought up, of actin' in the + mass, that's made 'em such a crool lot. I see a good bit of crowds in my + profession, and I've a very low opinion of them. Crowds are the most + blunderin' blighted things that ever was. They're like an angry woman with + a bandage over her eyes, an' you can't have anything more dangerous than + that. These Germans, it seems, are always in a crowd. They get a state o' + mind read out to them by Bill Kaser and all that bloody-minded lot, an' + they never stop to think for themselves.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose they'd be shot if they did,” said Noel. + </p> + <p> + “Well, there is that,” said the policeman reflectively. + “They've brought discipline to an 'igh pitch, no doubt. An' if you + ask me,”—he lowered his voice till it was almost lost in his + chin-strap, “we'll be runnin' 'em a good second 'ere, before long. + The things we 'ave to protect now are gettin' beyond a joke. There's the + City against lights, there's the streets against darkness, there's the + aliens, there's the aliens' shops, there's the Belgians, there's the + British wives, there's the soldiers against the women, there's the women + against the soldiers, there's the Peace Party, there's 'orses against + croolty, there's a Cabinet Minister every now an' then; and now we've got + these Conchies. And, mind you, they haven't raised our pay; no war wages + in the police. So far as I can see, there's only one good result of the + war—the burglaries are off. But there again, you wait a bit and see + if we don't have a prize crop of 'm, or my name's not 'Arris.” + </p> + <p> + “You must have an awfully exciting life!” said Noel. + </p> + <p> + The policeman looked down at her sideways, without lowering his face, as + only a policeman can, and said indulgently: + </p> + <p> + “We're used to it, you see; there's no excitement in what you're + used to. They find that in the trenches, I'm told. Take our seamen—there's + lots of 'em been blown up over and over again, and there they go and sign + on again next day. That's where the Germans make their mistake! England in + war-time! I think a lot, you know, on my go; you can't 'elp it—the + mind will work—an' the more I think, the more I see the fightin' + spirit in the people. We don't make a fuss about it like Bill Kaser. But + you watch a little shopman, one o' those fellows who's had his house + bombed; you watch the way he looks at the mess—sort of disgusted. + You watch his face, and you see he's got his teeth into it. You watch one + of our Tommies on 'is crutches, with the sweat pourin' off his forehead + an' 'is eyes all strainy, stumpin' along—that gives you an idea! I + pity these Peace fellows, reely I pity them; they don't know what they're + up against. I expect there's times when you wish you was a man, don't you, + miss? I'm sure there's times when I feel I'd like to go in the trenches. + That's the worst o' my job; you can't be a human bein'—not in the + full sense of the word. You mustn't let your passions rise, you mustn't + drink, you mustn't talk; it's a narrow walk o' life. Well, here you are, + miss; your Square's the next turnin' to the right. Good night and thank + you for your conversation.” + </p> + <p> + Noel held out her hand. “Good night!” she said. + </p> + <p> + The policeman took her hand with a queer, flattered embarrassment. + </p> + <p> + “Good night, miss,” he said again. “I see you've got a + trouble; and I'm sure I hope it'll turn out for the best.” + </p> + <p> + Noel gave his huge hand a squeeze; her eyes had filled with tears, and she + turned quickly up towards the Square, where a dark figure was coming + towards her, in whom she recognised her father. His face was worn and + harassed; he walked irresolutely, like a man who has lost something. + </p> + <p> + “Nollie!” he said. “Thank God!” In his voice was + an infinite relief. “My child, where have you been?” + </p> + <p> + “It's all right, Daddy. Cyril has just gone to the front. I've been + seeing him off from Charing Cross.” + </p> + <p> + Pierson slipped his arm round her. They entered the house without + speaking.... + </p> + <p> + 3 + </p> + <p> + By the rail of his transport, as far—about two feet—as he + could get from anyone, Cyril Morland stood watching Calais, a dream city, + brighten out of the heat and grow solid. He could hear the guns already, + the voice of his new life-talking in the distance. It came with its + strange excitement into a being held by soft and marvellous memories, by + one long vision of Noel and the moonlit grass, under the dark Abbey wall. + This moment of passage from wonder to wonder was quite too much for a boy + unused to introspection, and he stood staring stupidly at Calais, while + the thunder of his new life came rolling in on that passionate moonlit + dream. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VII + </h2> + <p> + After the emotions of those last three days Pierson woke with the feeling + a ship must have when it makes landfall. Such reliefs are natural, and as + a rule delusive; for events are as much the parents of the future as they + were the children of the past. To be at home with both his girls, and + resting—for his holiday would not be over for ten days—was + like old times. Now George was going on so well Gratian would be herself + again; now Cyril Morland was gone Noel would lose that sudden youthful + love fever. Perhaps in two or three days if George continued to progress, + one might go off with Noel somewhere for one's last week. In the meantime + the old house, wherein was gathered so much remembrance of happiness and + pain, was just as restful as anywhere else, and the companionship of his + girls would be as sweet as on any of their past rambling holidays in Wales + or Ireland. And that first morning of perfect idleness—for no one + knew he was back in London—pottering, and playing the piano in the + homely drawing-room where nothing to speak of was changed since his wife's + day, was very pleasant. He had not yet seen the girls, for Noel did not + come down to breakfast, and Gratian was with George. + </p> + <p> + Discovery that there was still a barrier between him and them came but + slowly in the next two days. He would not acknowledge it, yet it was + there, in their voices, in their movements—rather an absence of + something old than the presence of something new. It was as if each had + said to him: “We love you, but you are not in our secrets—and + you must not be, for you would try to destroy them.” They showed no + fear of him, but seemed to be pushing him unconsciously away, lest he + should restrain or alter what was very dear to them. They were both fond + of him, but their natures had set foot on definitely diverging paths. The + closer the affection, the more watchful they were against interference by + that affection. Noel had a look on her face, half dazed, half proud, which + touched, yet vexed him. What had he done to forfeit her confidence—surely + she must see how natural and right his opposition had been! He made one + great effort to show the real sympathy he felt for her. But she only said: + “I can't talk of Cyril, Daddy; I simply can't!” And he, who + easily shrank into his shell, could not but acquiesce in her reserve. + </p> + <p> + With Gratian it was different. He knew that an encounter was before him; a + struggle between him and her husband—for characteristically he set + the change in her, the defection of her faith, down to George, not to + spontaneous thought and feeling in herself. He dreaded and yet looked + forward to this encounter. It came on the third day, when Laird was up, + lying on that very sofa where Pierson had sat listening to Gratian's + confession of disbelief. Except for putting in his head to say good + morning, he had not yet seen his son-in-law: The young doctor could not + look fragile, the build of his face, with that law and those heavy + cheekbones was too much against it, but there was about him enough of the + look of having come through a hard fight to give Pierson's heart a + squeeze. + </p> + <p> + “Well, George,” he said, “you gave us a dreadful fright! + I thank God's mercy.” With that half-mechanical phrase he had flung + an unconscious challenge. Laird looked up whimsically. + </p> + <p> + “So you really think God merciful, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “Don't let us argue, George; you're not strong enough.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I'm pining for something to bite on.” + </p> + <p> + Pierson looked at Gratian, and said softly: + </p> + <p> + “God's mercy is infinite, and you know it is.” + </p> + <p> + Laird also looked at Gratian, before he answered: + </p> + <p> + “God's mercy is surely the amount of mercy man has succeeded in + arriving at. How much that is, this war tells you, sir.” + </p> + <p> + Pierson flushed. “I don't follow you,” he said painfully. + “How can you say such things, when you yourself are only just—No; + I refuse to argue, George; I refuse.” + </p> + <p> + Laird stretched out his hand to his wife, who came to him, and stood + clasping it with her own. “Well, I'm going to argue,” he said; + “I'm simply bursting with it. I challenge you, sir, to show me where + there's any sign of altruistic pity, except in man. Mother love doesn't + count—mother and child are too much one.” + </p> + <p> + The curious smile had come already, on both their faces. + </p> + <p> + “My dear George, is not man the highest work of God, and mercy the + highest quality in man?” + </p> + <p> + “Not a bit. If geological time be taken as twenty-four hours, man's + existence on earth so far equals just two seconds of it; after a few more + seconds, when man has been frozen off the earth, geological time will + stretch for as long again, before the earth bumps into something, and + becomes nebula once more. God's hands haven't been particularly full, sir, + have they—two seconds out of twenty-four hours—if man is His + pet concern? And as to mercy being the highest quality in, man, that's + only a modern fashion of talking. Man's highest quality is the sense of + proportion, for that's what keeps him alive; and mercy, logically pursued, + would kill him off. It's a sort of a luxury or by-product.” + </p> + <p> + “George! You can have no music in your soul! Science is such a + little thing, if you could only see.” + </p> + <p> + “Show me a bigger, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Faith.” + </p> + <p> + “In what?” + </p> + <p> + “In what has been revealed to us.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! There it is again! By whom—how? + </p> + <p> + “By God Himself—through our Lord.” + </p> + <p> + A faint flush rose in Laird's yellow face, and his eyes brightened. + </p> + <p> + “Christ,” he said; “if He existed, which some people, as + you know, doubt, was a very beautiful character; there have been others. + But to ask us to believe in His supernaturalness or divinity at this time + of day is to ask us to walk through the world blindfold. And that's what + you do, don't you?” + </p> + <p> + Again Pierson looked at his daughter's face. She was standing quite still, + with her eyes fixed on her husband. Somehow he was aware that all these + words of the sick man's were for her benefit. Anger, and a sort of despair + rose within him, and he said painfully: + </p> + <p> + “I cannot explain. There are things that I can't make clear, because + you are wilfully blind to all that I believe in. For what do you imagine + we are fighting this great war, if it is not to reestablish the belief in + love as the guiding principle of life?” + </p> + <p> + Laird shook his head. “We are fighting to redress a balance, which + was in danger of being lost.” + </p> + <p> + “The balance of power?” + </p> + <p> + “Heavens!—no! The balance of philosophy.” + </p> + <p> + Pierson smiled. “That sounds very clever, George; but again, I don't + follow you.” + </p> + <p> + “The balance between the sayings: 'Might is Right,' and 'Right is + Might.' They're both half-truth, but the first was beating the other out + of the field. All the rest of it is cant, you know. And by the way, sir, + your Church is solid for punishment of the evildoer. Where's mercy there? + Either its God is not merciful, or else it doesn't believe in its God.” + </p> + <p> + “Just punishment does not preclude mercy, George.” + </p> + <p> + “It does in Nature.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Nature, George—always Nature. God transcends Nature.” + </p> + <p> + “Then why does He give it a free rein? A man too fond of drink, or + women—how much mercy does he get from Nature? His overindulgence + brings its exact equivalent of penalty; let him pray to God as much as he + likes—unless he alters his ways he gets no mercy. If he does alter + his ways, he gets no mercy either; he just gets Nature's due reward. We + English who have neglected brain and education—how much mercy are we + getting in this war? Mercy's a man-made ornament, disease, or luxury—call + it what you will. Except that, I've nothing to say against it. On the + contrary, I am all for it.” + </p> + <p> + Once more Pierson looked at his daughter. Something in her face hurt him—the + silent intensity with which she was hanging on her husband's words, the + eager search of her eyes. And he turned to the door, saying: + </p> + <p> + “This is bad for you, George.” + </p> + <p> + He saw Gratian put her hand on her husband's forehead, and thought—jealously: + 'How can I save my poor girl from this infidelity? Are my twenty years of + care to go for nothing, against this modern spirit?' + </p> + <p> + Down in his study, the words went through his mind: “Holy, holy, + holy, Merciful and Mighty!” And going to the little piano in the + corner, he opened it, and began playing the hymn. He played it softly on + the shabby keys of this thirty-year old friend, which had been with him + since College days; and sang it softly in his worn voice. + </p> + <p> + A sound made him look up. Gratian had come in. She put her hand on his + shoulder, and said: + </p> + <p> + “I know it hurts you, Dad. But we've got to find out for ourselves, + haven't we? All the time you and George were talking, I felt that you + didn't see that it's I who've changed. It's not what he thinks, but what + I've come to think of my own accord. I wish you'd understand that I've got + a mind of my own, Dad.” + </p> + <p> + Pierson looked up with amazement. + </p> + <p> + “Of course you have a mind.” + </p> + <p> + Gratian shook her head. “No, you thought my mind was yours; and now + you think it's George's. But it's my own. When you were my age weren't you + trying hard to find the truth yourself, and differing from your father?” + </p> + <p> + Pierson did not answer. He could not remember. It was like stirring a + stick amongst a drift of last year's leaves, to awaken but a dry rustling, + a vague sense of unsubstantiality. Searched? No doubt he had searched, but + the process had brought him nothing. Knowledge was all smoke! Emotional + faith alone was truth—reality! + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Gracie!” he said, “search if you must, but where + will you find bottom? The well is too deep for us. You will come back to + God, my child, when you're tired out; the only rest is there.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't want to rest. Some people search all their lives, and die + searching. Why shouldn't I. + </p> + <p> + “You will be most unhappy, my child.” + </p> + <p> + “If I'm unhappy, Dad, it'll be because the world's unhappy. I don't + believe it ought to be; I think it only is, because it shuts its eyes.” + </p> + <p> + Pierson got up. “You think I shut my eyes?” + </p> + <p> + Gratian nodded. + </p> + <p> + “If I do, it is because there is no other way to happiness.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you happy; Dad?” + </p> + <p> + “As happy as my nature will let me be. I miss your mother. If I lose + you and Noel—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but we won't let you!” + </p> + <p> + Pierson smiled. “My dear,” he said, “I think I have!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VIII + </h2> + <h3> + 1 + </h3> + <p> + Some wag, with a bit of chalk, had written the word “Peace” on + three successive doors of a little street opposite Buckingham Palace. + </p> + <p> + It caught the eye of Jimmy Fort, limping home to his rooms from a very + late discussion at his Club, and twisted his lean shaven lips into a sort + of smile. He was one of those rolling-stone Englishmen, whose early lives + are spent in all parts of the world, and in all kinds of physical conflict—a + man like a hickory stick, tall, thin, bolt-upright, knotty, hard as nails, + with a curved fighting back to his head and a straight fighting front to + his brown face. His was the type which becomes, in a generation or so, + typically Colonial or American; but no one could possibly have taken Jimmy + Fort for anything but an Englishman. Though he was nearly forty, there was + still something of the boy in his face, something frank and curly-headed, + gallant and full of steam, and his small steady grey eyes looked out on + life with a sort of combative humour. He was still in uniform, though they + had given him up as a bad job after keeping him nine months trying to mend + a wounded leg which would never be sound again; and he was now in the War + Office in connection with horses, about which he knew. He did not like it, + having lived too long with all sorts and conditions of men who were + neither English nor official, a combination which he found trying. His + life indeed, just now, bored him to distraction, and he would ten times + rather have been back in France. This was why he found the word “Peace” + so exceptionally tantalising. + </p> + <p> + Reaching his rooms, he threw off his tunic, to whose stiff regularity he + still had a rooted aversion; and, pulling out a pipe, filled it and sat + down at his window. + </p> + <p> + Moonshine could not cool the hot town, and it seemed sleeping badly—the + seven million sleepers in their million homes. Sound lingered on, never + quite ceased; the stale odours clung in the narrow street below, though a + little wind was creeping about to sweeten the air. 'Curse the war!' he + thought. 'What wouldn't I give to be sleeping out, instead of in this + damned city!' They who slept in the open, neglecting morality, would + certainly have the best of it tonight, for no more dew was falling than + fell into Jimmy Fort's heart to cool the fret of that ceaseless thought: + 'The war! The cursed war!' In the unending rows of little grey houses, in + huge caravanserais, and the mansions of the great, in villas, and high + slum tenements; in the government offices, and factories, and railway + stations where they worked all night; in the long hospitals where they lay + in rows; in the camp prisons of the interned; in bar racks, work-houses, + palaces—no head, sleeping or waking, would be free of that thought: + 'The cursed war!' A spire caught his eye, rising ghostly over the roofs. + Ah! churches alone, void of the human soul, would be unconscious! But for + the rest, even sleep would not free them! Here a mother would be + whispering the name of her boy; there a merchant would snore and dream he + was drowning, weighted with gold; and a wife would be turning to stretch + out her arms to-no one; and a wounded soldier wake out of a dream trench + with sweat on his brow; and a newsvendor in his garret mutter hoarsely. By + thousands the bereaved would be tossing, stifling their moans; by + thousands the ruined would be gazing into the dark future; and housewives + struggling with sums; and soldiers sleeping like logs—for to morrow + they died; and children dreaming of them; and prostitutes lying in stale + wonder at the busyness of their lives; and journalists sleeping the sleep + of the just. And over them all, in the moonlight that thought 'The cursed + war!' flapped its black wings, like an old crow! “If Christ were + real,” he mused, “He'd reach that moon down, and go chalking + 'Peace' with it on every door of every house, all over Europe. But + Christ's not real, and Hindenburg and Harmsworth are!” As real they + were as two great bulls he had once seen in South Africa, fighting. He + seemed to hear again the stamp and snort and crash of those thick skulls, + to see the beasts recoiling and driving at each other, and the little red + eyes of them. And pulling a letter out of his pocket, he read it again by + the light of the moon: + </p> + <p> + “15, Camelot Mansions, + </p> + <p> + “St. John's Wood. + </p> + <p> + “DEAR MR. FORT, “I came across your Club address to-night, + looking at some old letters. Did you know that I was in London? I left + Steenbok when my husband died, five years ago. I've had a simply terrific + time since. While the German South West campaign was on I was nursing out + there, but came back about a year ago to lend a hand here. It would be + awfully nice to meet you again, if by any chance you are in England. I'm + working in a V. A. D. hospital in these parts, but my evenings are usually + free. Do you remember that moonlit night at grape harvest? The nights here + aren't scented quite like that. Listerine! Oh! This war! “With all + good remembrances, + </p> + <p> + “LEILA LYNCH.” + </p> + <p> + A terrific time! If he did not mistake, Leila Lynch had always had a + terrific time. And he smiled, seeing again the stoep of an old Dutch house + at High Constantia, and a woman sitting there under the white flowers of a + sweet-scented creeper—a pretty woman, with eyes which could put a + spell on you, a woman he would have got entangled with if he had not cut + and run for it! Ten years ago, and here she was again, refreshing him out + of the past. He sniffed the fragrance of the little letter. How everybody + always managed to work into a letter what they were doing in the war! If + he answered her he would be sure to say: “Since I got lamed, I've + been at the War Office, working on remounts, and a dull job it is!” + Leila Lynch! Women didn't get younger, and he suspected her of being older + than himself. But he remembered agreeably her white shoulders and that + turn of her neck when she looked at you with those big grey eyes of hers. + Only a five-day acquaintanceship, but they had crowded much into it as one + did in a strange land. The episode had been a green and dangerous spot, + like one of those bright mossy bits of bog when you were snipe-shooting, + to set foot on which was to let you down up to the neck, at least. Well, + there was none of that danger now, for her husband was dead-poor chap! It + would be nice, in these dismal days, when nobody spent any time whatever + except in the service of the country, to improve his powers of service by + a few hours' recreation in her society. 'What humbugs we are!' he thought: + 'To read the newspapers and the speeches you'd believe everybody thought + of nothing but how to get killed for the sake of the future. Drunk on + verbiage! What heads and mouths we shall all have when we wake up some + fine morning with Peace shining in at the window! Ah! If only we could; + and enjoy ourselves again!' And he gazed at the moon. She was dipping + already, reeling away into the dawn. Water carts and street sweepers had + come out into the glimmer; sparrows twittered in the eaves. The city was + raising a strange unknown face to the grey light, shuttered and deserted + as Babylon. Jimmy Fort tapped out his pipe, sighed, and got into bed. + </p> + <p> + 2 + </p> + <p> + Coming off duty at that very moment, Leila Lynch decided to have her + hour's walk before she went home. She was in charge of two wards, and as a + rule took the day watches; but some slight upset had given her this extra + spell. She was, therefore, at her worst, or perhaps at her best, after + eighteen hours in hospital. Her cheeks were pale, and about her eyes were + little lines, normally in hiding. There was in this face a puzzling blend + of the soft and hard, for the eyes, the rather full lips, and pale cheeks, + were naturally soft; but they were hardened by the self-containment which + grows on women who have to face life for themselves, and, conscious of + beauty, intend to keep it, in spite of age. Her figure was contradictory, + also; its soft modelling a little too rigidified by stays. In this desert + of the dawn she let her long blue overcoat flap loose, and swung her hat + on a finger, so that her light-brown, touched-up hair took the morning + breeze with fluffy freedom. Though she could not see herself, she + appreciated her appearance, swaying along like that, past lonely trees and + houses. A pity there was no one to see her in that round of Regent's Park, + which took her the best part of an hour, walking in meditation, enjoying + the colour coming back into the world, as if especially for her. + </p> + <p> + There was character in Leila Lynch, and she had lived an interesting life + from a certain point of view. In her girlhood she had fluttered the hearts + of many besides Cousin Edward Pierson, and at eighteen had made a + passionate love match with a good-looking young Indian civilian, named + Fane. They had loved each other to a standstill in twelve months. Then had + begun five years of petulance, boredom, and growing cynicism, with + increasing spells of Simla, and voyages home for her health which was + really harmed by the heat. All had culminated, of course, in another + passion for a rifleman called Lynch. Divorce had followed, remarriage, and + then the Boer War, in which he had been badly wounded. She had gone out + and nursed him back to half his robust health, and, at twenty-eight, taken + up life with him on an up-country farm in Cape Colony. This middle period + had lasted ten years, between the lonely farm and an old Dutch house at + High Constantia. Lynch was not a bad fellow, but, like most soldiers of + the old Army, had been quite carefully divested of an aesthetic sense. And + it was Leila's misfortune to have moments when aesthetic sense seemed + necessary. She had struggled to overcome this weakness, and that other + weakness of hers—a liking for men's admiration; but there had + certainly been intervals when she had not properly succeeded. Her + acquaintance with Jimmy Fort had occurred during one of these intervals, + and when he went back to England so abruptly, she had been feeling very + tenderly towards him. She still remembered him with a certain pleasure. + Before Lynch died, these “intervals” had been interrupted by a + spell of returning warmth for the invalided man to whom she had joined her + life under the romantic conditions of divorce. He had failed, of course, + as a farmer, and his death left her with nothing but her own settled + income of a hundred and fifty pounds a year. Faced by the prospect of + having almost to make her living, at thirty-eight, she felt but momentary + dismay—for she had real pluck. Like many who have played with + amateur theatricals, she fancied herself as an actress; but, after much + effort, found that only her voice and the perfect preservation of her legs + were appreciated by the discerning managers and public of South Africa; + and for three chequered years she made face against fortune with the help + of them, under an assumed name. What she did—keeping a certain bloom + of refinement, was far better than the achievements of many more + respectable ladies in her shoes. At least she never bemoaned her “reduced + circumstances,” and if her life was irregular and had at least three + episodes, it was very human. She bravely took the rough with the smooth, + never lost the power of enjoying herself, and grew in sympathy with the + hardships of others. But she became deadly tired. When the war broke out, + remembering that she was a good nurse, she took her real name again and a + change of occupation. For one who liked to please men, and to be pleased + by them, there was a certain attraction about that life in war-time; and + after two years of it she could still appreciate the way her Tommies + turned their heads to look at her when she passed their beds. But in a + hard school she had learned perfect self-control; and though the sour and + puritanical perceived her attraction, they knew her to be forty-three. + Besides, the soldiers liked her; and there was little trouble in her + wards. The war moved her in simple ways; for she was patriotic in the + direct fashion of her class. Her father had been a sailor, her husbands an + official and a soldier; the issue for her was uncomplicated by any + abstract meditation. The Country before everything! And though she had + tended during those two years so many young wrecked bodies, she had taken + it as all in the a day's work, lavishing her sympathy on the individual, + without much general sense of pity and waste. Yes, she had worked really + hard, had “done her bit”; but of late she had felt rising + within her the old vague craving for “life,” for pleasure, for + something more than the mere negative admiration bestowed on her by her + “Tommies.” Those old letters—to look them through them + had been a sure sign of this vague craving—had sharpened to + poignancy the feeling that life was slipping away from her while she was + still comely. She had been long out of England, and so hard-worked since + she came back that there were not many threads she could pick up suddenly. + Two letters out of that little budget of the past, with a far cry between + them, had awakened within her certain sentimental longings. + </p> + <p> + “DEAR LADY OF THE STARRY FLOWERS, + </p> + <p> + “Exiturus (sic) to saluto! The tender carries you this message of + good-bye. Simply speaking, I hate leaving South Africa. And of all my + memories, the last will live the longest. Grape harvest at Constantia, and + you singing: 'If I could be the falling dew: If ever you and your husband + come to England, do let me know, that I may try and repay a little the + happiest five days I've spent out here. + </p> + <p> + “Your very faithful servant, + </p> + <p> + “TIMMY FORT.” + </p> + <p> + She remembered a very brown face, a tall slim figure, and something + gallant about the whole of him. What was he like after ten years? + Grizzled, married, with a large family? An odious thing—Time! And + Cousin Edward's little yellow letter. + </p> + <p> + Good heavens! Twenty-six years ago—before he was a parson, or + married or anything! Such a good partner, really musical; a queer, dear + fellow, devoted, absentminded, easily shocked, yet with flame burning in + him somewhere. + </p> + <p> + 'DEAR LEILA, + </p> + <p> + “After our last dance I went straight off'—I couldn't go in. I + went down to the river, and walked along the bank; it was beautiful, all + grey and hazy, and the trees whispered, and the cows looked holy; and I + walked along and thought of you. And a farmer took me for a lunatic, in my + dress clothes. Dear Leila, you were so pretty last night, and I did love + our dances. I hope you are not tired, and that I shall see you soon again: + </p> + <p> + “Your affectionate cousin, + </p> + <p> + “EDWARD PIERSON.” + </p> + <p> + And then he had gone and become a parson, and married, and been a widower + fifteen years. She remembered the death of his wife, just before she left + for South Africa, at that period of disgrace when she had so shocked her + family by her divorce. Poor Edward—quite the nicest of her cousins! + The only one she would care to see again. He would be very old and + terribly good and proper, by now. + </p> + <p> + Her wheel of Regent's Park was coming full circle, and the sun was up + behind the houses, but still no sound of traffic stirred. She stopped + before a flower-bed where was some heliotrope, and took a long, luxurious + sniff: She could not resist plucking a sprig, too, and holding it to her + nose. A sudden want of love had run through every nerve and fibre of her; + she shivered, standing there with her eyes half closed, above the pale + violet blossom. Then, noting by her wrist-watch that it was four o'clock, + she hurried on, to get to her bed, for she would have to be on duty again + at noon. Oh! the war! She was tired! If only it were over, and one could + live!... + </p> + <p> + Somewhere by Twickenham the moon had floated down; somewhere up from + Kentish Town the sun came soaring; wheels rolled again, and the seven + million sleepers in their million houses woke from morning sleep to that + same thought.... + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IX + </h2> + <p> + Edward Pierson, dreaming over an egg at breakfast, opened a letter in a + handwriting which he did not recognise. + </p> + <p> + “V. A. D. Hospital, + </p> + <p> + “Mulberry Road, St. John's Wood N. W. + </p> + <p> + “DEAR COUSIN EDWARD, + </p> + <p> + “Do you remember me, or have I gone too far into the shades of + night? I was Leila Pierson once upon a time, and I often think of you and + wonder what you are like now, and what your girls are like. I have been + here nearly a year, working for our wounded, and for a year before that + was nursing in South Africa. My husband died five years ago out there. + Though we haven't met for I dare not think how long, I should awfully like + to see you again. Would you care to come some day and look over my + hospital? I have two wards under me; our men are rather dears. + </p> + <p> + “Your forgotten but still affectionate cousin + </p> + <p> + “LEILA LYNCH.” + </p> + <p> + “P. S. I came across a little letter you once wrote me; it brought + back old days.” + </p> + <p> + No! He had not forgotten. There was a reminder in the house. And he looked + up at Noel sitting opposite. How like the eyes were! And he thought: 'I + wonder what Leila has become. One mustn't be uncharitable. That man is + dead; she has been nursing two years. She must be greatly changed; I + should certainly like to see her. I will go!' Again he looked at Noel. + Only yesterday she had renewed her request to be allowed to begin her + training as a nurse. + </p> + <p> + “I'm going to see a hospital to-day, Nollie,” he said; “if + you like, I'll make enquiries. I'm afraid it'll mean you have to begin by + washing up.” + </p> + <p> + “I know; anything, so long as I do begin.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well; I'll see about it.” And he went back to his egg. + </p> + <p> + Noel's voice roused him. “Do you feel the war much, Daddy? Does it + hurt you here?” She had put her hand on her heart. “Perhaps it + doesn't, because you live half in the next world, don't you?” + </p> + <p> + The words: “God forbid,” sprang to Pierson's lips; he did not + speak them, but put his egg-spoon down, hurt and bewildered. What did the + child mean? Not feel the war! He smiled. + </p> + <p> + “I hope I'm able to help people sometimes, Nollie,” and was + conscious that he had answered his own thoughts, not her words. He + finished his breakfast quickly, and very soon went out. He crossed the + Square, and passed East, down two crowded streets to his church. In the + traffic of those streets, all slipshod and confused, his black-clothed + figure and grave face, with its Vandyk beard, had a curious remote + appearance, like a moving remnant of a past civilisation. He went in by + the side door. Only five days he had been away, but they had been so full + of emotion that the empty familiar building seemed almost strange to him. + He had come there unconsciously, groping for anchorage and guidance in + this sudden change of relationship between him and his daughters. He stood + by the pale brazen eagle, staring into the chancel. The choir were wanting + new hymn-books—he must not forget to order them! His eyes sought the + stained-glass window he had put in to the memory of his wife. The sun, too + high to slant, was burnishing its base, till it glowed of a deep sherry + colour. “In the next world!” What strange words of Noel's! His + eyes caught the glimmer of the organ-pipes; and, mounting to the loft, he + began to play soft chords wandering into each other. He finished, and + stood gazing down. This space within high walls, under high vaulted roof, + where light was toned to a perpetual twilight, broken here and there by a + little glow of colour from glass and flowers, metal, and dark wood, was + his home, his charge, his refuge. Nothing moved down there, and yet—was + not emptiness mysteriously living, the closed-in air imprinted in strange + sort, as though the drone of music and voices in prayer and praise clung + there still? Had not sanctity a presence? Outside, a barrel-organ drove + its tune along; a wagon staggered on the paved street, and the driver + shouted to his horses; some distant guns boomed out in practice, and the + rolling of wheels on wheels formed a net of sound. But those invading + noises were transmuted to a mere murmuring in here; only the silence and + the twilight were real to Pierson, standing there, a little black figure + in a great empty space. + </p> + <p> + When he left the church, it was still rather early to go to Leila's + hospital; and, having ordered the new hymn-books, he called in at the + house of a parishioner whose son had been killed in France. He found her + in her kitchen; an oldish woman who lived by charing. She wiped a seat for + the Vicar. + </p> + <p> + “I was just makin' meself a cup o' tea, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! What a comfort tea is, Mrs. Soles!” And he sat down, so + that she should feel “at home.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; it gives me 'eart-burn; I take eight or ten cups a day, now. I + take 'em strong, too. I don't seem able to get on without it. I 'ope the + young ladies are well, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, thank you. Miss Noel is going to begin nursing, too.” + </p> + <p> + “Deary-me! She's very young; but all the young gells are doin' + something these days. I've got a niece in munitions-makin' a pretty penny + she is. I've been meanin' to tell you—I don't come to church now; + since my son was killed, I don't seem to 'ave the 'eart to go anywhere—'aven't + been to a picture-palace these three months. Any excitement starts me + cryin'.” + </p> + <p> + “I know; but you'd find rest in church.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Soles shook her head, and the small twisted bob of her discoloured + hair wobbled vaguely. + </p> + <p> + “I can't take any recreation,” she said. “I'd rather sit + 'ere, or be at work. My son was a real son to me. This tea's the only + thing that does me any good. I can make you a fresh cup in a minute.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, Mrs. Soles, but I must be getting on. We must all look + forward to meeting our beloved again, in God's mercy. And one of these + days soon I shall be seeing you in church, shan't I.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Soles shifted her weight from one slippered foot to the other. + </p> + <p> + “Well! let's 'ope so,” she said. “But I dunno when I + shall 'ave the spirit. Good day, sir, and thank you kindly for calling, + I'm sure.” + </p> + <p> + Pierson walked away with a very faint smile. Poor queer old soul!—she + was no older than himself, but he thought of her as ancient—cut off + from her son, like so many—so many; and how good and patient! The + melody of an anthem began running in his head. His fingers moved on the + air beside him, and he stood still, waiting for an omnibus to take him to + St. John's Wood. A thousand people went by while he was waiting, but he + did not notice them, thinking of that anthem, of his daughters, and the + mercy of God; and on the top of his 'bus, when it came along, he looked + lonely and apart, though the man beside him was so fat that there was + hardly any seat left to sit on. Getting down at Lord's Cricket-ground, he + asked his way of a lady in a nurse's dress. + </p> + <p> + “If you'll come with me,” she said, “I'm just going + there.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Do you happen to know a Mrs. Lynch who nurses” + </p> + <p> + “I am Mrs. Lynch. Why, you're Edward Pierson!” + </p> + <p> + He looked into her face, which he had not yet observed. + </p> + <p> + “Leila!” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Leila! How awfully nice of you to come, Edward!” + </p> + <p> + They continued to stand, searching each for the other's youth, till she + murmured: + </p> + <p> + “In spite of your beard, I should have known you anywhere!” + But she thought: 'Poor Edward! He is old, and monk-like!' + </p> + <p> + And Pierson, in answer, murmured: + </p> + <p> + “You're very little changed, Leila! We haven't, seen each other + since my youngest girl was born. She's just a little like you.” But + he thought: 'My Nollie! So much more dewy; poor Leila!' + </p> + <p> + They walked on, talking of his daughters, till they reached the hospital. + </p> + <p> + “If you'll wait here a minute, I'll take you over my wards.” + </p> + <p> + She had left him in a bare hall, holding his hat in one hand and touching + his gold cross with the other; but she soon came hack, and a little warmth + crept about his heart. How works of mercy suited women! She looked so + different, so much softer, beneath the white coif, with a white apron over + the bluish frock. + </p> + <p> + At the change in his face, a little warmth crept about Leila, too, just + where the bib of her apron stopped; and her eyes slid round at him while + they went towards what had once been a billiard-room. + </p> + <p> + “My men are dears,” she said; “they love to be talked + to.” + </p> + <p> + Under a skylight six beds jutted out from a green distempered wall, + opposite to six beds jutting out from another green distempered wall, and + from each bed a face was turned towards them young faces, with but little + expression in them. A nurse, at the far end, looked round, and went on + with her work. The sight of the ward was no more new to Pierson than to + anyone else in these days. It was so familiar, indeed, that it had + practically no significance. He stood by the first bed, and Leila stood + alongside. The man smiled up when she spoke, and did not smile when he + spoke, and that again was familiar to him. They passed from bed to bed, + with exactly the same result, till she was called away, and he sat down by + a young soldier with a long, very narrow head and face, and a heavily + bandaged shoulder. Touching the bandage reverently, Pierson said: + </p> + <p> + “Well, my dear fellow-still bad?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” replied the soldier. “Shrapnel wound: It's cut the + flesh properly.” + </p> + <p> + “But not the spirit, I can see!” + </p> + <p> + The young soldier gave him a quaint look, as much as to say: “Not + 'arf bad!” and a gramophone close to the last bed began to play: + “God bless Daddy at the war!” + </p> + <p> + “Are you fond of music?” + </p> + <p> + “I like it well enough. Passes the time.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid the time hangs heavy in hospital.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; it hangs a bit 'eavy; it's just 'orspital life. I've been + wounded before, you see. It's better than bein' out there. I expect I'll + lose the proper use o' this arm. I don't worry; I'll get my discharge.” + </p> + <p> + “You've got some good nurses here.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; I like Mrs. Lynch; she's the lady I like.” + </p> + <p> + “My cousin.” + </p> + <p> + “I see you come in together. I see everything 'ere. I think a lot, + too. Passes the time.” + </p> + <p> + “Do they let you smoke?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes! They let us smoke.” + </p> + <p> + “Have one of mine?” + </p> + <p> + The young soldier smiled for the first time. “Thank you; I've got + plenty.” + </p> + <p> + The nurse came by, and smiled at Pierson. + </p> + <p> + “He's one of our blase ones; been in before, haven't you, Simson?” + </p> + <p> + Pierson looked at the young man, whose long, narrow face; where one + sandy-lashed eyelid drooped just a little, seemed armoured with a sort of + limited omniscience. The gramophone had whirred and grunted into “Sidi + Brahim.” The nurse passed on. + </p> + <p> + “'Seedy Abram,'.rdquo; said the young soldier. “The Frenchies + sing it; they takes it up one after the other, ye know.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” murmured Pierson; “it's pretty.” And his + fingers drummed on the counterpane, for the tune was new to him. Something + seemed to move in the young man's face, as if a blind had been drawn up a + little. + </p> + <p> + “I don't mind France,” he said abruptly; “I don't mind + the shells and that; but I can't stick the mud. There's a lot o' wounded + die in the mud; can't get up—smothered.” His unwounded arm + made a restless movement. “I was nearly smothered myself. Just + managed to keep me nose up.” + </p> + <p> + Pierson shuddered. “Thank God you did!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; I didn't like that. I told Mrs. Lynch about that one day when + I had the fever. She's a nice lady; she's seen a lot of us boys: That + mud's not right, you know.” And again his unwounded arm made that + restless movement; while the gramophone struck up: “The boys in + brown.” The movement of the arm affected Pierson horribly; he rose + and, touching the bandaged shoulder, said: + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye; I hope you'll soon be quite recovered.” + </p> + <p> + The young soldier's lips twisted in the semblance of a smile; his drooped + eyelid seemed to try and raise itself. + </p> + <p> + “Good day, sir,” he said; “and thank you.” + </p> + <p> + Pierson went back to the hall. The sunlight fell in a pool just inside the + open door, and an uncontrollable impulse made him move into it, so that it + warmed him up to the waist. The mud! How ugly life was! Life and Death! + Both ugly! Poor boys! Poor boys! + </p> + <p> + A voice behind him said: + </p> + <p> + “Oh! There you are, Edward! Would you like to see the other ward, or + shall I show you our kitchen?” + </p> + <p> + Pierson took her hand impulsively. “You're doing a noble work, + Leila. I wanted to ask you: Could you arrange for Noel to come and get + trained here? She wants to begin at once. The fact is, a boy she is + attracted to has just gone out to the Front.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” murmured Leila, and her eyes looked very soft. “Poor + child! We shall be wanting an extra hand next week. I'll see if she could + come now. I'll speak to our Matron, and let you know to-night.” She + squeezed his hand hard. + </p> + <p> + “Dear Edward, I'm so glad to see you again. You're the first of our + family I've seen for sixteen years. I wonder if you'd bring Noel to have + supper at my flat to-night—Just nothing to eat, you know! It's a + tiny place. There's a Captain Fort coming; a nice man.” + </p> + <p> + Pierson accepted, and as he walked away he thought: 'Dear Leila! I believe + it was Providence. She wants sympathy. She wants to feel the past is the + past. How good women are!' + </p> + <p> + And the sun, blazing suddenly out of a cloud, shone on his black figure + and the little gold cross, in the middle of Portland Place. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + X + </h2> + <p> + Men, even if they are not artistic, who have been in strange places and + known many nooks of the world, get the scenic habit, become open to + pictorial sensation. It was as a picture or series of pictures that Jimmy + Fort ever afterwards remembered his first supper at Leila's. He happened + to have been all day in the open, motoring about to horse farms under a + hot sun; and Leila's hock cup possessed a bland and subtle strength. The + scenic sense derived therefrom had a certain poignancy, the more so + because the tall child whom he met there did not drink it, and her father + seemed but to wet his lips, so that Leila and he had all the rest. Rather + a wonderful little scene it made in his mind, very warm, glowing, yet with + a strange dark sharpness to it, which came perhaps from the black walls. + </p> + <p> + The flat had belonged to an artist who was at the war. It was but a pocket + dwelling on the third floor. The two windows of the little square + sitting-room looked out on some trees and a church. But Leila, who hated + dining by daylight, had soon drawn curtains of a deep blue over them. The + picture which Fort remembered was this: A little four-square table of dark + wood, with a Chinese mat of vivid blue in the centre, whereon stood a + silver lustre bowl of clove carnations; some greenish glasses with hock + cup in them; on his left, Leila in a low lilac frock, her neck and + shoulders very white, her face a little powdered, her eyes large, her lips + smiling; opposite him a black-clothed padre with a little gold cross, over + whose thin darkish face, with its grave pointed beard, passed little + gentle smiles, but whose deep sunk grey eyes were burnt and bright; on his + right, a girl in a high grey frock, almost white, just hollowed at the + neck, with full sleeves to the elbow, so that her slim arms escaped; her + short fair hair a little tumbled; her big grey eyes grave; her full lips + shaping with a strange daintiness round every word—and they not + many; brilliant red shades over golden lights dotting the black walls; a + blue divan; a little black piano flush with the wall; a dark polished + floor; four Japanese prints; a white ceiling. He was conscious that his + own khaki spoiled something as curious and rare as some old Chinese + tea-chest. He even remembered what they ate; lobster; cold pigeon pie; + asparagus; St. Ivel cheese; raspberries and cream. He did not remember + half so well what they talked of, except that he himself told them stories + of the Boer War, in which he had served in the Yeomanry, and while he was + telling them, the girl, like a child listening to a fairy-tale, never + moved her eyes from his face. He remembered that after supper they all + smoked cigarettes, even the tall child, after the padre had said to her + mildly, “My dear!” and she had answered: “I simply must, + Daddy, just one.” He remembered Leila brewing Turkish coffee—very + good, and how beautiful her white arms looked, hovering about the cups. He + remembered her making the padre sit down at the piano, and play to them. + And she and the girl on the divan together, side by side, a strange + contrast; with just as strange a likeness to each other. He always + remembered how fine and rare that music sounded in the little room, + flooding him with a dreamy beatitude. Then—he remembered—Leila + sang, the padre standing-by; and the tall child on the divan bending + forward over her knees, with her chin on her hands. He remembered rather + vividly how Leila turned her neck and looked up, now at the padre, now at + himself; and, all through, the delightful sense of colour and warmth, a + sort of glamour over all the evening; and the lingering pressure of + Leila's hand when he said good-bye and they went away, for they all went + together. He remembered talking a great deal to the padre in the cab, + about the public school they had both been at, and thinking: 'It's a good + padre—this!' He remembered how their taxi took them to an old Square + which he did not know, where the garden trees looked densely black in the + starshine. He remembered that a man outside the house had engaged the + padre in earnest talk, while the tall child and himself stood in the open + doorway, where the hall beyond was dark. Very exactly he remembered the + little conversation which then took place between them, while they waited + for her father. + </p> + <p> + “Is it very horrid in the trenches, Captain Fort?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Miss Pierson; it is very horrid, as a rule.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it dangerous all the time?” + </p> + <p> + “Pretty well.” + </p> + <p> + “Do officers run more risks than the men?” + </p> + <p> + “Not unless there's an attack.” + </p> + <p> + “Are there attacks very often?” + </p> + <p> + It had seemed to him so strangely primitive a little catechism, that he + had smiled. And, though it was so dark, she had seen that smile, for her + face went proud and close all of a sudden. He had cursed himself, and said + gently: + </p> + <p> + “Have you a brother out there?” + </p> + <p> + She shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “But someone?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + Someone! He had heard that answer with a little shock. This child—this + fairy princess of a child already to have someone! He wondered if she went + about asking everyone these questions, with that someone in her thoughts. + Poor child! And quickly he said: + </p> + <p> + “After all, look at me! I was out there a year, and here I am with + only half a game leg; times were a lot worse, then, too. I often wish I + were back there. Anything's better than London and the War Office.” + But just then he saw the padre coming, and took her hand. “Good + night, Miss Pierson. Don't worry. That does no good, and there isn't half + the risk you think.” + </p> + <p> + Her hand stirred, squeezed his gratefully, as a child's would squeeze. + </p> + <p> + “Good night,” she murmured; “thank you awfully.” + </p> + <p> + And, in the dark cab again, he remembered thinking: 'Fancy that child! A + jolly lucky boy, out there! Too bad! Poor little fairy princess!' + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PART2" id="link2H_PART2"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PART II + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + I + </h2> + <p> + 1 + </p> + <p> + To wash up is not an exciting operation. To wash up in August became for + Noel a process which taxed her strength and enthusiasm. She combined it + with other forms of instruction in the art of nursing, had very little + leisure, and in the evenings at home would often fall asleep curled up in + a large chintz-covered chair. + </p> + <p> + George and Gratian had long gone back to their respective hospitals, and + she and her father had the house to themselves. She received many letters + from Cyril which she carried about with her and read on her way to and + from the hospital; and every other day she wrote to him. He was not yet in + the firing line; his letters were descriptive of his men, his food, or the + natives, or reminiscent of Kestrel; hers descriptive of washing up, or + reminiscent of Kestrel. But in both there was always some little word of + the longing within them. + </p> + <p> + It was towards the end of August when she had the letter which said that + he had been moved up. From now on he would be in hourly danger! That + evening after dinner she did not go to sleep in the chair, but sat under + the open window, clenching her hands, and reading “Pride and + Prejudice” without understanding a word. While she was so engaged + her father came up and said: + </p> + <p> + “Captain Fort, Nollie. Will you give him some coffee? I'm afraid I + must go out.” + </p> + <p> + When he had gone, Noel looked at her visitor drinking his coffee. He had + been out there, too, and he was alive; with only a little limp. The + visitor smiled and said: + </p> + <p> + “What were you thinking about when we came in?” + </p> + <p> + “Only the war.” + </p> + <p> + “Any news of him?” + </p> + <p> + Noel frowned, she hated to show her feelings. + </p> + <p> + “Yes! he's gone to the Front. Won't you have a cigarette?” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks. Will you?” + </p> + <p> + “I want one awfully. I think sitting still and waiting is more + dreadful than anything in the world.” + </p> + <p> + “Except, knowing that others are waiting. When I was out there I + used to worry horribly over my mother. She was ill at the time. The + cruelest thing in war is the anxiety of people about each other—nothing + touches that.” + </p> + <p> + The words exactly summed up Noel's hourly thought. He said nice things, + this man with the long legs and the thin brown bumpy face! + </p> + <p> + “I wish I were a man,” she said, “I think women have + much the worst time in the war. Is your mother old?” But of course + she was old why he was old himself! + </p> + <p> + “She died last Christmas.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I'm so sorry!” + </p> + <p> + “You lost your mother when you were a babe, didn't you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. That's her portrait.” At the end of the room, hanging on + a strip of black velvet was a pastel, very faint in colouring, as though + faded, of a young woman, with an eager, sweet face, dark eyes, and bent a + little forward, as if questioning her painter. Fort went up to it. + </p> + <p> + “It's not a bit like you. But she must have been a very sweet woman.” + </p> + <p> + “It's a sort of presence in the room. I wish I were like her!” + </p> + <p> + Fort turned. “No,” he said; “no. Better as you are. It + would only have spoiled a complete thing.” + </p> + <p> + “She was good.” + </p> + <p> + “And aren't you?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! no. I get a devil.” + </p> + <p> + “You! Why, you're out of a fairy-tale!” + </p> + <p> + “It comes from Daddy—only he doesn't know, because he's a + perfect saint; but I know he's had a devil somewhere, or he couldn't be + the saint he is.” + </p> + <p> + “H'm!” said Fort. “That's very deep: and I believe it's + true—the saints did have devils.” + </p> + <p> + “Poor Daddy's devil has been dead ages. It's been starved out of + him, I think.” + </p> + <p> + “Does your devil ever get away with you?” + </p> + <p> + Noel felt her cheeks growing red under his stare, and she turned to the + window: + </p> + <p> + “Yes. It's a real devil.” + </p> + <p> + Vividly there had come before her the dark Abbey, and the moon balancing + over the top of the crumbling wall, and the white owl flying across. And, + speaking to the air, she said: + </p> + <p> + “It makes you do things that you want to do.” + </p> + <p> + She wondered if he would laugh—it sounded so silly. But he did not. + </p> + <p> + “And damn the consequences? I know. It's rather a jolly thing to + have.” + </p> + <p> + Noel shook her head. “Here's Daddy coming back!” + </p> + <p> + Fort held out his hand. + </p> + <p> + “I won't stay. Good night; and don't worry too much, will you?” + </p> + <p> + He kept her hand rather a long time, and gave it a hard squeeze. + </p> + <p> + Don't worry! What advice! Ah! if she could see Cyril just for a minute! + </p> + <p> + 2 + </p> + <p> + In September, 1916, Saturday still came before Sunday, in spite of the + war. For Edward Pierson this Saturday had been a strenuous day, and even + now, at nearly midnight, he was still conning his just-completed sermon. + </p> + <p> + A patriot of patriots, he had often a passionate longing to resign his + parish, and go like his curate for a chaplain at the Front. It seemed to + him that people must think his life idle and sheltered and useless. Even + in times of peace he had been sensitive enough to feel the cold draughty + blasts which the Church encounters in a material age. He knew that nine + people out of ten looked on him as something of a parasite, with no real + work in the world. And since he was nothing if not conscientious, he + always worked himself to the bone. + </p> + <p> + To-day he had risen at half-past six, and after his bath and exercises, + had sat down to his sermon—for, even now, he wrote a new sermon once + a month, though he had the fruits of twenty-six years to choose from. + True, these new sermons were rather compiled than written, because, bereft + of his curate, he had not time enough for fresh thought on old subjects. + At eight he had breakfasted with Noel, before she went off to her + hospital, whence she would return at eight in the evening. Nine to ten was + his hour for seeing parishioners who had troubles, or wanted help or + advice, and he had received three to-day who all wanted help, which he had + given. From ten to eleven he had gone back to his sermon, and had spent + from eleven to one at his church, attending to small matters, writing + notices, fixing hymns, holding the daily half-hour Service instituted + during wartime, to which but few ever came. He had hurried back to lunch, + scamping it so that he might get to his piano for an hour of + forgetfulness. At three he had christened a very noisy baby, and been + detained by its parents who wished for information on a variety of topics. + At half-past four he had snatched a cup of tea, reading the paper; and had + spent from five to seven visiting two Parish Clubs, and those whose + war-pension matters he had in hand, and filling up forms which would be + kept in official places till such time as the system should be changed and + a fresh set of forms issued. From seven to eight he was at home again, in + case his flock wanted to see him; to-day four sheep had come, and gone + away, he was afraid, but little the wiser. From half-past eight to + half-past nine he had spent in choir practice, because the organist was on + his holiday. Slowly in the cool of the evening he had walked home, and + fallen asleep in his chair on getting in. At eleven he had woken with a + start, and, hardening his heart, had gone back to his sermon. And now, at + nearly midnight, it was still less than twenty minutes long. He lighted + one of his rare cigarettes, and let thought wander. How beautiful those + pale pink roses were in that old silver bowl-like a little strange poem, + or a piece of Debussy music, or a Mathieu Maris picture-reminding him + oddly of the word Leila. Was he wrong in letting Noel see so much of + Leila? But then she was so improved—dear Leila!... The pink roses + were just going to fall! And yet how beautiful!... It was quiet to-night; + he felt very drowsy.... Did Nollie still think of that young man, or had + it passed? She had never confided in him since! After the war, it would be + nice to take her to Italy, to all the little towns. They would see the + Assisi of St. Francis. The Little Flowers of St. Francis. The Little + Flowers!... His hand dropped, the cigarette went out. He slept with his + face in shadow. Slowly into the silence of his sleep little sinister + sounds intruded. Short concussions, dragging him back out of that deep + slumber. He started up. Noel was standing at the door, in a long coat. She + said in her calm voice: + </p> + <p> + “Zeps, Daddy!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my dear. Where are the maids?” + </p> + <p> + An Irish voice answered from the hall: “Here, sir; trustin' in God; + but 'tis better on the ground floor.” + </p> + <p> + He saw a huddle of three figures, queerly costumed, against the stairs. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Yes, Bridgie; you're safe down here.” Then he noticed + that Noel was gone. He followed her out into the Square, alive with faces + faintly luminous in the darkness, and found her against the garden + railings. + </p> + <p> + “You must come back in, Nollie.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no! Cyril has this every day.” + </p> + <p> + He stood beside her; not loth, for excitement had begun to stir his blood. + They stayed there for some minutes, straining their eyes for sight of + anything save the little zagged splashes of bursting shrapnel, while + voices buzzed, and muttered: “Look! There! There! There it is!” + </p> + <p> + But the seers had eyes of greater faith than Pierson's, for he saw + nothing: He took her arm at last, and led her in. In the hall she broke + from him. + </p> + <p> + “Let's go up on the roof, Daddy!” and ran upstairs. + </p> + <p> + Again he followed, mounting by a ladder, through a trapdoor on to the + roof. + </p> + <p> + “It's splendid up here!” she cried. + </p> + <p> + He could see her eyes blazing, and thought: 'How my child does love + excitement—it's almost terrible!' + </p> + <p> + Over the wide, dark, star-strewn sky travelling searchlights, were + lighting up the few little clouds; the domes and spires rose from among + the spread-out roofs, all fine and ghostly. The guns had ceased firing, as + though puzzled. One distant bang rumbled out. + </p> + <p> + “A bomb! Oh! If we could only get one of the Zeps!” + </p> + <p> + A furious outburst of firing followed, lasting perhaps a minute, then + ceased as if by magic. They saw two searchlights converge and meet right + overhead. + </p> + <p> + “It's above us!” murmured Noel. + </p> + <p> + Pierson put his arm round her waist. 'She feels no fear!' he thought. The + search-lights switched apart; and suddenly, from far away, came a + confusion of weird sounds. + </p> + <p> + “What is it? They're cheering. Oh! Daddy, look!” There in the + heavens, towards the east, hung a dull red thing, lengthening as they + gazed. + </p> + <p> + “They've got it. It's on fire! Hurrah!” + </p> + <p> + Through the dark firmament that fiery orange shape began canting downward; + and the cheering swelled in a savage frenzy of sound. And Pierson's arm + tightened on her waist. + </p> + <p> + “Thank God!” he muttered. + </p> + <p> + The bright oblong seemed to break and spread, tilted down below the level + of the roofs; and suddenly the heavens flared, as if some huge jug of + crimson light had been flung out on them. Something turned over in + Pierson's heart; he flung up his hand to his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “The poor men in it!” he said. “How terrible!” + </p> + <p> + Noel's voice answered, hard and pitiless: + </p> + <p> + “They needn't have come. They're murderers!” + </p> + <p> + Yes, they were murderers—but how terrible! And he stood quivering, + with his hands pressed to his face, till the cheering had died out into + silence. + </p> + <p> + “Let's pray, Nollie!” he whispered. “O God, Who in Thy + great mercy hath delivered us from peril, take into Thy keeping the souls + of these our enemies, consumed by Thy wrath before our eyes; give us the + power to pity them—men like ourselves.” + </p> + <p> + But even while he prayed he could see Noel's face flame-white in the + darkness; and, as that glow in the sky faded out, he felt once more the + thrill of triumph. + </p> + <p> + They went down to tell the maids, and for some time after sat up together, + talking over what they had seen, eating biscuits and drinking milk, which + they warmed on an etna. It was nearly two o'clock before they went to bed. + Pierson fell asleep at once, and never turned till awakened at half-past + six by his alarum. He had Holy Communion to administer at eight, and he + hurried to get early to his church and see that nothing untoward had + happened to it. There it stood in the sunlight; tall, grey, quiet, + unharmed, with bell gently ringing. + </p> + <p> + 3 + </p> + <p> + And at that hour Cyril Morland, under the parapet of his trench, + tightening his belt, was looking at his wrist-watch for the hundredth + time, calculating exactly where he meant to put foot and hand for the + going over: 'I absolutely mustn't let those chaps get in front of me,' he + thought. So many yards before the first line of trenches, so many yards to + the second line, and there stop. So his rehearsals had gone; it was the + performance now! Another minute before the terrific racket of the + drum-fire should become the curtain-fire, which would advance before them. + He ran his eye down the trench. The man next him was licking his two first + fingers, as if he might be going to bowl at cricket. Further down, a man + was feeling his puttees. A voice said: “Wot price the orchestra nah!” + He saw teeth gleam in faces burnt almost black. Then he looked up; the sky + was blue beyond the brownish film of dust raised by the striking shells. + Noel! Noel! Noel!... He dug his fingers deep into the left side of his + tunic till he could feel the outline of her photograph between his + dispatch-case and his heart. His heart fluttered just as it used when he + was stretched out with hand touching the ground, before the start of the + “hundred yards” at school. Out of the corner of his eye he + caught the flash of a man's “briquet” lighting a cigarette. + All right for those chaps, but not for him; he wanted all his breath—this + rifle, and kit were handicap enough! Two days ago he had been reading in + some paper how men felt just before an attack. And now he knew. He just + felt nervous. If only the moment would come, and get itself over! For all + the thought he gave to the enemy there might have been none—nothing + but shells and bullets, with lives of their own. He heard the whistle; his + foot was on the spot he had marked down; his hand where he had seen it; he + called out: “Now, boys!” His head was over the top, his body + over; he was conscious of someone falling, and two men neck and neck + beside him. Not to try and run, not to break out of a walk; to go steady, + and yet keep ahead! D—n these holes! A bullet tore through his + sleeve, grazing his arm—a red-hot sensation, like the touch of an + iron. A British shell from close over his head burst sixty yards ahead; he + stumbled, fell flat, picked himself up. Three ahead of him now! He walked + faster, and drew alongside. Two of them fell. 'What luck!' he thought; and + gripping his rifle harder, pitched headlong into a declivity. Dead bodies + lay there! The first German trench line, and nothing alive in it, nothing + to clean up, nothing of it left! He stopped, getting his wind; watching + the men panting and stumbling in. The roar of the guns was louder than + ever again, barraging the second line. So far, good! And here was his + captain! + </p> + <p> + “Ready, boys? On, then!” + </p> + <p> + This time he moved more slowly still, over terrible going, all holes and + hummocks. Half consciously he took cover all he could. The air was alive + with the whistle from machine-gun fire storming across zigzag + fashion-alive it was with bullets, dust, and smoke. 'How shall I tell + her?' he thought. There would be nothing to tell but just a sort of jagged + brown sensation. He kept his eyes steadily before him, not wanting to + seethe men falling, not wanting anything to divert him from getting there. + He felt the faint fanning of the passing bullets. The second line must be + close now. Why didn't that barrage lift? Was this new dodge of firing till + the last second going to do them in? Another hundred yards and he would be + bang into it. He flung himself flat and waited; looking at his wrist-watch + he noted that his arm was soaked with blood. He thought: 'A wound! Now I + shall go home. Thank God! Oh, Noel!' The passing bullets whirled above + him; he could hear them even through the screech and thunder of the + shell-fire. 'The beastly things!' he thought: A voice beside him gasped + out: + </p> + <p> + “It's lifted, sir.” + </p> + <p> + He called: “Come on, boys!” and went forward, stooping. A + bullet struck his rifle. The shock made him stagger and sent an electric + shock spinning up his arm. 'Luck again!' he thought. 'Now for it! I + haven't seen a German yet!' He leaped forward, spun round, flung up his + arms, and fell on his back, shot through and through.... + </p> + <p> + The position was consolidated, as they say, and in the darkness + stretcher-bearers were out over the half-mile. Like will-o'-the-wisps, + with their shaded lanterns, they moved, hour after hour, slowly quartering + the black honeycomb which lay behind the new British line. Now and then in + the light of some star-shell their figures were disclosed, bending and + raising the forms of the wounded, or wielding pick and shovel. + </p> + <p> + “Officer.” + </p> + <p> + “Dead?” + </p> + <p> + “Sure.” + </p> + <p> + “Search.” + </p> + <p> + From the shaded lantern, lowered to just above the body, a yellowish glare + fell on face and breast. The hands of the searcher moved in that little + pool of light. The bearer who was taking notes bent down. + </p> + <p> + “Another boy,” he said. “That all he has?” + </p> + <p> + The searcher raised himself. + </p> + <p> + “Just those, and a photo.” + </p> + <p> + “Dispatch-case; pound loose; cigarette-case; wristwatch; photo. + Let's see it.” + </p> + <p> + The searcher placed the photo in the pool of light. The tiny face of a + girl stared up at them, unmoved, from its short hair. + </p> + <p> + “Noel,” said the searcher, reading. + </p> + <p> + “H'm! Take care of it. Stick it in his case. Come on!” + </p> + <p> + The pool of light dissolved, and darkness for ever covered Cyril Morland. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II + </h2> + <p> + When those four took their seats in the Grand Circle at Queen's Hall the + programme was already at the second number, which, in spite of all the + efforts of patriotism, was of German origin—a Brandenburg concerto + by Bach. More curious still, it was encored. Pierson did not applaud, he + was too far gone in pleasure, and sat with a rapt smile on his face, + oblivious of his surroundings. He remained thus removed from mortal joys + and sorrows till the last applause had died away, and Leila's voice said + in his ear: + </p> + <p> + “Isn't it a wonderful audience, Edward? Look at all that khaki. + Who'd have thought those young men cared for music—good music—German + music, too?” + </p> + <p> + Pierson looked down at the patient mass of standing figures in straw hats + and military caps, with faces turned all one way, and sighed. + </p> + <p> + “I wish I could get an audience like that in my church.” + </p> + <p> + A smile crept out at the corner of Leila's lips. She was thinking: 'Ah! + Your Church is out of date, my dear, and so are you! Your Church, with its + smell of mould and incense, its stained-glass, and narrowed length and + droning organ. Poor Edward, so out of the world!' But she only pressed his + arm, and whispered: + </p> + <p> + “Look at Noel!” + </p> + <p> + The girl was talking to Jimmy Fort. Her cheeks were gushed, and she looked + prettier than Pierson had seen her look for a long time now, ever since + Kestrel, indeed. He heard Leila sigh. + </p> + <p> + “Does she get news of her boy? Do you remember that May Week, + Edward? We were very young then; even you were young. That was such a + pretty little letter you wrote me. I can see you still-wandering in your + dress clothes along the river, among the 'holy' cows.” + </p> + <p> + But her eyes slid round again, watching her other neighbour and the girl. + A violinist had begun to play the Cesar Franck Sonata. It was Pierson's + favourite piece of music, bringing him, as it were, a view of heaven, of + devotional blue air where devout stars were shining in a sunlit noon, + above ecstatic trees and waters where ecstatic swans were swimming. + </p> + <p> + “Queer world, Mr. Pierson! Fancy those boys having to go back to + barrack life after listening to that! What's your feeling? Are we moving + back to the apes? Did we touch top note with that Sonata?” + </p> + <p> + Pierson turned and contemplated his questioner shrewdly. + </p> + <p> + “No, Captain Fort, I do not think we are moving back to the apes; if + we ever came from them. Those boys have the souls of heroes!” + </p> + <p> + “I know that, sir, perhaps better than you do.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! yes,” said Pierson humbly, “I forgot, of course.” + But he still looked at his neighbour doubtfully. This Captain Fort, who + was a friend of Leila's, and who had twice been to see them, puzzled him. + He had a frank face, a frank voice, but queer opinions, or so it seemed + to, Pierson—little bits of Moslemism, little bits of the backwoods, + and the veldt; queer unexpected cynicisms, all sorts of side views on + England had lodged in him, and he did not hide them. They came from him + like bullets, in that frank voice, and drilled little holes in the + listener. Those critical sayings flew so much more poignantly from one who + had been through the same educational mill as himself, than if they had + merely come from some rough diamond, some artist, some foreigner, even + from a doctor like George. And they always made him uncomfortable, like + the touch of a prickly leaf; they did not amuse him. Certainly Edward + Pierson shrank from the rough touches of a knock-about philosophy. After + all, it was but natural that he should. + </p> + <p> + He and Noel left after the first part of the concert, parting from the + other two at the door. He slipped his hand through her arm; and, following + out those thoughts of his in the concert-hall, asked: + </p> + <p> + “Do you like Captain Fort, Nollie?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; he's a nice man.” + </p> + <p> + “He seems a nice man, certainly; he has a nice smile, but strange + views, I'm afraid.” + </p> + <p> + “He thinks the Germans are not much worse than we are; he says that + a good many of us are bullies too.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that is the sort of thing I mean.” + </p> + <p> + “But are we, Daddy?” + </p> + <p> + “Surely not.” + </p> + <p> + “A policeman I talked to once said the same. Captain Fort says that + very few men can stand having power put into their hands without being + spoiled. He told me some dreadful stories. He says we have no imagination, + so that we often do things without seeing how brutal they are.” + </p> + <p> + “We're not perfect, Nollie; but on the whole I think we're a kind + people.” + </p> + <p> + Noel was silent a moment, then said suddenly: + </p> + <p> + “Kind people often think others are kind too, when they really + aren't. Captain Fort doesn't make that mistake.” + </p> + <p> + “I think he's a little cynical, and a little dangerous.” + </p> + <p> + “Are all people dangerous who don't think like others, Daddy?” + </p> + <p> + Pierson, incapable of mockery, was not incapable of seeing when he was + being mocked. He looked at his daughter with a smile. + </p> + <p> + “Not quite so bad as that, Nollie; but Mr. Fort is certainly + subversive. I think perhaps he has seen too many queer sides of life.” + </p> + <p> + “I like him the better for that.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, well,” Pierson answered absently. He had work to do in + preparation for a Confirmation Class, and sought his study on getting in. + </p> + <p> + Noel went to the dining-room to drink her hot milk. The curtains were not + drawn, and bright moonlight was coming in. Without lighting up, she set + the etna going, and stood looking at the moon-full for the second time + since she and Cyril had waited for it in the Abbey. And pressing her hands + to her breast, she shivered. If only she could summon him from the + moonlight out there; if only she were a witch-could see him, know where he + was, what doing! For a fortnight now she had received no letter. Every day + since he had left she had read the casualty lists, with the superstitious + feeling that to do so would keep him out of them. She took up the Times. + There was just enough light, and she read the roll of honour—till + the moon shone in on her, lying on the floor, with the dropped journal.... + </p> + <p> + But she was proud, and soon took grief to her room, as on that night after + he left her, she had taken love. No sign betrayed to the house her + disaster; the journal on the floor, and the smell of the burnt milk which + had boiled over, revealed nothing. After all, she was but one of a + thousand hearts which spent that moonlit night in agony. Each night, year + in, year out, a thousand faces were buried in pillows to smother that + first awful sense of desolation, and grope for the secret spirit-place + where bereaved souls go, to receive some feeble touch of healing from + knowledge of each other's trouble.... + </p> + <p> + In the morning she got up from her sleepless bed, seemed to eat her + breakfast, and went off to her hospital. There she washed up plates and + dishes, with a stony face, dark under the eyes. + </p> + <p> + The news came to Pierson in a letter from Thirza, received at lunch-time. + He read it with a dreadful aching. Poor, poor little Nollie! What an awful + trouble for her! And he, too, went about his work with the nightmare + thought that he had to break the news to her that evening. Never had he + felt more lonely, more dreadfully in want of the mother of his children. + She would have known how to soothe, how to comfort. On her heart the child + could have sobbed away grief. And all that hour, from seven to eight, when + he was usually in readiness to fulfil the functions of God's substitute to + his parishioners, he spent in prayer of his own, for guidance how to + inflict and heal this blow. When, at last, Noel came, he opened the door + to her himself, and, putting back the hair from her forehead, said: + “Come in here a moment, my darling!” Noel followed him into + the study, and sat down. “I know already, Daddy.” Pierson was + more dismayed by this stoicism than he would have been by any natural out + burst. He stood, timidly stroking her hair, murmuring to her what he had + said to Gratian, and to so many others in these days: “There is no + death; look forward to seeing him again; God is merciful” And he + marvelled at the calmness of that pale face—so young. + </p> + <p> + “You are very brave, my child!” he said. + </p> + <p> + “There's nothing else to be, is there?” + </p> + <p> + “Isn't there anything I can do for you, Nollie?” + </p> + <p> + “No, Daddy.” + </p> + <p> + “When did you see it?” + </p> + <p> + “Last night.” She had already known for twenty-four hours + without telling him! + </p> + <p> + “Have you prayed, my darling?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Try, Nollie!” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, try!” + </p> + <p> + “It would be ridiculous, Daddy; you don't know.” + </p> + <p> + Grievously upset and bewildered, Pierson moved away from her, and said: + </p> + <p> + “You look dreadfully tired. Would you like a hot bath, and your + dinner in bed?” + </p> + <p> + “I'd like some tea; that's all.” And she went out. + </p> + <p> + When he had seen that the tea had gone up to her, he too went out; and, + moved by a longing for woman's help, took a cab to Leila's flat. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + III + </h2> + <p> + On leaving the concert Leila and Jimmy Fort had secured a taxi; a vehicle + which, at night, in wartime, has certain advantages for those who desire + to become better acquainted. Vibration, sufficient noise, darkness, are + guaranteed; and all that is lacking for the furtherance of emotion is the + scent of honeysuckle and roses, or even of the white flowering creeper + which on the stoep at High Constantia had smelled so much sweeter than + petrol. + </p> + <p> + When Leila found herself with Fort in that loneliness to which she had + been looking forward, she was overcome by an access of nervous silence. + She had been passing through a strange time for weeks past. Every night + she examined her sensations without quite understanding them as yet. When + a woman comes to her age, the world-force is liable to take possession, + saying: + </p> + <p> + “You were young, you were beautiful, you still have beauty, you are + not, cannot be, old. Cling to youth, cling to beauty; take all you can + get, before your face gets lines and your hair grey; it is impossible that + you have been loved for the last time.” + </p> + <p> + To see Jimmy Fort at the concert, talking to Noel, had brought this + emotion to a head. She was not of a grudging nature, and could genuinely + admire Noel, but the idea that Jimmy Fort might also admire disturbed her + greatly. He must not; it was not fair; he was too old—besides, the + girl had her boy; and she had taken care that he should know it. So, + leaning towards him, while a bare-shouldered young lady sang, she had + whispered: + </p> + <p> + “Penny?” + </p> + <p> + And he had whispered back: + </p> + <p> + “Tell you afterwards.” + </p> + <p> + That had comforted her. She would make him take her home. It was time she + showed her heart. + </p> + <p> + And now, in the cab, resolved to make her feelings known, in sudden + shyness she found it very difficult. Love, to which for quite three years + she had been a stranger, was come to life within her. The knowledge was at + once so sweet, and so disturbing, that she sat with face averted, unable + to turn the precious minutes to account. They arrived at the flat without + having done more than agree that the streets were dark, and the moon + bright. She got out with a sense of bewilderment, and said rather + desperately: + </p> + <p> + “You must come up and have a cigarette. It's quite early, still.” + </p> + <p> + He went up. + </p> + <p> + “Wait just a minute,” said Leila. + </p> + <p> + Sitting there with his drink and his cigarette, he stared at some + sunflowers in a bowl—Famille Rose—and waited just ten; smiling + a little, recalling the nose of the fairy princess, and the dainty way her + lips shaped the words she spoke. If she had not had that lucky young devil + of a soldier boy, one would have wanted to buckle her shoes, lay one's + coat in the mud for her, or whatever they did in fairytales. One would + have wanted—ah! what would one not have wanted! Hang that soldier + boy! Leila said he was twenty-two. By George! how old it made a man feel + who was rising forty, and tender on the off-fore! No fairy princesses for + him! Then a whiff of perfume came to his nostrils; and, looking up, he saw + Leila standing before him, in a long garment of dark silk, whence her + white arms peeped out. + </p> + <p> + “Another penny? Do you remember these things, Jimmy? The Malay women + used to wear them in Cape Town. You can't think what a relief it is to get + out of my slave's dress. Oh! I'm so sick of nursing! Jimmy, I want to live + again a little!” + </p> + <p> + The garment had taken fifteen years off her age, and a gardenia, just + where the silk crossed on her breast, seemed no whiter than her skin. He + wondered whimsically whether it had dropped to her out of the dark! + </p> + <p> + “Live?” he said. “Why! Don't you always?” + </p> + <p> + She raised her hands so that the dark silk fell, back from the whole + length of those white arms. + </p> + <p> + “I haven't lived for two years. Oh, Jimmy! Help me to live a little! + Life's so short, now.” + </p> + <p> + Her eyes disturbed him, strained and pathetic; the sight of her arms; the + scent of the flower disturbed him; he felt his cheeks growing warm, and + looked down. + </p> + <p> + She slipped suddenly forward on to her knees at his feet, took his hand, + pressed it with both of hers, and murmured: + </p> + <p> + “Love me a little! What else is there? Oh! Jimmy, what else is + there?” + </p> + <p> + And with the scent of the flower, crushed by their hands, stirring his + senses, Fort thought: 'Ah, what else is there, in these forsaken days?' + </p> + <p> + To Jimmy Fort, who had a sense of humour, and was in some sort a + philosopher, the haphazard way life settled things seldom failed to seem + amusing. But when he walked away from Leila's he was pensive. She was a + good sort, a pretty creature, a sportswoman, an enchantress; but—she + was decidedly mature. And here he was—involved in helping her to + “live”; involved almost alarmingly, for there had been no + mistaking the fact that she had really fallen in love with him. + </p> + <p> + This was flattering and sweet. Times were sad, and pleasure scarce, but—! + The roving instinct which had kept him, from his youth up, rolling about + the world, shied instinctively at bonds, however pleasant, the strength + and thickness of which he could not gauge; or, was it that perhaps for the + first time in his life he had been peeping into fairyland of late, and + this affair with Leila was by no means fairyland? He had another reason, + more unconscious, for uneasiness. His heart, for all his wanderings, was + soft, he had always found it difficult to hurt anyone, especially anyone + who did him the honour to love him. A sort of presentiment weighed on him + while he walked the moonlit streets at this most empty hour, when even the + late taxis had ceased to run. Would she want him to marry her? Would it be + his duty, if she did? And then he found himself thinking of the concert, + and that girl's face, listening to the tales he was telling her. 'Deuced + queer world,' he thought, 'the way things go! I wonder what she would + think of us, if she knew—and that good padre! Phew!' + </p> + <p> + He made such very slow progress, for fear of giving way in his leg, and + having to spend the night on a door-step, that he had plenty of time for + rumination; but since it brought him no confidence whatever, he began at + last to feel: 'Well; it might be a lot worse. Take the goods the gods send + you and don't fuss!' And suddenly he remembered with extreme vividness + that night on the stoep at High Constantia, and thought with dismay: 'I + could have plunged in over head and ears then; and now—I can't! + That's life all over! Poor Leila! Me miserum, too, perhaps—who + knows!' + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IV + </h2> + <p> + When Leila opened her door to Edward Pierson, her eyes were smiling, and + her lips were soft. She seemed to smile and be soft all over, and she took + both his hands. Everything was a pleasure to her that day, even the sight + of this sad face. She was in love and was loved again; had a present and a + future once more, not only her own full past; and she must finish with + Edward in half an hour, for Jimmy was coming. She sat down on the divan, + took his hand in a sisterly way, and said: + </p> + <p> + “Tell me, Edward; I can see you're in trouble. What is it?” + </p> + <p> + “Noel. The boy she was fond of has been killed.” + </p> + <p> + She dropped his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no! Poor child! It's too cruel!” Tears started up in her + grey eyes, and she touched them with a tiny handkerchief. “Poor, + poor little Noel! Was she very fond of him?” + </p> + <p> + “A very sudden, short engagement; but I'm afraid she takes it + desperately to heart. I don't know how to comfort her; only a woman could. + I came to ask you: Do you think she ought to go on with her work? What do + you think, Leila? I feel lost!” + </p> + <p> + Leila, gazing at him, thought: 'Lost? Yes, you look lost, my poor Edward!' + </p> + <p> + “I should let her go on,” she said: “it helps; it's the + only thing that does help. I'll see if I can get them to let her come into + the wards. She ought to be in touch with suffering and the men; that + kitchen work will try her awfully just now: Was he very young?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. They wanted to get married. I was opposed to it.” + </p> + <p> + Leila's lip curled ever so little. 'You would be!' she thought. + </p> + <p> + “I couldn't bear to think of Nollie giving herself hastily, like + that; they had only known each other three weeks. It was very hard for me, + Leila. And then suddenly he was sent to the front.” + </p> + <p> + Resentment welled up in Leila. The kill-Joys! As if life didn't kill joy + fast enough! Her cousin's face at that moment was almost abhorrent to her, + its gentle perplexed goodness darkened and warped by that monkish look. + She turned away, glanced at the clock over the hearth, and thought: 'Yes, + and he would stop Jimmy and me! He would say: “Oh, no! dear Leila—you + mustn't love—it's sin!” How I hate that word!' + </p> + <p> + “I think the most dreadful thing in life,” she said abruptly, + “is the way people suppress their natural instincts; what they + suppress in themselves they make other people suppress too, if they can; + and that's the cause of half the misery in this world.” + </p> + <p> + Then at the surprise on his face at this little outburst, whose cause he + could not know, she added hastily: “I hope Noel will get over it + quickly, and find someone else.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. If they had been married—how much worse it would have + been. Thank God, they weren't!” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know. They would have had an hour of bliss. Even an hour of + bliss is worth something in these days.” + </p> + <p> + “To those who only believe in this 'life—perhaps.” + </p> + <p> + 'Ten minutes more!' she thought: 'Oh, why doesn't he go?' But at that very + moment he got up, and instantly her heart went out to him again. + </p> + <p> + “I'm so sorry, Edward. If I can help in any way—I'll try my + best with Noel to-morrow; and do come to me whenever you feel inclined.” + </p> + <p> + She took his hand in hers; afraid that he would sit down again, she yet + could not help a soft glance into his eyes, and a little rush of pitying + warmth in the pressure of her hand. + </p> + <p> + Pierson smiled; the smile which always made her sorry for him. + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye, Leila; you're very good and kind to me. Good-bye.” + </p> + <p> + Her bosom swelled with relief and compassion; and—she let him out. + </p> + <p> + Running upstairs again she thought: 'I've just time. What shall I put on? + Poor Edward, poor Noel! What colour does Jimmy like? Oh! Why didn't I keep + him those ten years ago—what utter waste!' And, feverishly adorning + herself, she came back to the window, and stood there in the dark to + watch, while some jasmine which grew below sent up its scent to her. + 'Would I marry him?' she thought, 'if he asked me? But he won't ask me—why + should he now? Besides, I couldn't bear him to feel I wanted position or + money from him. I only want love—love—love!' The silent + repetition of that word gave her a wonderful sense of solidity and + comfort. So long as she only wanted love, surely he would give it. + </p> + <p> + A tall figure turned down past the church, coming towards her. It was he! + And suddenly she bethought herself. She went to the little black piano, + sat down, and began to sing the song she had sung to him ten years ago: + “If I could be the falling dew and fall on thee all day!” She + did not even look round when he came in, but continued to croon out the + words, conscious of him just behind her shoulder in the dark. But when she + had finished, she got up and threw her arms round him, strained him to + her, and burst into tears on his shoulder; thinking of Noel and that dead + boy, thinking of the millions of other boys, thinking of her own + happiness, thinking of those ten years wasted, of how short was life, and + love; thinking—hardly knowing what she thought! And Jimmy Fort, very + moved by this emotion which he only half understood, pressed her tightly + in his arms, and kissed her wet cheeks and her neck, pale and warm in the + darkness. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + V + </h2> + <h3> + 1 + </h3> + <p> + Noel went on with her work for a month, and then, one morning, fainted + over a pile of dishes. The noise attracted attention, and Mrs. Lynch was + summoned. + </p> + <p> + The sight of her lying there so deadly white taxed Leila's nerves + severely. But the girl revived quickly, and a cab was sent for. Leila went + with her, and told the driver to stop at Camelot Mansions. Why take her + home in this state, why not save the jolting, and let her recover + properly? They went upstairs arm in arm. Leila made her lie down on the + divan, and put a hot-water bottle to her feet. Noel was still so passive + and pale that even to speak to her seemed a cruelty. And, going to her + little sideboard, Leila stealthily extracted a pint bottle of some + champagne which Jimmy Fort had sent in, and took it with two glasses and a + corkscrew into her bedroom. She drank a little herself, and came out + bearing a glass to the girl. Noel shook her head, and her eyes seemed to + say: “Do you really think I'm so easily mended?” But Leila had + been through too much in her time to despise earthly remedies, and she + held it to the girl's lips until she drank. It was excellent champagne, + and, since Noel had never yet touched alcohol, had an instantaneous + effect. Her eyes brightened; little red spots came up in her cheeks. And + suddenly she rolled over and buried her face deep in a cushion. With her + short hair, she looked so like a child lying there, that Leila knelt down, + stroking her head, and saying: “There, there; my love! There, there!” + </p> + <p> + At last the girl raised herself; now that the pallid, masklike despair of + the last month was broken, she seemed on fire, and her face had a wild + look. She withdrew herself from Leila's touch, and, crossing her arms + tightly across her chest, said: + </p> + <p> + “I can't bear it; I can't sleep. I want him back; I hate life—I + hate the world. We hadn't done anything—only just loved each other. + God likes punishing; just because we loved each other; we had only one day + to love each other—only one day—only one!” + </p> + <p> + Leila could see the long white throat above those rigid arms straining and + swallowing; it gave her a choky feeling to watch it. The voice, uncannily + dainty for all the wildness of the words and face, went on: + </p> + <p> + “I won't—I don't want to live. If there's another life, I + shall go to him. And if there isn't—it's just sleep.” + </p> + <p> + Leila put out her hand to ward of these wild wanderings. Like most women + who live simply the life of their senses and emotions, she was orthodox; + or rather never speculated on such things. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me about yourself and him,” she said. + </p> + <p> + Noel fastened her great eyes on her cousin. “We loved each other; + and children are born, aren't they, after you've loved? But mine won't be!” + From the look on her face rather than from her words, the full reality of + her meaning came to Leila, vanished, came again. Nonsense! But—what + an awful thing, if true! That which had always seemed to her such an + exaggerated occurrence in the common walks of life—why! now, it was + a tragedy! Instinctively she raised herself and put her arms round the + girl. + </p> + <p> + “My poor dear!” she said; “you're fancying things!” + </p> + <p> + The colour had faded out of Noel's face, and, with her head thrown back + and her eyelids half-closed, she looked like a scornful young ghost. + </p> + <p> + “If it is—I shan't live. I don't mean to—it's easy to + die. I don't mean Daddy to know.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! my dear, my dear!” was all Leila could stammer. + </p> + <p> + “Was it wrong, Leila?” + </p> + <p> + “Wrong? I don't know—wrong? If it really is so—it was—unfortunate. + But surely, surely—you're mistaken?” + </p> + <p> + Noel shook her head. “I did it so that we should belong to each + other. Nothing could have taken him from me.” + </p> + <p> + Leila caught at the girl's words. + </p> + <p> + “Then, my dear—he hasn't quite gone from you, you see?” + </p> + <p> + Noel's lips formed a “No” which was inaudible. “But + Daddy!” she whispered. + </p> + <p> + Edward's face came before Leila so vividly that she could hardly see the + girl for the tortured shape of it. Then the hedonist in her revolted + against that ascetic vision. Her worldly judgment condemned and deplored + this calamity, her instinct could not help applauding that hour of life + and love, snatched out of the jaws of death. “Need he ever know?” + she said. + </p> + <p> + “I could never lie to Daddy. But it doesn't matter. Why should one + go on living, when life is rotten?” + </p> + <p> + Outside the sun was shining brightly, though it was late October. Leila + got up from her knees. She stood at the window thinking hard. + </p> + <p> + “My dear,” she said at last, “you mustn't get morbid. + Look at me! I've had two husbands, and—and—well, a pretty + stormy up and down time of it; and I daresay I've got lots of trouble + before me. But I'm not going to cave in. Nor must you. The Piersons have + plenty of pluck; you mustn't be a traitor to your blood. That's the last + thing. Your boy would have told you to stick it. These are your + 'trenches,' and you're not going to be downed, are you?” + </p> + <p> + After she had spoken there was a long silence, before Noel said: + </p> + <p> + “Give me a cigarette, Leila.” + </p> + <p> + Leila produced the little flat case she carried. + </p> + <p> + “That's brave,” she said. “Nothing's incurable at your + age. Only one thing's incurable—getting old.” + </p> + <p> + Noel laughed. “That's curable too, isn't it?” + </p> + <p> + “Not without surrender.” + </p> + <p> + Again there was a silence, while the blue fume from two cigarettes + fast-smoked, rose towards the low ceiling. Then Noel got up from the + divan, and went over to the piano. She was still in her hospital dress of + lilac-coloured linen, and while she stood there touching the keys, playing + a chord now, and then, Leila's heart felt hollow from compassion; she was + so happy herself just now, and this child so very wretched! + </p> + <p> + “Play to me,” she said; “no—don't; I'll play to + you.” And sitting down, she began to play and sing a little French + song, whose first line ran: “Si on est jolie, jolie comme vous.” + It was soft, gay, charming. If the girl cried, so much the better. But + Noel did not cry. She seemed suddenly to have recovered all her + self-possession. She spoke calmly, answered Leila's questions without + emotion, and said she would go home. Leila went out with her, and walked + some way in the direction of her home; distressed, but frankly at a loss. + At the bottom of Portland Place Noel stopped and said: “I'm quite + all right now, Leila; thank you awfully. I shall just go home and lie + down. And I shall come to-morrow, the same as usual. Goodbye!” Leila + could only grasp the girl's hand, and say: “My dear, that's + splendid. There's many a slip—besides, it's war-time.” + </p> + <p> + With that saying, enigmatic even to herself, she watched the girl moving + slowly away; and turned back herself towards her hospital, with a + disturbed and compassionate heart. + </p> + <p> + 2 + </p> + <p> + But Noel did not go east; she walked down Regent Street. She had received + a certain measure of comfort, been steadied by her experienced cousin's + vitality, and the new thoughts suggested by those words: “He hasn't + quite gone from you, has he?” “Besides, it's war-time.” + Leila had spoken freely, too, and the physical ignorance in which the girl + had been groping these last weeks was now removed. Like most proud + natures, she did not naturally think much about the opinion of other + people; besides, she knew nothing of the world, its feelings and + judgments. Her nightmare was the thought of her father's horror and grief. + She tried to lessen that nightmare by remembering his opposition to her + marriage, and the resentment she had felt. He had never realised, never + understood, how she and Cyril loved. Now, if she were really going to have + a child, it would be Cyril's—Cyril's son—Cyril over again. The + instinct stronger than reason, refinement, tradition, upbringing, which + had pushed her on in such haste to make sure of union—the + irrepressible pulse of life faced with annihilation—seemed to revive + within her, and make her terrible secret almost precious. She had read + about “War babies” in the papers, read with a dull curiosity; + but now the atmosphere, as it were, of those writings was illumined for + her. These babies were wrong, were a “problem,” and yet, + behind all that, she seemed now to know that people were glad of them; + they made up, they filled the gaps. Perhaps, when she had one, she would + be proud, secretly proud, in spite of everyone, in spite of her father! + They had tried to kill Cyril—God and everyone; but they hadn't been + able, he was alive within her! A glow came into her face, walking among + the busy shopping crowd, and people turned to look at her; she had that + appearance of seeing no one, nothing, which is strange and attractive to + those who have a moment to spare from contemplation of their own affairs. + Fully two hours she wandered thus, before going in, and only lost that + exalted feeling when, in her own little room, she had taken up his + photograph, and was sitting on her bed gazing at it. She had a bad + breakdown then. Locked in there, she lay on her bed, crying, dreadfully + lonely, till she fell asleep exhausted, with the tear-stained photograph + clutched in her twitching fingers. She woke with a start. It was dark, and + someone was knocking on her door. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Noel!” + </p> + <p> + Childish perversity kept her silent. Why couldn't they leave her alone? + They would leave her alone if they knew. Then she heard another kind of + knocking, and her father's voice: + </p> + <p> + “Nollie! Nollie!” + </p> + <p> + She scrambled up, and opened. He looked scared, and her heart smote her. + </p> + <p> + “It's all right, Daddy; I was asleep.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear, I'm sorry, but dinner's ready.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't want any dinner; I think I'll go to bed.” + </p> + <p> + The frown between his brows deepened. + </p> + <p> + “You shouldn't lock your door, Nollie: I was quite frightened. I + went round to the hospital to bring you home, and they told me about your + fainting. I want you to see a doctor.” + </p> + <p> + Noel shook her head vigorously. “Oh, no! It's nothing!” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing? To faint like that? Come, my child. To please me.” + He took her face in his hands. Noel shrank away. + </p> + <p> + “No, Daddy. I won't see a doctor. Extravagance in wartime! I won't. + It's no good trying to make me. I'll come down if you like; I shall be all + right to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + With this Pierson had to be content; but, often that evening, she saw him + looking at her anxiously. And when she went up, he came out of his study, + followed to her room, and insisted on lighting her fire. Kissing her at + the door, he said very quietly: + </p> + <p> + “I wish I could be a mother to you, my child!” + </p> + <p> + For a moment it flashed through Noel: 'He knows!' then, by the puzzled + look on his face, she knew that he did not. If only he did know; what a + weight it would be off her mind! But she answered quietly too; “Good + night, Daddy dear!” kissed him, and shut the door. + </p> + <p> + She sat down before the little new fire, and spread her hands out to it; + all was so cold and wintry in her heart. And the firelight flickered on + her face, where shadows lay thick under her eyes, for all the roundness of + her cheeks, and on her slim pale hands, and the supple grace of her young + body. And out in the night, clouds raced over the moon, which had come + full once more. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0018" id="link2H_4_0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VI + </h2> + <p> + 1 + </p> + <p> + Pierson went back to his study, and wrote to Gratian. + </p> + <p> + “If you can get leave for a few days, my dear, I want you at home. I + am troubled about Nollie. Ever since that disaster happened to her she has + been getting paler; and to-day she fainted. She won't see a doctor, but + perhaps you could get her to see George. If you come up, he will surely be + able to run up to us for a day or two. If not, you must take her down to + him at the sea. I have just seen the news of your second cousin Charlie + Pierson's death; he was killed in one of the last attacks on the Somme; he + was nephew of my cousin Leila whom, as you know, Noel sees every day at + her hospital. Bertram has the D. S. O. I have been less hard-pressed + lately; Lauder has been home on leave and has taken some Services for me. + And now the colder weather has come, I am feeling much fresher. Try your + best to come. I am seriously concerned for our beloved child. + </p> + <p> + “Your affectionate father + </p> + <p> + “EDWARD PIERSON.” + </p> + <p> + Gratian answered that she could get week-end leave, and would come on + Friday. He met her at the station, and they drove thence straight to the + hospital, to pick up Noel. Leila came to them in the waiting-room, and + Pierson, thinking they would talk more freely about Noel's health if he + left them alone, went into the recreation room, and stood watching a game + of bagatelle between two convalescents. When he returned to the little + sitting-room they were still standing by the hearth, talking in low + voices. Gratian must surely have been stooping over the fire, for her face + was red, almost swollen, and her eyes looked as if she had scorched them. + </p> + <p> + Leila said lightly: + </p> + <p> + “Well, Edward, aren't the men delightful? When are we going to + another concert together?” + </p> + <p> + She, too, was flushed and looking almost young. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! If we could do the things we want to. + </p> + <p> + “That's very pretty, Edward; but you should, you know—for a + tonic.” He shook his head and smiled. + </p> + <p> + “You're a temptress, Leila. Will you let Nollie know, please, that + we can take her back with us? Can you let her off to-morrow?” + </p> + <p> + “For as long as you like; she wants a rest. I've been talking to + Gratian. We oughtn't to have let her go on after a shock like that—my + fault, I'm afraid. I thought that work might be best.” + </p> + <p> + Pierson was conscious of Gratian walking past him out of the room. He held + out his hand to Leila, and followed. A small noise occurred behind him + such as a woman makes when she has put a foot through her own skirt, or + has other powerful cause for dismay. Then he saw Noel in the hall, and was + vaguely aware of being the centre of a triangle of women whose eyes were + playing catch-glance. His daughters kissed each other; and he became + seated between them in the taxi. The most unobservant of men, he parted + from them in the hall without having perceived anything except that they + were rather silent; and, going to his study, he took up a Life of Sir + Thomas More. There was a passage therein which he itched to show George + Laird, who was coming up that evening. + </p> + <p> + Gratian and Noel had mounted the stairs with lips tight set, and eyes + averted; both were very pale. When they reached the door of Gratian's room + the room which had been their mother's—Noel was for passing on, but + Gratian caught her by the arm, and said: “Come in.” The fire + was burning brightly in there, and the two sisters stood in front of it, + one on each side, their hands clutching the mantel-shelf, staring at the + flames. At last Noel put one hand in front of her eyes, and said: + </p> + <p> + “I asked her to tell you.” + </p> + <p> + Gratian made the movement of one who is gripped by two strong emotions, + and longs to surrender to one or to the other. + </p> + <p> + “It's too horrible,” was all she said. + </p> + <p> + Noel turned towards the door. + </p> + <p> + “Stop, Nollie!” + </p> + <p> + Noel stopped with her hand on the door knob. “I don't want to be + forgiven and sympathised with. I just want to be let alone.” + </p> + <p> + “How can you be let alone?” + </p> + <p> + The tide of misery surged up in Noel, and she cried out passionately: + </p> + <p> + “I hate sympathy from people who can't understand. I don't want + anyone's. I can always go away, and lose myself.” + </p> + <p> + The words “can't understand” gave Gratian a shock. + </p> + <p> + “I can understand,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “You can't; you never saw him. You never saw—” her lips + quivered so that she had to stop and bite them, to keep back a rush of + tears. + </p> + <p> + “Besides you would never have done it yourself.” + </p> + <p> + Gratian went towards her, but stopped, and sat down on the bed. It was + true. She would never have done it herself; it was just that which, for + all her longing to help her sister, iced her love and sympathy. How + terrible, wretched, humiliating! Her own sister, her only sister, in the + position of all those poor, badly brought up girls, who forgot themselves! + And her father—their father! Till that moment she had hardly thought + of him, too preoccupied by the shock to her own pride. The word: “Dad!” + was forced from her. + </p> + <p> + Noel shuddered. + </p> + <p> + “That boy!” said Gratian suddenly; “I can't forgive him. + If you didn't know—he did. It was—it was—” She + stopped at the sight of Noel's face. + </p> + <p> + “I did know,” she said. “It was I. He was my husband, as + much as yours is. If you say a word against him, I'll never speak to you + again: I'm glad, and you would be, if you were going to have one. What's + the difference, except that you've had luck, and I—haven't.” + Her lips quivered again, and she was silent. + </p> + <p> + Gratian stared up at her. She had a longing for George—to know what + he thought and felt. + </p> + <p> + “Do you mind if I tell George?” she said. + </p> + <p> + Noel shook her head. “No! not now. Tell anybody.” And suddenly + the misery behind the mask of her face went straight to Gratian's heart. + She got up and put her arms round her sister. + </p> + <p> + “Nollie dear, don't look like that!” + </p> + <p> + Noel suffered the embrace without response, but when it was over, went to + her own room. + </p> + <p> + Gratian stayed, sorry, sore and vexed, uncertain, anxious. Her pride was + deeply wounded, her heart torn; she was angry with herself. Why couldn't + she have been more sympathetic? And yet, now that Noel was no longer + there, she again condemned the dead. What he had done was unpardonable. + Nollie was such—a child! He had committed sacrilege. If only George + would come, and she could talk it all out with him! She, who had married + for love and known passion, had insight enough to feel that Noel's love + had been deep—so far as anything, of course, could be deep in such a + child. Gratian was at the mature age of twenty. But to have forgotten + herself like that! And this boy! If she had known him, that feeling might + have been mitigated by the personal element, so important to all human + judgment; but never having seen him, she thought of his conduct as “caddish.” + And she knew that this was, and would be, the trouble between her and her + sister. However she might disguise it, Noel would feel that judgment + underneath. + </p> + <p> + She stripped off her nurse's garb, put on an evening frock, and fidgeted + about the room. Anything rather than go down and see her father again + before she must. This, which had happened, was beyond words terrible for + him; she dreaded the talk with him about Noel's health which would have to + come. She could say nothing, of course, until Noel wished; and, very + truthful by nature, the idea, of having to act a lie distressed her. + </p> + <p> + She went down at last, and found them both in the drawing-room already; + Noel in a frilly evening frock, sitting by the fire with her chin on her + hand, while her father was reading out the war news from the evening + paper. At sight of that cool, dainty, girlish figure brooding over the + fire, and of her father's worn face, the tragedy of this business thrust + itself on her with redoubled force. Poor Dad! Poor Nollie! Awful! Then + Noel turned, and gave a little shake of her head, and her eyes said, + almost as plainly as lips could have said it: 'Silence!' Gratian nodded, + and came forward to the fire. And so began one of those calm, domestic + evenings, which cover sometimes such depths of heartache. + </p> + <p> + 2 + </p> + <p> + Noel stayed up until her father went to bed, then went upstairs at once. + She had evidently determined that they should not talk about her. Gratian + sat on alone, waiting for her husband! It was nearly midnight when he + came, and she did not tell him the family news till next morning. He + received it with a curious little grunt. Gratian saw his eyes contract, as + they might have, perhaps, looking at some bad and complicated wound, and + then stare steadily at the ceiling. Though they had been married over a + year, she did not yet know what he thought about many things, and she + waited with a queer sinking at her heart. This skeleton in the family + cupboard was a test of his affection for herself, a test of the quality of + the man she had married. He did not speak for a little, and her anxiety + grew. Then his hand sought hers, and gave it a hard squeeze. + </p> + <p> + “Poor little Nollie! This is a case for Mark Tapleyism. But cheer + up, Gracie! We'll get her through somehow.” + </p> + <p> + “But father! It's impossible to keep it from him, and impossible to + tell him! Oh George! I never knew what family pride was till now. It's + incredible. That wretched boy!” + </p> + <p> + “'De mortuis.' Come, Gracie! In the midst of death we are in life! + Nollie was a plumb little idiot. But it's the war—the war! Your + father must get used to it; it's a rare chance for his Christianity.” + </p> + <p> + “Dad will be as sweet as anything—that's what makes it so + horrible!” + </p> + <p> + George Laird redoubled his squeeze. “Quite right! The old-fashioned + father could let himself go. But need he know? We can get her away from + London, and later on, we must manage somehow. If he does hear, we must + make him feel that Nollie was 'doing her bit.'.rdquo; + </p> + <p> + Gratian withdrew her hand. “Don't!” she said in a muffled + voice. + </p> + <p> + George Laird turned and looked at her. He was greatly upset himself, + realising perhaps more truly than his young wife the violence of this + disaster; he was quite capable, too, of feeling how deeply she was stirred + and hurt; but, a born pragmatist, confronting life always in the + experimental spirit, he was impatient of the: “How awful!” + attitude. And this streak of her father's ascetic traditionalism in + Gratian always roused in him a wish to break it up. If she had not been + his wife he would have admitted at once that he might just as well try and + alter the bone-formation of her head, as break down such a fundamental + trait of character, but, being his wife, he naturally considered + alteration as possible as putting a new staircase in a house, or throwing + two rooms into one. And, taking her in his arms, he said: “I know; + but it'll all come right, if we put a good face on it. Shall I talk to + Nollie?” + </p> + <p> + Gratian assented, from the desire to be able to say to her father: “George + is seeing her!” and so stay the need for a discussion. But the whole + thing seemed to her more and more a calamity which nothing could lessen or + smooth away. + </p> + <p> + George Laird had plenty of cool courage, invaluable in men who have to + inflict as well as to alleviate pain, but he did not like his mission + “a little bit” as he would have said; and he proposed a walk + because he dreaded a scene. Noel accepted for the same reason. She liked + George, and with the disinterested detachment of a sister-in-law, and the + shrewdness of extreme youth, knew him perhaps better than did his wife. + She was sure, at all events, of being neither condemned nor sympathised + with. + </p> + <p> + They might have gone, of course, in any direction, but chose to make for + the City. Such deep decisions are subconscious. They sought, no doubt, a + dry, unemotional region; or perhaps one where George, who was in uniform, + might rest his arm from the automatic-toy game which the military play. + They had reached Cheapside before he was conscious to the full of the + bizarre nature of this walk with his pretty young sister-in-law among all + the bustling, black-coated mob of money-makers. 'I wish the devil we + hadn't come out!' he thought; 'it would have been easier indoors, after + all.' + </p> + <p> + He cleared his throat, however, and squeezing her arm gently, began: + “Gratian's told me, Nollie. The great thing is to keep your spirit + up, and not worry.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you couldn't cure me.” + </p> + <p> + The words, in that delicate spurning voice, absolutely staggered George; + but he said quickly: + </p> + <p> + “Out of the question, Nollie; impossible! What are you thinking of?” + </p> + <p> + “Daddy.” + </p> + <p> + The words: “D—n Daddy!” rose to his teeth; he bit them + off, and said: “Bless him! We shall have to see to all that. Do you + really want to keep it from him? It must be one way or the other; no use + concealing it, if it's to come out later.” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + He stole a look at her. She was gazing straight before her. How damnably + young she was, how pretty! A lump came up in his throat. + </p> + <p> + “I shouldn't do anything yet,” he said; “too early. + Later on, if you'd like me to tell him. But that's entirely up to you, my + dear; he need never know.” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + He could not follow her thought. Then she said: + </p> + <p> + “Gratian condemns Cyril. Don't let her. I won't have him badly + thought of. It was my doing. I wanted to make sure of him.” + </p> + <p> + George answered stoutly: + </p> + <p> + “Gracie's upset, of course, but she'll soon be all right. You + mustn't let it come between you. The thing you've got to keep steadily + before you is that life's a huge wide adaptable thing. Look at all these + people! There's hardly one of them who hasn't got now, or hasn't had, some + personal difficulty or trouble before them as big as yours almost; bigger + perhaps. And here they are as lively as fleas. That's what makes the + fascination of life—the jolly irony of it all. It would do you good + to have a turn in France, and see yourself in proportion to the whole.” + He felt her fingers suddenly slip under his arm, and went on with greater + confidence: + </p> + <p> + “Life's going to be the important thing in the future, Nollie; not + comfort and cloistered virtue and security; but living, and pressure to + the square inch. Do you twig? All the old hard-and-fast traditions and + drags on life are in the melting-pot. Death's boiling their bones, and + they'll make excellent stock for the new soup. When you prune and dock + things, the sap flows quicker. Regrets and repinings and repressions are + going out of fashion; we shall have no time or use for them in the future. + You're going to make life—well, that's something to be thankful for, + anyway. You've kept Cyril Morland alive. And—well, you know, we've + all been born; some of us properly, and some improperly, and there isn't a + ha'porth of difference in the value of the article, or the trouble of + bringing it into the world. The cheerier you are the better your child + will be, and that's all you've got to think about. You needn't begin to + trouble at all for another couple of months, at least; after that, just + let us know where you'd like to go, and I'll arrange it somehow.” + </p> + <p> + She looked round at him, and under that young, clear, brooding gaze he had + the sudden uncomfortable feeling of having spoken like a charlatan. Had he + really touched the heart of the matter? What good were his generalities to + this young, fastidiously nurtured girl, brought up to tell the truth, by a + father so old-fashioned and devoted, whom she loved? It was George's + nature, too, to despise words; and the conditions of his life these last + two years had given him a sort of horror of those who act by talking. He + felt inclined to say: 'Don't pay the slightest attention to me; it's all + humbug; what will be will be, and there's an end of it: + </p> + <p> + Then she said quietly: + </p> + <p> + “Shall I tell Daddy or not?” + </p> + <p> + He wanted to say: “No,” but somehow couldn't. After all, the + straightforward course was probably the best. For this would have to be a + lifelong concealment. It was impossible to conceal a thing for ever; + sooner or later he would find out. But the doctor rose up in him, and he + said: + </p> + <p> + “Don't go to meet trouble, Nollie; it'll be time enough in two + months. Then tell him, or let me.” + </p> + <p> + She shook her head. “No; I will, if it is to be done.” + </p> + <p> + He put his hand on hers, within his arm, and gave it a squeeze. + </p> + <p> + “What shall I do till then?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Take a week's complete rest, and then go on where you are.” + </p> + <p> + Noel was silent a minute, then said: “Yes; I will.” + </p> + <p> + They spoke no more on the subject, and George exerted himself to talk + about hospital experiences, and that phenomenon, the British soldier. But + just before they reached home he said: + </p> + <p> + “Look here, Nollie! If you're not ashamed of yourself, no one will + be ashamed of you. If you put ashes on your own head, your fellow-beings + will, assist you; for of such is their charity.” + </p> + <p> + And, receiving another of those clear, brooding looks, he left her with + the thought: 'A lonely child!' + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0019" id="link2H_4_0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VII + </h2> + <p> + Noel went back to her hospital after a week's rest. George had done more + for her than he suspected, for his saying: “Life's a huge wide + adaptable thing!” had stuck in her mind. Did it matter what happened + to her? And she used to look into the faces of the people she met, and + wonder what was absorbing them. What secret griefs and joys were they + carrying about with them? The loneliness of her own life now forced her to + this speculation concerning others, for she was extraordinarily lonely; + Gratian and George were back at work, her father must be kept at bay; with + Leila she felt ill at ease, for the confession had hurt her pride; and + family friends and acquaintances of all sorts she shunned like the plague. + The only person she did not succeed in avoiding was Jimmy Fort, who came + in one evening after dinner, bringing her a large bunch of hothouse + violets. But then, he did not seem to matter—too new an + acquaintance, too detached. Something he said made her aware that he had + heard of her loss, and that the violets were a token of sympathy. He + seemed awfully kind that evening, telling her “tales of Araby,” + and saying nothing which would shock her father. It was wonderful to be a + man and roll about the world as he had, and see all life, and queer + places, and people—Chinamen, and Gauchos, and Boers, and Mexicans. + It gave her a kind of thirst. And she liked to watch his brown, humorous + face; which seemed made of dried leather. It gave her the feeling that + life and experience were all that mattered, doing and seeing things; it + made her own trouble seem smaller; less important. She squeezed his hand + when she said good night: “Thank you for my violets and for coming; + it was awfully kind of you! I wish I could have adventures!” And he + answered: “You will, my dear fairy princess!” He said it + queerly and very kindly. + </p> + <p> + Fairy Princess! What a funny thing to call her! If he had only known! + </p> + <p> + There were not many adventures to be had in those regions where she washed + up. Not much “wide and adaptable life” to take her thoughts + off herself. But on her journeys to and from the hospital she had more + than one odd little experience. One morning she noticed a poorly dressed + woman with a red and swollen face, flapping along Regent Street like a + wounded bird, and biting strangely at her hand. Hearing her groan, Noel + asked her what the matter was. The woman held out the hand. “Oh!” + she moaned, “I was scrubbin' the floor and I got this great needle + stuck through my 'and, and it's broke off, and I can't get it out. Oh! Oh!” + She bit at the needle-end, not quite visible, but almost within reach of + teeth, and suddenly went very white. In dismay, Noel put an arm round her, + and turned her into a fine chemist's shop. Several ladies were in there, + buying perfumes, and they looked with acerbity at this disordered dirty + female entering among them. Noel went up to a man behind the counter. + “Please give me something quick, for this poor woman, I think she's + going to faint. She's run a needle through her hand, and can't get it out.” + The man gave her “something quick,” and Noel pushed past two + of the dames back to where the woman was sitting. She was still + obstinately biting at her hand, and suddenly her chin flew up, and there, + between her teeth, was the needle. She took it from them with her other + hand, stuck it proudly in the front of her dress, and out tumbled the + words: “Oh! there—I've got it!” + </p> + <p> + When she had swallowed the draught, she looked round her, bewildered, and + said: + </p> + <p> + “Thank you kindly, miss!” and shuffled out. Noel paid for the + draught, and followed; and, behind her, the shining shop seemed to exhale + a perfumed breath of relief. + </p> + <p> + “You can't go back to work,” she said to the woman. “Where + do you live?” + </p> + <p> + “'Ornsey, miss.” + </p> + <p> + “You must take a 'bus and go straight home, and put your hand at + once into weak Condy's fluid and water. It's swelling. Here's five + shillings.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, miss; thank you, miss, I'm sure. It's very kind of you. It + does ache cruel.” + </p> + <p> + “If it's not better this afternoon, you must go to a doctor. + Promise!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, dear, yes. 'Ere's my 'bus. Thank you kindly, miss.” + </p> + <p> + Noel saw her borne away, still sucking at her dirty swollen hand. She + walked on in a glow of love for the poor woman, and hate for the ladies in + the chemist's shop, and forgot her own trouble till she had almost reached + the hospital. + </p> + <p> + Another November day, a Saturday, leaving early, she walked to Hyde Park. + The plane-trees were just at the height of their spotted beauty. Few—very + few-yellow leaves still hung; and the slender pretty trees seemed + rejoicing in their freedom from summer foliage. All their delicate boughs + and twigs were shaking and dancing in the wind; and their rain-washed + leopard-like bodies had a lithe un-English gaiety. Noel passed down their + line, and seated herself on a bench. Close by, an artist was painting. His + easel was only some three yards away from her, and she could see the + picture; a vista of the Park Lane houses through, the gay plane-tree + screen. He was a tall man, about forty, evidently foreign, with a thin, + long, oval, beardless face, high brow, large grey eyes which looked as if + he suffered from headaches and lived much within himself. He cast many + glances at her, and, pursuant of her new interest in “life” + she watched him discreetly; a little startled however, when, taking off + his broad-brimmed squash hat, he said in a broken accent: + </p> + <p> + “Forgive me the liberty I take, mademoiselle, but would you so very + kindly allow me to make a sketch of you sitting there? I work very quick. + I beg you will let me. I am Belgian, and have no manners, you see.” + And he smiled. + </p> + <p> + “If you like,” said Noel. + </p> + <p> + “I thank you very much:” + </p> + <p> + He shifted his easel, and began to draw. She felt flattered, and a little + fluttered. He was so pale, and had a curious, half-fed look, which moved + her. + </p> + <p> + “Have you been long in England?” she said presently. + </p> + <p> + “Ever since the first months of the war.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you like it?” + </p> + <p> + “I was very homesick at first. But I live in my pictures; there are + wonderful things in London.” + </p> + <p> + “Why did you want to sketch me?” + </p> + <p> + The painter smiled again. “Mademoiselle, youth is so mysterious. + Those young trees I have been painting mean so much more than the old big + trees. Your eyes are seeing things that have not yet happened. There is + Fate in them, and a look of defending us others from seeing it. We have + not such faces in my country; we are simpler; we do not defend our + expressions. The English are very mysterious. We are like children to + them. Yet in some ways you are like children to us. You are not people of + the world at all. You English have been good to us, but you do not like + us.” + </p> + <p> + “And I suppose you do not like us, either?” + </p> + <p> + He smiled again, and she noticed how white his teeth were. + </p> + <p> + “Well, not very much. The English do things from duty, but their + hearts they keep to themselves. And their Art—well, that is really + amusing!” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know much about Art,” Noel murmured. + </p> + <p> + “It is the world to me,” said the painter, and was silent, + drawing with increased pace and passion. + </p> + <p> + “It is so difficult to get subjects,” he remarked abruptly. + “I cannot afford to pay models, and they are not fond of me painting + out of doors. If I had always a subject like you! You—you have a + grief, have you not?” + </p> + <p> + At that startling little question, Noel looked up, frowning. + </p> + <p> + “Everybody has, now.” + </p> + <p> + The painter grasped his chin; his eyes had suddenly become tragical. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said, “everybody. Tragedy is daily bread. I + have lost my family; they are in Belgium. How they live I do not know.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm sorry; very sorry, too, if we aren't nice to you, here. We + ought to be.” + </p> + <p> + He shrugged his shoulders. “What would you have? We are different. + That is unpardonable. An artist is always lonely, too; he has a skin fewer + than other people, and he sees things that they do not. People do not like + you to be different. If ever in your life you act differently from others, + you will find it so, mademoiselle.” + </p> + <p> + Noel felt herself flushing. Was he reading her secret? His eyes had such a + peculiar, secondsighted look. + </p> + <p> + “Have you nearly finished?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “No, mademoiselle; I could go on for hours; but I do not wish to + keep you. It is cold for you, sitting there.” + </p> + <p> + Noel got up. “May I look?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly.” + </p> + <p> + She did not quite recognise herself—who does?—but she saw a + face which affected her oddly, of a girl looking at something which was, + and yet was not, in front of her. + </p> + <p> + “My name is Lavendie,” the painter said; “my wife and I + live here,” and he gave her a card. + </p> + <p> + Noel could not help answering: “My name is Noel Pierson; I live with + my father; here's the address”—she found her case, and fished + out a card. “My father is a clergyman; would you care to come and + see him? He loves music and painting.” + </p> + <p> + “It would be a great pleasure; and perhaps I might be allowed to + paint you. Alas! I have no studio.” + </p> + <p> + Noel drew back. “I'm afraid that I work in a hospital all day, and—and + I don't want to be painted, thank you. But, Daddy would like to meet you, + I'm sure.” + </p> + <p> + The painter bowed again; she saw that he was hurt. + </p> + <p> + “Of course I can see that you're a very fine painter,” she + said quickly; “only—only—I don't want to, you see. + Perhaps you'd like to paint Daddy; he's got a most interesting face.” + </p> + <p> + The painter smiled. “He is your father, mademoiselle. May I ask you + one question? Why do you not want to be painted?” + </p> + <p> + “Because—because I don't, I'm afraid.” She held out her + hand. The painter bowed over it. “Au revoir, mademoiselle.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” said Noel; “it was awfully interesting.” + And she walked away. The sky had become full of clouds round the westerly + sun; and the foreign crinkled tracery of the plane-tree branches against + that French-grey, golden-edged mass, was very lovely. Beauty, and the + troubles of others, soothed her. She felt sorry for the painter, but his + eyes saw too much! And his words: “If ever you act differently from + others,” made her feel him uncanny. Was it true that people always + disliked and condemned those who acted differently? If her old + school-fellows now knew what was before her, how would they treat her? In + her father's study hung a little reproduction of a tiny picture in the + Louvre, a “Rape of Europa,” by an unknown painter—a + humorous delicate thing, of an enraptured; fair-haired girl mounted on a + prancing white bull, crossing a shallow stream, while on the bank all her + white girl-companions were gathered, turning half-sour, half-envious faces + away from that too-fearful spectacle, while one of them tried with timid + desperation to mount astride of a sitting cow, and follow. The face of the + girl on the bull had once been compared by someone with her own. She + thought of this picture now, and saw her school fellows-a throng of + shocked and wondering girls. Suppose one of them had been in her position! + 'Should I have been turning my face away, like the rest? I wouldn't no, I + wouldn't,' she thought; 'I should have understood!' But she knew there was + a kind of false emphasis in her thought. Instinctively she felt the + painter right. One who acted differently from others, was lost. + </p> + <p> + She told her father of the encounter, adding: + </p> + <p> + “I expect he'll come, Daddy.” + </p> + <p> + Pierson answered dreamily: “Poor fellow, I shall be glad to see him + if he does.” + </p> + <p> + “And you'll sit to him, won't you?” + </p> + <p> + “My dear—I?” + </p> + <p> + “He's lonely, you know, and people aren't nice to him. Isn't it + hateful that people should hurt others, because they're foreign or + different?” + </p> + <p> + She saw his eyes open with mild surprise, and went on: “I know you + think people are charitable, Daddy, but they aren't, of course.” + </p> + <p> + “That's not exactly charitable, Nollie.” + </p> + <p> + “You know they're not. I think sin often just means doing things + differently. It's not real sin when it only hurts yourself; but that + doesn't prevent people condemning you, does it?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know what you mean, Nollie.” + </p> + <p> + Noel bit her lips, and murmured: “Are you sure we're really + Christians, Daddy?” + </p> + <p> + The question was so startling, from his own daughter, that Pierson took + refuge in an attempt at wit. “I should like notice of that question, + Nollie, as they say in Parliament.” + </p> + <p> + “That means you don't.” + </p> + <p> + Pierson flushed. “We're fallible enough; but, don't get such ideas + into your head, my child. There's a lot of rebellious talk and writing in + these days....” + </p> + <p> + Noel clasped her hands behind her head. “I think,” she said, + looking straight before her, and speaking to the air, “that + Christianity is what you do, not what you think or say. And I don't + believe people can be Christians when they act like others—I mean, + when they join together to judge and hurt people.” + </p> + <p> + Pierson rose and paced the room. “You have not seen enough of life + to talk like that,” he said. But Noel went on: + </p> + <p> + “One of the men in her hospital told Gratian about the treatment of + conscientious objectors—it was horrible. Why do they treat them like + that, just because they disagree? Captain Fort says it's fear which makes + people bullies. But how can it be fear when they're hundreds to one? He + says man has domesticated his animals but has never succeeded in + domesticating himself. Man must be a wild beast, you know, or the world + couldn't be so awfully brutal. I don't see much difference between being + brutal for good reasons, and being brutal for bad ones.” + </p> + <p> + Pierson looked down at her with a troubled smile. There was something + fantastic to him in this sudden philosophising by one whom he had watched + grow up from a tiny thing. Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings—sometimes! + But then the young generation was always something of a sealed book to + him; his sensitive shyness, and, still more, his cloth, placed a sort of + invisible barrier between him and the hearts of others, especially the + young. There were so many things of which he was compelled to disapprove, + or which at least he couldn't discuss. And they knew it too well. Until + these last few months he had never realised that his own daughters had + remained as undiscovered by him as the interior of Brazil. And now that he + perceived this, he was bewildered, yet could not imagine how to get on + terms with them. + </p> + <p> + And he stood looking at Noel, intensely puzzled, suspecting nothing of the + hard fact which was altering her—vaguely jealous, anxious, pained. + And when she had gone up to bed, he roamed up and down the room a long + time, thinking. He longed for a friend to confide in, and consult; but he + knew no one. He shrank from them all, as too downright, bluff, and active; + too worldly and unaesthetic; or too stiff and narrow. Amongst the younger + men in his profession he was often aware of faces which attracted him, but + one could not confide deep personal questions to men half one's age. But + of his own generation, or his elders, he knew not one to whom he could + have gone. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0020" id="link2H_4_0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VIII + </h2> + <p> + Leila was deep in her new draught of life. When she fell in love it had + always been over head and ears, and so far her passion had always burnt + itself out before that of her partner. This had been, of course, a great + advantage to her. Not that Leila had ever expected her passions to burn + themselves out. When she fell in love she had always thought it was for + always. This time she was sure it was, surer than she had ever been. Jimmy + Fort seemed to her the man she had been looking for all her life. He was + not so good-looking as either Farie or Lynch, but beside him these others + seemed to her now almost ridiculous. Indeed they did not figure at all, + they shrank, they withered, they were husks, together with the others for + whom she had known passing weaknesses. There was only one man in the world + for her now, and would be for evermore. She did not idealise him either, + it was more serious than that; she was thrilled by his voice, and his + touch, she dreamed of him, longed for him when he was not with her. She + worried, too, for she was perfectly aware that he was not half as fond of + her as she was of him. Such a new experience puzzled her, kept her + instincts painfully on the alert. It was perhaps just this uncertainty + about his affection which made him seem more precious than any of the + others. But there was ever the other reason, too-consciousness that Time + was after her, and this her last grand passion. She watched him as a + mother-cat watches her kitten, without seeming to, of course, for she had + much experience. She had begun to have a curious secret jealousy of Noel + though why she could not have said. It was perhaps merely incidental to + her age, or sprang from that vague resemblance between her and one who + outrivalled even what she had been as a girl; or from the occasional + allusions Fort made to what he called “that little fairy princess.” + Something intangible, instinctive, gave her that jealousy. Until the death + of her young cousin's lover she had felt safe, for she knew that Jimmy + Fort would not hanker after another man's property; had he not proved that + in old days, with herself, by running away from her? And she had often + regretted having told him of Cyril Morland's death. One day she determined + to repair that error. It was at the Zoo, where they often went on Sunday + afternoons. They were standing before a creature called the meercat, which + reminded them both of old days on the veldt. Without turning her head she + said, as if to the little animal: “Do you know that your fairy + princess, as you call her, is going to have what is known as a war-baby?” + </p> + <p> + The sound of his “What!” gave her quite a stab. It was so + utterly horrified. + </p> + <p> + She said stubbornly: “She came and told me all about it. The boy is + dead, as you know. Yes, terrible, isn't it?” And she looked at him. + His face was almost comic, so wrinkled up with incredulity. + </p> + <p> + “That lovely child! But it's impossible!” + </p> + <p> + “The impossible is sometimes true, Jimmy.” + </p> + <p> + “I refuse to believe it.” + </p> + <p> + “I tell you it is so,” she said angrily. + </p> + <p> + “What a ghastly shame!” + </p> + <p> + “It was her own doing; she said so, herself.” + </p> + <p> + “And her father—the padre! My God!” + </p> + <p> + Leila was suddenly smitten with a horrible doubt. She had thought it would + disgust him, cure him of any little tendency to romanticise that child; + and now she perceived that it was rousing in him, instead, a dangerous + compassion. She could have bitten her tongue out for having spoken. When + he got on the high horse of some championship, he was not to be trusted, + she had found that out; was even finding it out bitterly in her own + relations with him, constantly aware that half her hold on him, at least, + lay in his sense of chivalry, aware that he knew her lurking dread of + being flung on the beach, by age. Only ten minutes ago he had uttered a + tirade before the cage of a monkey which seemed unhappy. And now she had + roused that dangerous side of him in favour of Noel. What an idiot she had + been! + </p> + <p> + “Don't look like that, Jimmy. I'm sorry I told you.” + </p> + <p> + His hand did not answer her pressure in the least, but he muttered: + </p> + <p> + “Well, I do think that's the limit. What's to be done for her?” + </p> + <p> + Leila answered softly: “Nothing, I'm afraid. Do you love me?” + And she pressed his hand hard. + </p> + <p> + “Of course.” + </p> + <p> + But Leila thought: 'If I were that meercat he'd have taken more notice of + my paw!' Her heart began suddenly to ache, and she walked on to the next + cage with head up, and her mouth hard set. + </p> + <p> + Jimmy Fort walked away from Camelot Mansions that evening in extreme + discomfort of mind. Leila had been so queer that he had taken leave + immediately after supper. She had refused to talk about Noel; had even + seemed angry when he had tried to. How extraordinary some women were! Did + they think that a man could hear of a thing like that about such a dainty + young creature without being upset! It was the most perfectly damnable + news! What on earth would she do—poor little fairy princess! Down + had come her house of cards with a vengeance! The whole of her life—the + whole of her life! With her bringing-up and her father and all—it + seemed inconceivable that she could ever survive it. And Leila had been + almost callous about the monstrous business. Women were hard to each + other! Bad enough, these things, when it was a simple working girl, but + this dainty, sheltered, beautiful child! No, it was altogether too strong—too + painful! And following an impulse which he could not resist, he made his + way to the old Square. But having reached the house, he nearly went away + again. While he stood hesitating with his hand on the bell, a girl and a + soldier passed, appearing as if by magic out of the moonlit November mist, + blurred and solid shapes embraced, then vanished into it again, leaving + the sound of footsteps. Fort jerked the bell. He was shown into what + seemed, to one coming out of that mist, to be a brilliant, crowded room, + though in truth there were but two lamps and five people in it. They were + sitting round the fire, talking, and paused when he came in. When he had + shaken hands with Pierson and been introduced to “my daughter + Gratian” and a man in khaki “my son-in-law George Laird,” + to a tall thin-faced, foreign-looking man in a black stock and seemingly + no collar, he went up to Noel, who had risen from a chair before the fire. + 'No!' he thought, 'I've dreamed it, or Leila has lied!' She was so + perfectly the self-possessed, dainty maiden he remembered. Even the feel + of her hand was the same-warm and confident; and sinking into a chair, he + said: “Please go on, and let me chip in.” + </p> + <p> + “We were quarrelling about the Universe, Captain Fort,” said + the man in khaki; “delighted to have your help. I was just saying + that this particular world has no particular importance, no more than a + newspaper-seller would accord to it if it were completely destroyed + tomorrow—''.rrible catastrophe, total destruction of the world—six + o'clock edition-pyper!' I say that it will become again the nebula out of + which it was formed, and by friction with other nebula re-form into a + fresh shape and so on ad infinitum—but I can't explain why. My wife + wonders if it exists at all except in the human mind—but she can't + explain what the human mind is. My father-in-law thinks that it is God's + hobby—but he can't explain who or what God is. Nollie is silent. And + Monsieur Lavendie hasn't yet told us what he thinks. What do you think, + monsieur?” The thin-faced, big-eyed man put up his hand to his high, + veined brow as if he had a headache, reddened, and began to speak in + French, which Fort followed with difficulty. + </p> + <p> + “For me the Universe is a limitless artist, monsieur, who from all + time and to all time is ever expressing himself in differing forms—always + trying to make a masterpiece, and generally failing. For me this world, + and all the worlds, are like ourselves, and the flowers and trees—little + separate works of art, more or less perfect, whose little lives run their + course, and are spilled or powdered back into this Creative Artist, whence + issue ever fresh attempts at art. I agree with Monsieur Laird, if I + understand him right; but I agree also with Madame Laird, if I understand + her. You see, I think mind and matter are one, or perhaps there is no such + thing as either mind or matter, only growth and decay and growth again, + for ever and ever; but always conscious growth—an artist expressing + himself in millions of ever-changing forms; decay and death as we call + them, being but rest and sleep, the ebbing of the tide, which must ever + come between two rising tides, or the night which comes between two days. + But the next day is never the same as the day before, nor the tide as the + last tide; so the little shapes of the world and of ourselves, these works + of art by the Eternal Artist, are never renewed in the same form, are + never twice alike, but always fresh-fresh worlds, fresh individuals, fresh + flowers, fresh everything. I do not see anything depressing in that. To me + it would be depressing to think that I would go on living after death, or + live again in a new body, myself yet not myself. How stale that would be! + When I finish a picture it is inconceivable to me that this picture should + ever become another picture, or that one can divide the expression from + the mind-stuff it has expressed. The Great Artist who is the whole of + Everything, is ever in fresh effort to achieve new things. He is as a + fountain who throws up new drops, no two ever alike, which fall back into + the water, flow into the pipe, and so are thrown up again in fresh-shaped + drops. But I cannot explain why there should be this Eternal Energy, ever + expressing itself in fresh individual shapes, this Eternal Working Artist, + instead of nothing at all—just empty dark for always; except indeed + that it must be one thing or the other, either all or nothing; and it + happens to be this and not that, the all and not the nothing.” + </p> + <p> + He stopped speaking, and his big eyes, which had fixed themselves on + Fort's face, seemed to the latter not to be seeing him at all, but to rest + on something beyond. The man in khaki, who had risen and was standing with + his hand on his wife's shoulder, said: + </p> + <p> + “Bravo, monsieur; Jolly well put from the artist's point of view. + The idea is pretty, anyway; but is there any need for an idea at all? + Things are; and we have just to take them.” Fort had the impression + of something dark and writhing; the thin black form of his host, who had + risen and come close to the fire. + </p> + <p> + “I cannot admit,” he was saying, “the identity of the + Creator with the created. God exists outside ourselves. Nor can I admit + that there is no defnite purpose and fulfilment. All is shaped to His + great ends. I think we are too given to spiritual pride. The world has + lost reverence; I regret it, I bitterly regret it.” + </p> + <p> + “I rejoice at it,” said the man in khaki. “Now, Captain + Fort, your turn to bat!” + </p> + <p> + Fort, who had been looking at Noel, gave himself a shake, and said: + “I think what monsieur calls expression, I call fighting. I suspect + the Universe of being simply a long fight, a sum of conquests and defeats. + Conquests leading to defeats, defeats to conquests. I want to win while + I'm alive, and because I want to win, I want to live on after death. Death + is a defeat. I don't want to admit it. While I have that instinct, I don't + think I shall really die; when I lose it, I think I shall.” He was + conscious of Noel's face turning towards him, but had the feeling that she + wasn't really listening. “I suspect that what we call spirit is just + the fighting instinct; that what we call matter is the mood of lying down. + Whether, as Mr. Pierson says, God is outside us, or, as monsieur thinks, + we are all part of God, I don't know, I'm sure.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! There we are!” said the man in khaki. “We all speak + after our temperaments, and none of us know. The religions of the world + are just the poetic expressions of certain strongly marked temperaments. + Monsieur was a poet just now, and his is the only temperament which has + never yet been rammed down the world's throat in the form of religion. Go + out and proclaim your views from the housetops, monsieur, and see what + happens.” + </p> + <p> + The painter shook his head with a smile which seemed to Fort very bright + on the surface, and very sad underneath. + </p> + <p> + “Non, monsieur,” he said; “the artist does not wish to + impose his temperament. Difference of temperament is the very essence of + his joy, and his belief in life. Without difference there would be no life + for him. 'Tout casse, tout lasse,' but change goes on for ever: We artists + reverence change, monsieur; we reverence the newness of each morning, of + each night, of each person, of each expression of energy. Nothing is final + for us; we are eager for all and always for more. We are in love, you see, + even with-death.” + </p> + <p> + There was a silence; then Fort heard Pierson murmur: + </p> + <p> + “That is beautiful, monsieur; but oh! how wrong!” “And + what do you think, Nollie?” said the man in khaki suddenly. The girl + had been sitting very still in her low chair, with her hands crossed in + her lap, her eyes on the fire, and the lamplight shining down on her fair + hair; she looked up, startled, and her eyes met Fort's. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know; I wasn't listening.” Something moved in him, a + kind of burning pity, a rage of protection. He said quickly: + </p> + <p> + “These are times of action. Philosophy seems to mean nothing + nowadays. The one thing is to hate tyranny and cruelty, and protect + everything that's weak and lonely. It's all that's left to make life worth + living, when all the packs of all the world are out for blood.” + </p> + <p> + Noel was listening now, and he went on fervently: “Why! Even we who + started out to fight this Prussian pack, have caught the pack feeling—so + that it's hunting all over the country, on every sort of scent. It's a + most infectious thing.” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot see that we are being infected, Captain Fort.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid we are, Mr. Pierson. The great majority of people are + always inclined to run with the hounds; the pressure's great just now; the + pack spirit's in the air.” + </p> + <p> + Pierson shook his head. “No, I cannot see it,” he repeated; + “it seems to me that we are all more brotherly, and more tolerant.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! monsieur le cure,” Fort heard the painter say very + gently, “it is difficult for a good man to see the evil round him. + There are those whom the world's march leaves apart, and reality cannot + touch. They walk with God, and the bestialities of us animals are + fantastic to them. The spirit of the pack, as monsieur says, is in the + air. I see all human nature now, running with gaping mouths and red + tongues lolling out, their breath and their cries spouting thick before + them. On whom they will fall next—one never knows; the innocent with + the guilty. Perhaps if you were to see some one dear to you devoured + before your eyes, monsieur le cure, you would feel it too; and yet I do + not know.” + </p> + <p> + Fort saw Noel turn her face towards her father; her expression at that + moment was very strange, searching, half frightened. No! Leila had not + lied, and he had not dreamed! That thing was true! + </p> + <p> + When presently he took his leave, and was out again in the Square, he + could see nothing but her face and form before him in the moonlight: its + soft outline, fair colouring, slender delicacy, and the brooding of the + big grey eyes. He had already crossed New Oxford Street and was some way + down towards the Strand, when a voice behind him murmured: “Ah! + c'est vous, monsieur!” and the painter loomed up at his elbow. + </p> + <p> + “Are you going my way?” said Fort. “I go slowly, I'm + afraid.” + </p> + <p> + “The slower the better, monsieur. London is so beautiful in the + dark. It is the despair of the painter—these moonlit nights. There + are moments when one feels that reality does not exist. All is in dreams—like + the face of that young lady.” + </p> + <p> + Fort stared sharply round at him. “Oh! She strikes you like that, + does she?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! What a charming figure! What an atmosphere of the past and + future round her! And she will not let me paint her! Well, perhaps only + Mathieu Maris.” He raised his broad Bohemian hat, and ran his + fingers through his hair. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Fort, “she'd make a wonderful picture. I'm + not a judge of Art, but I can see that.” + </p> + <p> + The painter smiled, and went on in his rapid French: + </p> + <p> + “She has youth and age all at once—that is rare. Her father is + an interesting man, too; I am trying to paint him; he is very difficult. + He sits lost in some kind of vacancy of his own; a man whose soul has gone + before him somewhere, like that of his Church, escaped from this age of + machines, leaving its body behind—is it not? He is so kind; a saint, + I think. The other clergymen I see passing in the street are not at all + like him; they look buttoned-up and busy, with faces of men who might be + schoolmasters or lawyers, or even soldiers—men of this world. Do you + know this, monsieur—it is ironical, but it is true, I think a man + cannot be a successful priest unless he is a man of this world. I do not + see any with that look of Monsieur Pierson, a little tortured within, and + not quite present. He is half an artist, really a lover of music, that + man. I am painting him at the piano; when he is playing his face is alive, + but even then, so far away. To me, monsieur, he is exactly like a + beautiful church which knows it is being deserted. I find him pathetic. Je + suis socialiste, but I have always an aesthetic admiration for that old + Church, which held its children by simple emotion. The times have changed; + it can no longer hold them so; it stands in the dusk, with its spire to a + heaven which exists no more, its bells, still beautiful but out of tune + with the music of the streets. It is something of that which I wish to get + into my picture of Monsieur Pierson; and sapristi! it is difficult!” + Fort grunted assent. So far as he could make out the painter's words, it + seemed to him a large order. + </p> + <p> + “To do it, you see,” went on the painter, “one should + have the proper background—these currents of modern life and modern + types, passing him and leaving him untouched. There is no illusion, and no + dreaming, in modern life. Look at this street. La, la!” + </p> + <p> + In the darkened Strand, hundreds of khaki-clad figures and girls were + streaming by, and all their voices had a hard, half-jovial vulgarity. The + motor-cabs and buses pushed along remorselessly; newspaper-sellers + muttered their ceaseless invitations. Again the painter made his gesture + of despair: “How am I to get into my picture this modern life, which + washes round him as round that church, there, standing in the middle of + the street? See how the currents sweep round it, as if to wash it away; + yet it stands, seeming not to see them. If I were a phantasist, it would + be easy enough: but to be a phantasist is too simple for me—those + romantic gentlemen bring what they like from anywhere, to serve their + ends. Moi, je suis realiste. And so, monsieur, I have invented an idea. I + am painting over his head while he sits there at the piano a picture + hanging on the wall—of one of these young town girls who have no + mysteriousness at all, no youth; nothing but a cheap knowledge and + defiance, and good humour. He is looking up at it, but he does not see it. + I will make the face of that girl the face of modern life, and he shall + sit staring at it, seeing nothing. What do you think of my idea?” + </p> + <p> + But Fort had begun to feel something of the revolt which the man of action + so soon experiences when he listens to an artist talking. + </p> + <p> + “It sounds all right,” he said abruptly; “all the same, + monsieur, all my sympathy is with modern life. Take these young girls, and + these Tommies. For all their feather-pated vulgarity and they are damned + vulgar, I must say—they're marvellous people; they do take the rough + with the smooth; they're all 'doing their bit,' you know, and facing this + particularly beastly world. Aesthetically, I daresay, they're deplorable, + but can you say that on the whole their philosophy isn't an advance on + anything we've had up till now? They worship nothing, it's true; but they + keep their ends up marvellously.” + </p> + <p> + The painter, who seemed to feel the wind blowing cold on his ideas, + shrugged his shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “I am not concerned with that, monsieur; I set down what I see; + better or worse, I do not know. But look at this!” And he pointed + down the darkened and moonlit street. It was all jewelled and enamelled + with little spots and splashes of subdued red and green-blue light, and + the downward orange glow of the high lamps—like an enchanted + dream-street peopled by countless moving shapes, which only came to + earth-reality when seen close to. The painter drew his breath in with a + hiss. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” he said, “what beauty! And they don't see it—not + one in a thousand! Pity, isn't it? Beauty is the holy thing!” + </p> + <p> + Fort, in his turn, shrugged his shoulders. “Every man to his vision!” + he said. “My leg's beginning to bother me; I'm afraid I must take a + cab. Here's my address; any time you like to come. I'm often in about + seven. I can't take you anywhere, I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + “A thousand thanks, monsieur; but I go north. I loved your words + about the pack. I often wake at night and hear the howling of all the + packs of the world. Those who are by nature gentle nowadays feel they are + strangers in a far land. Good night, monsieur!” + </p> + <p> + He took off his queer hat, bowed low, and crossed out into the Strand, + like one who had come in a dream, and faded out with the waking. Fort + hailed a cab, and went home, still seeing Noel's face. There was one, if + you liked, waiting to be thrown to the wolves, waiting for the world's + pack to begin howling round her—that lovely child; and the first, + the loudest of all the pack, perhaps, must be her own father, the lean, + dark figure with the gentle face, and the burnt bright eyes. What a + ghastly business! His dreams that night were not such as Leila would have + approved. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0021" id="link2H_4_0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IX + </h2> + <p> + When in the cupboard there is a real and very bony skeleton, carefully + kept from the sight of a single member of the family, the position of that + member is liable to become lonely. But Pierson, who had been lonely + fifteen years, did not feel it so much, perhaps, as most men would have. + In his dreamy nature there was a curious self-sufficiency, which only + violent shocks disturbed, and he went on with his routine of duty, which + had become for him as set as the pavements he trod on his way to and from + it. It was not exactly true, as the painter had said, that this routine + did not bring him into touch with life. After all he saw people when they + were born, when they married, when they died. He helped them when they + wanted money, and when they were ill; he told their children Bible stories + on Sunday afternoons; he served those who were in need with soup and bread + from his soup kitchen. He never spared himself in any way, and his ears + were always at the service of their woes. And yet he did not understand + them, and they knew that. It was as though he, or they, were colour-blind. + The values were all different. He was seeing one set of objects, they + another. + </p> + <p> + One street of his parish touched a main line of thoroughfare, and formed a + little part of the new hunting-grounds of women, who, chased forth from + their usual haunts by the Authorities under pressure of the country's + danger, now pursued their calling in the dark. This particular evil had + always been a sort of nightmare to Pierson. The starvation which ruled his + own existence inclined him to a particularly severe view and severity was + not his strong point. In consequence there was ever within him a sort of + very personal and poignant struggle going on beneath that seeming attitude + of rigid disapproval. He joined the hunters, as it were, because he was + afraid-not, of course, of his own instincts, for he was fastidious, a + gentleman, and a priest, but of being lenient to a sin, to something which + God abhorred: He was, as it were, bound to take a professional view of + this particular offence. When in his walks abroad he passed one of these + women, he would unconsciously purse his lips, and frown. The darkness of + the streets seemed to lend them such power, such unholy sovereignty over + the night. They were such a danger to the soldiers, too; and in turn, the + soldiers were such a danger to the lambs of his flock. Domestic disasters + in his parish came to his ears from time to time; cases of young girls + whose heads were turned by soldiers, so that they were about to become + mothers. They seemed to him pitiful indeed; but he could not forgive them + for their giddiness, for putting temptation in the way of brave young men, + fighting, or about to fight. The glamour which surrounded soldiers was not + excuse enough. When the babies were born, and came to his notice, he + consulted a Committee he had formed, of three married and two maiden + ladies, who visited the mothers, and if necessary took the babies into a + creche; for those babies had a new value to the country, and were not—poor + little things!—to be held responsible for their mothers' faults. He + himself saw little of the young mothers; shy of them, secretly afraid, + perhaps, of not being censorious enough. But once in a way Life set him + face to face with one. + </p> + <p> + On New Year's Eve he was sitting in his study after tea, at that hour + which he tried to keep for his parishioners, when a Mrs. Mitchett was + announced, a small bookseller's wife, whom he knew for an occasional + Communicant. She came in, accompanied by a young dark-eyed girl in a loose + mouse-coloured coat. At his invitation they sat down in front of the long + bookcase on the two green leather chairs which had grown worn in the + service of the parish; and, screwed round in his chair at the bureau, with + his long musician's fingers pressed together, he looked at them and + waited. The woman had taken out her handkerchief, and was wiping her eyes; + but the girl sat quiet, as the mouse she somewhat resembled in that coat. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Mrs. Mitchett?” He said gently, at last. + </p> + <p> + The woman put away her handkerchief, sniffed resolutely, and began: + </p> + <p> + “It's 'Ilda, sir. Such a thing Mitchett and me never could 'ave + expected, comin' on us so sudden. I thought it best to bring 'er round, + poor girl. Of course, it's all the war. I've warned 'er a dozen times; but + there it is, comin' next month, and the man in France.” Pierson + instinctively averted his gaze from the girl, who had not moved her eyes + from his face, which she scanned with a seeming absence of interest, as if + she had long given up thinking over her lot, and left it now to others. + </p> + <p> + “That is sad,” he said; “very, very sad.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” murmured Mrs. Mitchett; “that's what I tell + 'Ilda.” + </p> + <p> + The girl's glance, lowered for a second, resumed its impersonal scrutiny + of Pierson's face. + </p> + <p> + “What is the man's name and regiment? Perhaps we can get leave for + him to come home and marry Hilda at once.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Mitchett sniffed. “She won't give it, sir. Now, 'Ilda, give it + to Mr. Pierson.” And her voice had a real note of entreaty. The girl + shook her head. Mrs. Mitchett murmured dolefully: “That's 'ow she + is, sir; not a word will she say. And as I tell her, we can only think + there must 'ave been more than one. And that does put us to shame so!” + </p> + <p> + But still the girl made no sign. + </p> + <p> + “You speak to her, sir; I'm really at my wit's end.” + </p> + <p> + “Why won't you tell us?” said Pierson. “The man will + want to do the right thing, 'I'm sure.” + </p> + <p> + The girl shook her head, and spoke for the first time. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know his name.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Mitchett's face twitched. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, dear!” she said: “Think of that! She's never said + as much to us.” + </p> + <p> + “Not know his name?” Pierson murmured. “But how—how + could you—” he stopped, but his face had darkened. “Surely + you would never have done such a thing without affection? Come, tell me!” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know it,” the girl repeated. + </p> + <p> + “It's these Parks,” said Mrs. Mitchett, from behind her + handkerchief. “And to think that this'll be our first grandchild and + all! 'Ilda is difficult; as quiet, as quiet; but that stubborn—” + </p> + <p> + Pierson looked at the girl, who seemed, if anything, less interested than + ever. This impenetrability and something mulish in her attitude annoyed + him. “I can't think,” he said, “how you could so have + forgotten yourself. It's truly grievous.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Mitchett murmured: “Yes, sir; the girls gets it into their + heads that there's going to be no young men for them.” + </p> + <p> + “That's right,” said the girl sullenly. + </p> + <p> + Pierson's lips grew tighter. “Well, what can I do for you, Mrs. + Mitchett?” he said. “Does your daughter come to church?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Mitchett shook her head mournfully. “Never since she had her + byke.” + </p> + <p> + Pierson rose from his chair. The old story! Control and discipline + undermined, and these bitter apples the result! + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he said, “if you need our creche, you have only + to come to me,” and he turned to the girl. “And you—won't + you let this dreadful experience move your heart? My dear girl, we must + all master ourselves, our passions, and our foolish wilfulness, especially + in these times when our country needs us strong, and self-disciplined, not + thinking of ourselves. I'm sure you're a good girl at heart.” + </p> + <p> + The girl's dark eyes, unmoved from his face, roused in him a spasm of + nervous irritation. “Your soul is in great danger, and you're very + unhappy, I can see. Turn to God for help, and in His mercy everything will + be made so different for you—so very different! Come!” + </p> + <p> + The girl said with a sort of surprising quietness: “I don't want the + baby!” + </p> + <p> + The remark staggered him, almost as if she had uttered a hideous oath. + </p> + <p> + “'Ilda was in munitions,” said her mother in an explanatory + voice: “earnin' a matter of four pound a week. Oh! dear, it is a + waste an' all!” A queer, rather terrible little smile curled + Pierson's lips. + </p> + <p> + “A judgment!” he said. “Good evening, Mrs. Mitchett. + Good evening, Hilda. If you want me when the time comes, send for me.” + </p> + <p> + They stood up; he shook hands with them; and was suddenly aware that the + door was open, and Noel standing there. He had heard no sound; and how + long she had been there he could not tell. There was a singular fixity in + her face and attitude. She was staring at the girl, who, as she passed, + lifted her face, so that the dark eyes and the grey eyes met. The door was + shut, and Noel stood there alone with him. + </p> + <p> + “Aren't you early, my child?” said Pierson. “You came in + very quietly.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; I heard.” + </p> + <p> + A slight shock went through him at the tone of her voice; her face had + that possessed look which he always dreaded. “What did you hear?” + he said. + </p> + <p> + “I heard you say: 'A judgment!' You'll say the same to me, won't + you? Only, I do want my baby.” + </p> + <p> + She was standing with her back to the door, over which a dark curtain + hung; her face looked young and small against its stuff, her eyes very + large. With one hand she plucked at her blouse, just over her heart. + </p> + <p> + Pierson stared at her, and gripped the back of the chair he had been + sitting in. A lifetime of repression served him in the half-realised + horror of that moment. He stammered out the single word— + </p> + <p> + “Nollie!” + </p> + <p> + “It's quite true,” she said, turned round, and went out. + </p> + <p> + Pierson had a sort of vertigo; if he had moved, he must have fallen down. + Nollie! He slid round and sank into his chair, and by some horrible cruel + fiction of his nerves, he seemed to feel Noel on his knee, as, when a + little girl, she had been wont to sit, with her fair hair fluffing against + his cheek. He seemed to feel that hair tickling his skin; it used to be + the greatest comfort he had known since her mother died. At that moment + his pride shrivelled like a flower held to a flame; all that abundant + secret pride of a father who loves and admires, who worships still a dead + wife in the children she has left him; who, humble by nature, yet never + knows how proud he is till the bitter thing happens; all the long pride of + the priest who, by dint of exhortation and remonstrance has coated himself + in a superiority he hardly suspects—all this pride shrivelled in + him. Then something writhed and cried within, as a tortured beast cries, + at loss to know why it is being tortured. How many times has not a man + used those words: “My God! My God! Why hast Thou forsaken me!” + He sprang up and tried to pace his way out of this cage of confusion: His + thoughts and feelings made the strangest medley, spiritual and worldly—Social + ostracism—her soul in peril—a trial sent by God! The future! + Imagination failed him. He went to his little piano, opened it, closed it + again; took his hat, and stole out. He walked fast, without knowing where. + It was very cold—a clear, bitter evening. Silent rapid motion in the + frosty air was some relief. As Noel had fled from him, having uttered her + news, so did he fly from her. The afflicted walk fast. He was soon down by + the river, and turned West along its wall. The moon was up, bright and + nearly full, and the steel-like shimmer of its light burnished the ebbing + water. A cruel night! He came to the Obelisk, and leaned against it, + overcome by a spasm of realisation. He seemed to see his dead wife's face + staring at him out of the past, like an accusation. “How have you + cared for Nollie, that she should have come to this?” It became the + face of the moonlit sphinx, staring straight at him, the broad dark face + with wide nostrils, cruel lips, full eyes blank of pupils, all livened and + whitened by the moonlight—an embodiment of the marvellous unseeing + energy of Life, twisting and turning hearts without mercy. He gazed into + those eyes with a sort of scared defiance. The great clawed paws of the + beast, the strength and remorseless serenity of that crouching creature + with human head, made living by his imagination and the moonlight, seemed + to him like a temptation to deny God, like a refutation of human virtue. + </p> + <p> + Then, the sense of beauty stirred in him; he moved where he could see its + flanks coated in silver by the moonlight, the ribs and the great muscles, + and the tail with tip coiled over the haunch, like the head of a serpent. + It was weirdly living; fine and cruel, that great man-made thing. It + expressed something in the soul of man, pitiless and remote from love—or + rather, the remorselessness which man had seen, lurking within man's fate. + Pierson recoiled from it, and resumed his march along the Embankment, + almost deserted in the bitter cold. He came to where, in the opening of + the Underground railway, he could see the little forms of people moving, + little orange and red lights glowing. The sight arrested him by its warmth + and motion. Was it not all a dream? That woman and her daughter, had they + really come? Had not Noel been but an apparition, her words a trick which + his nerves had played him? Then, too vividly again, he saw her face + against the dark stuff of the curtain, the curve of her hand plucking at + her blouse, heard the sound of his own horrified: “Nollie!” No + illusion, no deception! The edifice of his life was in the dust. And a + queer and ghastly company of faces came about him; faces he had thought + friendly, of good men and women whom he knew, yet at that moment did not + know, all gathered round Noel, with fingers pointing at her. He staggered + back from that vision, could not bear it, could not recognise this + calamity. With a sort of comfort, yet an aching sense of unreality, his + mind flew to all those summer holidays spent in Scotland, Ireland, + Cornwall, Wales, by mountain and lake, with his two girls; what sunsets, + and turning leaves, birds, beasts, and insects they had watched together! + From their youthful companionship, their eagerness, their confidence in + him, he had known so much warmth and pleasure. If all those memories were + true, surely this could not be true. He felt suddenly that he must hurry + back, go straight to Noel, tell her that she had been cruel to him, or + assure himself that, for the moment, she had been insane: His temper rose + suddenly, took fire. He felt anger against her, against every one he knew, + against life itself. Thrusting his hands deep into the pockets of his thin + black overcoat, he plunged into that narrow glowing tunnel of the station + booking-office, which led back to the crowded streets. But by the time he + reached home his anger had evaporated; he felt nothing but utter + lassitude. It was nine o'clock, and the maids had cleared the dining + table. In despair Noel had gone up to her room. He had no courage left, + and sat down supperless at his little piano, letting his fingers find soft + painful harmonies, so that Noel perhaps heard the faint far thrumming of + that music through uneasy dreams. And there he stayed, till it became time + for him to go forth to the Old Year's Midnight Service. + </p> + <p> + When he returned, Pierson wrapped himself in a rug and lay down on the old + sofa in his study. The maid, coming in next morning to “do” + the grate, found him still asleep. She stood contemplating him in awe; a + broad-faced, kindly, fresh-coloured girl. He lay with his face resting on + his hand, his dark, just grizzling hair unruffled, as if he had not + stirred all night; his other hand clutched the rug to his chest, and his + booted feet protruded beyond it. To her young eyes he looked rather + appallingly neglected. She gazed with interest at the hollows in his + cheeks, and the furrows in his brow, and the lips, dark-moustached and + bearded, so tightly compressed, even in sleep. Being holy didn't make a + man happy, it seemed! What fascinated her were the cindery eyelashes + resting on the cheeks, the faint movement of face and body as he breathed, + the gentle hiss of breath escaping through the twitching nostrils. She + moved nearer, bending down over him, with the childlike notion of counting + those lashes. Her lips parted in readiness to say: “Oh!” if he + waked. Something in his face, and the little twitches which passed over + it, made her feel “that sorry” for him. He was a gentleman, + had money, preached to her every Sunday, and was not so very old—what + more could a man want? And yet—he looked so tired, with those + cheeks. + </p> + <p> + She pitied him; helpless and lonely he seemed to her, asleep there instead + of going to bed properly. And sighing, she tiptoed towards the door. + </p> + <p> + “Is that you, Bessie?” + </p> + <p> + The girl turned: “Yes, sir. I'm sorry I woke you, sir. 'Appy New + Year, sir!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, yes. A Happy New Year, Bessie.” + </p> + <p> + She saw his usual smile, saw it die, and a fixed look come on his face; it + scared her, and she hurried away. Pierson had remembered. For full five + minutes he lay there staring at nothing. Then he rose, folded the rug + mechanically, and looked at the clock. Eight! He went upstairs, knocked on + Noel's door, and entered. + </p> + <p> + The blinds were drawn up, but she was still in bed. He stood looking down + at her. “A Happy New Year, my child!” he said; and he trembled + all over, shivering visibly. She looked so young and innocent, so + round-faced and fresh, after her night's sleep, that the thought sprang up + in him again: 'It must have been a dream!' She did not move, but a slow + flush came up in her cheeks. No dream—dream! He said tremulously: + “I can't realise. I—I hoped I had heard wrong. Didn't I, + Nollie? Didn't I?” + </p> + <p> + She just shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me—everything,” he said; “for God's sake!” + </p> + <p> + He saw her lips moving, and caught the murmur: “There 's nothing + more. Gratian and George know, and Leila. It can't be undone, Daddy. + Perhaps I wouldn't have wanted to make sure, if you hadn't tried to stop + Cyril and me—and I'm glad sometimes, because I shall have something + of his—” She looked up at him. “After all, it's the + same, really; only, there's no ring. It's no good talking to me now, as if + I hadn't been thinking of this for ages. I'm used to anything you can say; + I've said it to myself, you see. There's nothing but to make the best of + it.” + </p> + <p> + Her hot hand came out from under the bedclothes, and clutched his very + tight. Her flush had deepened, and her eyes seemed to him to glitter. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Daddy! You do look tired! Haven't you been to bed? Poor Daddy!” + </p> + <p> + That hot clutch, and the words: “Poor Daddy!” brought tears + into his eyes. They rolled slowly down to his beard, and he covered his + face with the other hand. Her grip tightened convulsively; suddenly she + dragged it to her lips, kissed it, and let it drop. + </p> + <p> + “Don't!” she said, and turned away her face. + </p> + <p> + Pierson effaced his emotion, and said quite calmly: + </p> + <p> + “Shall you wish to be at home, my dear, or to go elsewhere?” + </p> + <p> + Noel had begun to toss her head on her pillow, like a feverish child whose + hair gets in its eyes and mouth. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I don't know; what does it matter?” + </p> + <p> + “Kestrel; would you like to go there? Your aunt—I could write + to her.” Noel stared at him a moment; a struggle seemed going on + within her. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she said, “I would. Only, not Uncle Bob.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps your uncle would come up here, and keep me company.” + </p> + <p> + She turned her face away, and that tossing movement of the limbs beneath + the clothes began again. “I don't care,” she said; “anywhere—it + doesn't matter.” + </p> + <p> + Pierson put his chilly hand on her forehead. “Gently!” he + said, and knelt down by the bed. “Merciful Father,” he + murmured, “give us strength to bear this dreadful trial. Keep my + beloved child safe, and bring her peace; and give me to understand how I + have done wrong, how I have failed towards Thee, and her. In all things + chasten and strengthen her, my child, and me.” + </p> + <p> + His thoughts moved on in the confused, inarticulate suspense of prayer, + till he heard her say: “You haven't failed; why do you talk of + failing—it isn't true; and don't pray for me, Daddy.” + </p> + <p> + Pierson raised himself, and moved back from the bed. Her words confounded + him, yet he was afraid to answer. She pushed her head deep into the + pillow, and lay looking up at the ceiling. + </p> + <p> + “I shall have a son; Cyril won't quite have died. And I don't want + to be forgiven.” + </p> + <p> + He dimly perceived what long dumb processes of thought and feeling had + gone on in her to produce this hardened state of mind, which to him seemed + almost blasphemous. And in the very midst of this turmoil in his heart, he + could not help thinking how lovely her face looked, lying back so that the + curve of her throat was bared, with the short tendrils of hair coiling + about it. That flung-back head, moving restlessly from side to side in the + heat of the soft pillow, had such a passion of protesting life in it! And + he kept silence. + </p> + <p> + “I want you to know it was all me. But I can't pretend. Of course + I'll try and not let it hurt you more than I possibly can. I'm sorry for + you, poor Daddy; oh! I'm sorry for you!” With a movement incredibly + lithe and swift, she turned and pressed her face down in the pillow, so + that all he could see was her tumbled hair and the bedclothes trembling + above her shoulders. He tried to stroke that hair, but she shook her head + free, and he stole out. + </p> + <p> + She did not come to breakfast; and when his own wretched meal was over, + the mechanism of his professional life caught him again at once. New + Year's Day! He had much to do. He had, before all, to be of a cheerful + countenance before his flock, to greet all and any with an air of hope and + courage. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0022" id="link2H_4_0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + X + </h2> + <h3> + 1 + </h3> + <p> + Thirza Pierson, seeing her brother-in-law's handwriting, naturally said: + “Here's a letter from Ted.” + </p> + <p> + Bob Pierson, with a mouth full of sausage, as naturally responded: + </p> + <p> + “What does he say?” + </p> + <p> + In reading on, she found that to answer that question was one of the most + difficult tasks ever set her. Its news moved and disturbed her deeply. + Under her wing this disaster had happened! Down here had been wrought this + most deplorable miracle, fraught with such dislocation of lives! Noel's + face, absorbed and passionate, outside the door of her room on the night + when Cyril Morland went away—her instinct had been right! + </p> + <p> + “He wants you to go up and stay with him, Bob.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not both of us?” + </p> + <p> + “He wants Nollie to come down to me; she's not well.” + </p> + <p> + “Not well? What's the matter?” + </p> + <p> + To tell him seemed disloyalty to her sex; not to tell him, disloyalty to + her husband. A simple consideration of fact and not of principle, decided + her. He would certainly say in a moment: 'Here! Pitch it over!' and she + would have to. She said tranquilly: + </p> + <p> + “You remember that night when Cyril Morland went away, and Noel + behaved so strangely. Well, my dear; she is going to have a child at the + beginning of April. The poor boy is dead, Bob; he died for the Country.” + </p> + <p> + She saw the red tide flow up into his face. + </p> + <p> + “What!” + </p> + <p> + “Poor Edward is dreadfully upset. We must do what we can. I blame + myself.” By instinct she used those words. + </p> + <p> + “Blame yourself? Stuff! That young—!” He stopped. + </p> + <p> + Thirza said quietly: “No, Bob; of the two, I'm sure it was Noel; she + was desperate that day. Don't you remember her face? Oh! this war! It's + turned the whole world upside down. That's the only comfort; nothing's + normal.” + </p> + <p> + Bob Pierson possessed beyond most men the secret of happiness, for he was + always absorbed in the moment, to the point of unself-consciousness. + Eating an egg, cutting down a tree, sitting on a Tribunal, making up his + accounts, planting potatoes, looking at the moon, riding his cob, reading + the Lessons—no part of him stood aside to see how he was doing it, + or wonder why he was doing it, or not doing it better. He grew like a + cork-tree, and acted like a sturdy and well-natured dog. His griefs, + angers, and enjoyments were simple as a child's, or as his somewhat noisy + slumbers. They were notably well-suited, for Thirza had the same secret of + happiness, though her, absorption in the moment did not—as became a + woman—prevent her being conscious of others; indeed, such formed the + chief subject of her absorptions. One might say that they neither of them + had philosophy yet were as philosophic a couple as one could meet on this + earth of the self-conscious. Daily life to these two was still of simple + savour. To be absorbed in life—the queer endless tissue of moments + and things felt and done and said and made, the odd inspiriting + conjunctions of countless people—was natural to them; but they never + thought whether they were absorbed or not, or had any particular attitude + to Life or Death—a great blessing at the epoch in which they were + living. + </p> + <p> + Bob Pierson, then, paced the room, so absorbed in his dismay and concern, + that he was almost happy. + </p> + <p> + “By Jove!” he said, “what a ghastly thing! + </p> + <p> + “Nollie, of all people! I feel perfectly wretched, Thirza; wretched + beyond words.” But with each repetition his voice grew cheerier, and + Thirza felt that he was already over the worst. + </p> + <p> + “Your coffee's getting cold!” she said. + </p> + <p> + “What do you advise? Shall I go up, heh?” + </p> + <p> + “I think you'll be a godsend to poor Ted; you'll keep his spirits + up. Eve won't get any leave till Easter; and I can be quite alone, and see + to Nollie here. The servants can have a holiday—, Nurse and I will + run the house together. I shall enjoy it.” + </p> + <p> + “You're a good woman, Thirza!” Taking his wife's hand, he put + it to his lips. “There isn't another woman like you in the world.” + </p> + <p> + Thirza's eyes smiled. “Pass me your cup; I'll give you some fresh + coffee.” + </p> + <p> + It was decided to put the plan into operation at mid-month, and she bent + all her wits to instilling into her husband the thought that a baby more + or less was no great matter in a world which already contained twelve + hundred million people. With a man's keener sense of family propriety, he + could not see that this baby would be the same as any other baby. “By + heaven!” he would say, “I simply can't get used to it; in our + family! And Ted a parson! What the devil shall we do with it?” + </p> + <p> + “If Nollie will let us, why shouldn't we adopt it? It'll be + something to take my thoughts off the boys.” + </p> + <p> + “That's an idea! But Ted's a funny fellow. He'll have some doctrine + of atonement, or other in his bonnet.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, bother!” said Thirza with asperity. + </p> + <p> + The thought of sojourning in town for a spell was not unpleasant to Bob + Pierson. His Tribunal work was over, his early, potatoes in, and he had + visions of working for the Country, of being a special constable, and + dining at his Club. The nearer he was to the front, and the more he could + talk about the war, the greater the service he felt he would be doing. He + would ask for a job where his brains would be of use. He regretted keenly + that Thirza wouldn't be with him; a long separation like this would be a + great trial. And he would sigh and run his fingers through his whiskers. + Still for the Country, and for Nollie, one must put up with it! + </p> + <p> + When Thirza finally saw him into the train, tears stood in the eyes of + both, for they were honestly attached, and knew well enough that this job, + once taken in hand, would have to be seen through; a three months' + separation at least. + </p> + <p> + “I shall write every day.” + </p> + <p> + “So shall I, Bob.” + </p> + <p> + “You won't fret, old girl?” + </p> + <p> + “Only if you do.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall be up at 5.5, and she'll be down at 4.50. Give us a kiss—damn + the porters. God bless you! I suppose she'd mind if—I—were to + come down now and then?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid she would. It's—it's—well, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Yes; I do.” And he really did; for underneath, he had + true delicacy. + </p> + <p> + Her last words: “You're very sweet, Bob,” remained in his ears + all the way to Severn Junction. + </p> + <p> + She went back to the house, emptied of her husband, daughter, boys, and + maids; only the dogs left and the old nurse whom she had taken into + confidence. Even in that sheltered, wooded valley it was very cold this + winter. The birds hid themselves, not one flower bloomed, and the + red-brown river was full and swift. The sound of trees being felled for + trench props, in the wood above the house resounded all day long in the + frosty air. She meant to do the cooking herself; and for the rest of the + morning and early afternoon she concocted nice things, and thought out how + she herself would feel if she were Noel and Noel she, so as to smooth out + of the way anything which would hurt the girl. In the afternoon she went + down to the station in the village car, the same which had borne Cyril + Morland away that July night, for their coachman had been taken for the + army, and the horses were turned out. + </p> + <p> + Noel looked tired and white, but calm—too calm. Her face seemed to + Thirza to have fined down, and with those brooding eyes, to be more + beautiful. In the car she possessed herself of the girl's hand, and + squeezed it hard; their only allusion to the situation, except Noel's + formal: + </p> + <p> + “Thank you so much, Auntie, for having me; it's most awfully sweet + of you and Uncle Bob.” + </p> + <p> + “There's no one in the house, my dear, except old Nurse. It'll be + very dull for you; but I thought I'd teach you to cook; it's rather + useful.” + </p> + <p> + The smile which slipped on to Noel's face gave Thirza quite a turn. + </p> + <p> + She had assigned the girl a different room, and had made it + extraordinarily cheerful with a log fire, chrysanthemums, bright copper + candlesticks, warming-pans, and such like. + </p> + <p> + She went up with her at bedtime, and standing before the fire, said: + </p> + <p> + “You know, Nollie, I absolutely refuse to regard this as any sort of + tragedy. To bring life into the worlds in these days, no matter how, ought + to make anyone happy. I only wish I could do it again, then I should feel + some use. Good night dear; and if you want anything, knock on the wall. + I'm next door. Bless you!” She saw that the girl was greatly moved, + underneath her pale mask; and went out astonished at her niece's powers of + self-control. + </p> + <p> + But she did not sleep at all well; for in imagination, she kept on seeing + Noel turning from side to side in the big bed, and those great eyes of + hers staring at the dark. + </p> + <p> + 2 + </p> + <p> + The meeting of the brothers Pierson took place at the dinner-hour, and was + characterised by a truly English lack of display. They were so extremely + different, and had been together so little since early days in their old + Buckinghamshire home, that they were practically strangers, with just the + potent link of far-distant memories in common. It was of these they + talked, and about the war. On this subject they agreed in the large, and + differed in the narrow. For instance, both thought they knew about Germany + and other countries, and neither of course had any real knowledge of any + country outside their own; for, though both had passed through + considerable tracts of foreign ground at one time or another, they had + never remarked anything except its surface,—its churches, and its + sunsets. Again, both assumed that they were democrats, but neither knew + the meaning of the word, nor felt that the working man could be really + trusted; and both revered Church and, King: Both disliked conscription, + but considered it necessary. Both favoured Home Rule for Ireland, but + neither thought it possible to grant it. Both wished for the war to end, + but were for prosecuting it to Victory, and neither knew what they meant + by that word. So much for the large. On the narrower issues, such as + strategy, and the personality of their country's leaders, they were + opposed. Edward was a Westerner, Robert an Easterner, as was natural in + one who had lived twenty-five years in Ceylon. Edward favoured the fallen + government, Robert the risen. Neither had any particular reasons for their + partisanship except what he had read in the journals. After all—what + other reasons could they have had? Edward disliked the Harmsworth Press; + Robert thought it was doing good. Robert was explosive, and rather vague; + Edward dreamy, and a little didactic. Robert thought poor Ted looking like + a ghost; Edward thought poor Bob looking like the setting sun. Their faces + were indeed as curiously contrasted as their views and voices; the + pale-dark, hollowed, narrow face of Edward, with its short, pointed beard, + and the red-skinned, broad, full, whiskered face of Robert. They parted + for the night with an affectionate hand-clasp. So began a queer + partnership which consisted, as the days went on, of half an hour's + companionship at breakfast, each reading the paper; and of dinner together + perhaps three times a week. Each thought his brother very odd, but + continued to hold the highest opinion of him. And, behind it all, the deep + tribal sense that they stood together in trouble, grew. But of that + trouble they never spoke, though not seldom Robert would lower his + journal, and above the glasses perched on his well-shaped nose, + contemplate his brother, and a little frown of sympathy would ridge his + forehead between his bushy eyebrows. And once in a way he would catch + Edward's eyes coming off duty from his journal, to look, not at his + brother, but at—the skeleton; when that happened, Robert would + adjust his glasses hastily, damn the newspaper type, and apologise to + Edward for swearing. And he would think: 'Poor Ted! He ought to drink + port, and—and enjoy himself, and forget it. What a pity he's a + parson!' + </p> + <p> + In his letters to Thirza he would deplore Edward's asceticism. “He + eats nothing, he drinks nothing, he smokes a miserable cigarette once in a + blue moon. He's as lonely as a coot; it's a thousand pities he ever lost + his wife. I expect to see his wings sprout any day; but—dash it all + I—I don't believe he's got the flesh to grow them on. Send him up + some clotted cream; I'll see if I can get him to eat it.” When the + cream came, he got Edward to eat some the first morning, and at tea time + found that he had finished it himself. “We never talk about Nollie,” + he wrote, “I'm always meaning to have it out with him and tell him + to buck up, but when it comes to the point I dry up; because, after all, I + feel it too; it sticks in my gizzard horribly. We Piersons are pretty old, + and we've always been respectable, ever since St. Bartholomew, when that + Huguenot chap came over and founded us. The only black sheep I ever heard + of is Cousin Leila. By the way, I saw her the other day; she came round + here to see Ted. I remember going to stay with her and her first husband; + young Fane, at Simla, when I was coming home, just before we were married. + Phew! That was a queer menage; all the young chaps fluttering round her, + and young Fane looking like a cynical ghost. Even now she can't help + setting her cap a little at Ted, and he swallows her whole; thinks her a + devoted creature reformed to the nines with her hospital and all that. + Poor old Ted; he is the most dreamy chap that ever was.” + </p> + <p> + “We have had Gratian and her husband up for the week-end,” he + wrote a little later; “I don't like her so well as Nollie; too + serious and downright for me. Her husband seems a sensible fellow, though; + but the devil of a free-thinker. He and poor Ted are like cat and dog. We + had Leila in to dinner again on Saturday, and a man called Fort came too. + She's sweet on him, I could see with half an eye, but poor old Ted can't. + The doctor and Ted talked up hill and down dale. The doctor said a thing + which struck me. 'What divides us from the beasts? Will power: nothing + else. What's this war, really, but a death carnival of proof that man's + will is invincible?' I stuck it down to tell you, when I got upstairs. + He's a clever fellow. I believe in God, as you know, but I must say when + it comes to an argument, poor old Ted does seem a bit weak, with his: + 'We're told this,' and 'We're told that: Nobody mentioned Nollie. I must + have the whole thing out with Ted; we must know how to act when it's all + over.” + </p> + <p> + But not till the middle of March, when the brothers had been sitting + opposite each other at meals for two months, was the subject broached + between them, and then not by Robert. Edward, standing by the hearth after + dinner, in his familiar attitude, one foot on the fender, one hand + grasping the mantel-shelf, and his eyes fixed on the flames, said: “I've + never asked your forgiveness, Bob.” + </p> + <p> + Robert, lingering at the table over his glass of port, started, looked at + Edward's back in its parson's coat, and answered: + </p> + <p> + “My dear old chap!” + </p> + <p> + “It has been very difficult to speak of this.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course, of course!” And there was a silence, while + Robert's eyes travelled round the walls for inspiration. They encountered + only the effigies of past Piersons very oily works, and fell back on the + dining-table. Edward went on speaking to the fire: + </p> + <p> + “It still seems to me incredible. Day and night I think of what it's + my duty to do.” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing!” ejaculated Robert. “Leave the baby with + Thirza; we'll take care of it, and when Nollie's fit, let her go back to + work in a hospital again. She'll soon get over it.” He saw his + brother shake his head, and thought: 'Ah! yes; now there's going to be + some d—d conscientious complication.' + </p> + <p> + Edward turned round on him: “That is very sweet of you both, but it + would be wrong and cowardly for me to allow it.” + </p> + <p> + The resentment which springs up in fathers when other fathers dispose of + young lives, rose in Robert. + </p> + <p> + “Dash it all, my dear Ted, that's for Nollie to say. She's a woman + now, remember.” + </p> + <p> + A smile went straying about in the shadows of his brother's face. “A + woman? Little Nollie! Bob, I've made a terrible mess of it with my girls.” + He hid his lips with his hand, and turned again to the flames. Robert felt + a lump in his throat. “Oh! Hang it, old boy, I don't think that. + What else could you have done? You take too much on yourself. After all, + they're fine girls. I'm sure Nollie's a darling. It's these modern + notions, and this war. Cheer up! It'll all dry straight.” He went up + to his brother and put a hand on his shoulder. Edward seemed to stiffen + under that touch. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing comes straight,” he said, “unless it's faced; + you know that, Bob.” + </p> + <p> + Robert's face was a study at that moment. His cheeks filled and collapsed + again like a dog's when it has been rebuked. His colour deepened, and he + rattled some money in a trouser pocket. + </p> + <p> + “Something in that, of course,” he said gruffly. “All + the same, the decision's with Nollie. We'll see what Thirza says. Anyway, + there's no hurry. It's a thousand pities you're a parson; the trouble's + enough without that:” + </p> + <p> + Edward shook his head. “My position is nothing; it's the thought of + my child, my wife's child. It's sheer pride; and I can't subdue it. I + can't fight it down. God forgive me, I rebel.” + </p> + <p> + And Robert thought: 'By George, he does take it to heart! Well, so should + I! I do, as it is!' He took out his pipe, and filled it, pushing the + tobacco down and down. + </p> + <p> + “I'm not a man of the world,” he heard his brother say; + “I'm out of touch with many things. It's almost unbearable to me to + feel that I'm joining with the world to condemn my own daughter; not for + their reasons, perhaps—I don't know; I hope not, but still, I'm + against her.” + </p> + <p> + Robert lit his pipe. + </p> + <p> + “Steady, old man!” he said. “It's a misfortune. But if I + were you I should feel: 'She's done a wild, silly thing, but, hang it, if + anybody says a word against her, I'll wring his neck.' And what's more, + you'll feel much the same, when it comes to the point.” He emitted a + huge puff of smoke, which obscured his brother's face, and the blood, + buzzing in his temples, seemed to thicken the sound of Edward's voice. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know; I've tried to see clearly. I have prayed to be shown + what her duty is, and mine. It seems to me there can be no peace for her + until she has atoned, by open suffering; that the world's judgment is her + cross, and she must bear it; especially in these days, when all the world + is facing suffering so nobly. And then it seems so hard-so bitter; my poor + little Nollie!” + </p> + <p> + There was a silence, broken only by the gurgling of Robert's pipe, till he + said abruptly: + </p> + <p> + “I don't follow you, Ted; no, I don't. I think a man should screen + his children all he can. Talk to her as you like, but don't let the world + do it. Dash it, the world's a rotten gabbling place. I call myself a man + of the world, but when it comes to private matters—well, then I draw + the line. It seems to me it seems to me inhuman. What does George Laird + think about it? He's a knowing chap. I suppose you've—no, I suppose + you haven't—” For a peculiar smile had come on Edward's face. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he said, “I should hardly ask George Laird's + opinion.” + </p> + <p> + And Robert realised suddenly the stubborn loneliness of that thin black + figure, whose fingers were playing with a little gold cross. 'By Jove!' he + thought, 'I believe old Ted's like one of those Eastern chaps who go into + lonely places. He's got himself surrounded by visions of things that + aren't there. He lives in unreality—something we can't understand. I + shouldn't be surprised if he heard voices, like—'who was it? Tt, tt! + What a pity!' Ted was deceptive. He was gentle and—all that, a + gentleman of course, and that disguised him; but underneath; what was + there—a regular ascetic, a fakir! And a sense of bewilderment, of + dealing with something which he could not grasp, beset Bob Pierson, so + that he went back to the table, and sat down again beside his port. + </p> + <p> + “It seems to me,” he said rather gruffly, “that the + chicken had better be hatched before we count it.” And then, sorry + for his brusqueness, emptied his glass. As the fluid passed over his + palate, he thought: 'Poor old Ted! He doesn't even drink—hasn't a + pleasure in life, so far as I can see, except doing his duty, and doesn't + even seem to know what that is. There aren't many like him—luckily! + And yet I love him—pathetic chap!' + </p> + <p> + The “pathetic chap” was still staring at the flames. 3 + </p> + <p> + And at this very hour, when the brothers were talking—for thought + and feeling do pass mysteriously over the invisible wires of space Cyril + Morland's son was being born of Noel, a little before his time. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PART3" id="link2H_PART3"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PART III + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0024" id="link2H_4_0024"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + I + </h2> + <p> + Down by the River Wye, among plum-trees in blossom, Noel had laid her baby + in a hammock, and stood reading a letter: + </p> + <p> + “MY DEAREST NOLLIE, + </p> + <p> + “Now that you are strong again, I feel that I must put before you my + feeling as to your duty in this crisis of your life. Your aunt and uncle + have made the most kind and generous offer to adopt your little boy. I + have known that this was in their minds for some time, and have thought it + over day and night for weeks. In the worldly sense it would be the best + thing, no doubt. But this is a spiritual matter. The future of our souls + depends on how we meet the consequences of our conduct. And painful, + dreadful, indeed, as they must be, I am driven to feel that you can only + reach true peace by facing them in a spirit of brave humility. I want you + to think and think—till you arrive at a certainty which satisfies + your conscience. If you decide, as I trust you will, to come back to me + here with your boy, I shall do all in my power to make you happy while we + face the future together. To do as your aunt and uncle in their kindness + wish, would, I am sore afraid, end in depriving you of the inner strength + and happiness which God only gives to those who do their duty and try + courageously to repair their errors. I have confidence in you, my dear + child. + </p> + <p> + “Ever your most loving father, + </p> + <p> + “EDWARD PIERSON.” + </p> + <p> + She read it through a second time, and looked at her baby. Daddy seemed to + think that she might be willing to part from this wonderful creature! + Sunlight fell through the plum blossom, in an extra patchwork quilt over + the bundle lying there, touched the baby's nose and mouth, so that he + sneezed. Noel laughed, and put her lips close to his face. 'Give you up!' + she thought: 'Oh, no! And I'm going to be happy too. They shan't stop me: + </p> + <p> + In answer to the letter she said simply that she was coming up; and a week + later she went, to the dismay of her uncle and aunt. The old nurse went + too. Everything had hitherto been so carefully watched and guarded against + by Thirza, that Noel did not really come face to face with her position + till she reached home. + </p> + <p> + Gratian, who had managed to get transferred to a London Hospital, was now + living at home. She had provided the house with new maids against her + sister's return; and though Noel was relieved not to meet her old + familiars, she encountered with difficulty the stolid curiosity of new + faces. That morning before she left Kestrel, her aunt had come into her + room while she was dressing, taken her left hand and slipped a little gold + band on to its third finger. “To please me, Nollie, now that you're + going, just for the foolish, who know nothing about you.” + </p> + <p> + Noel had suffered it with the thought: 'It's all very silly!' But now, + when the new maid was pouring out her hot water, she was suddenly aware of + the girl's round blue eyes wandering, as it were, mechanically to her + hand. This little hoop of gold, then, had an awful power! A rush of + disgust came over her. All life seemed suddenly a thing of forms and sham. + Everybody then would look at that little ring; and she was a coward, + saving herself from them! When she was alone again, she slipped it off, + and laid it on the washstand, where the sunlight fell. Only this little + shining band of metal, this little yellow ring, stood between her and the + world's hostile scorn! Her lips trembled. She took up the ring, and went + to the open window; to throw it out. But she did not, uncertain and + unhappy—half realising the cruelty of life. A knock at the door sent + her flying back to the washstand. The visitor was Gratian. + </p> + <p> + “I've been looking at him,” she said softly; “he's like + you, Nollie, except for his nose.” + </p> + <p> + “He's hardly got one yet. But aren't his eyes intelligent? I think + they're wonderful.” She held up the ring: “What shall I do + about this, Gratian?” + </p> + <p> + Gratian flushed. “Wear it. I don't see why outsiders should know. + For the sake of Dad I think you ought. There's the parish.” + </p> + <p> + Noel slipped the ring back on to her finger. “Would you?” + </p> + <p> + “I can't tell. I think I would.” + </p> + <p> + Noel laughed suddenly. “I'm going to get cynical; I can feel it in + my bones. How is Daddy looking?” + </p> + <p> + “Very thin; Mr. Lauder is back again from the Front for a bit, and + taking some of the work now.” + </p> + <p> + “Do I hurt him very much still?” + </p> + <p> + “He's awfully pleased that you've come. He's as sweet as he can be + about you.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” murmured Noel, “that's what's dreadful. I'm glad + he wasn't in when I came. Has he told anyone?” + </p> + <p> + Gratian shook her head. “I don't think anybody knows; unless—perhaps + Captain Fort. He came in again the other night; and somehow—” + </p> + <p> + Noel flushed. “Leila!” she said enigmatically. “Have you + seen her?” + </p> + <p> + “I went to her flat last week with Dad—he likes her.” + </p> + <p> + “Delilah is her real name, you know. All men like her. And Captain + Fort is her lover.” + </p> + <p> + Gratian gasped. Noel would say things sometimes which made her feel the + younger of the two. + </p> + <p> + “Of course he is,” went on Noel in a hard voice. “She + has no men friends; her sort never have, only lovers. Why do you think he + knows about me?” + </p> + <p> + “When he asked after you he looked—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; I've seen him look like that when he's sorry for anything. I + don't care. Has Monsieur Lavendie been in lately?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; he looks awfully unhappy.” + </p> + <p> + “His wife drugs.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Nollie! How do you know?” + </p> + <p> + “I saw her once; I'm sure she does; there was a smell; and she's got + wandering eyes that go all glassy. He can paint me now, if he likes. I + wouldn't let him before. Does he know?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course not.” + </p> + <p> + “He knows there was something; he's got second sight, I think. But I + mind him less than anybody. Is his picture of Daddy good?” + </p> + <p> + “Powerful, but it hurts, somehow.” + </p> + <p> + “Let's go down and see it.” + </p> + <p> + The picture was hung in the drawing-room, and its intense modernity made + that old-fashioned room seem lifeless and strange. The black figure, with + long pale fingers touching the paler piano keys, had a frightening + actuality. The face, three-quarters full, was raised as if for + inspiration, and the eyes rested, dreamy and unseeing, on the face of a + girl painted and hung on a background of wall above the piano. + </p> + <p> + “It's the face of that girl,” said Gratian, when they had + looked at the picture for some time in silence: + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Noel, “it's the look in his eyes.” + </p> + <p> + “But why did he choose such a horrid, common girl? Isn't she + fearfully alive, though? She looks as if she were saying: + 'Cheerio!'.rdquo; + </p> + <p> + “She is; it's awfully pathetic, I think. Poor Daddy!” + </p> + <p> + “It's a libel,” said Gratian stubbornly. + </p> + <p> + “No. That's what hurts. He isn't quite—quite all there. Will + he be coming in soon?” + </p> + <p> + Gratian took her arm, and pressed it hard. “Would you like me at + dinner or not; I can easily be out?” + </p> + <p> + Noel shook her head. “It's no good to funk it. He wanted me, and now + he's got me. Oh! why did he? It'll be awful for him.” + </p> + <p> + Gratian sighed. “I've tried my best, but he always said: 'I've + thought so long about it all that I can't think any longer. I can only + feel the braver course is the best. When things are bravely and humbly + met, there will be charity and forgiveness.'.rdquo; + </p> + <p> + “There won't,” said Noel, “Daddy's a saint, and he + doesn't see.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he is a saint. But one must think for oneself—one simply + must. I can't believe as he does, any more; can you, Nollie?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know. When I was going through it, I prayed; but I don't + know whether I really believed. I don't think I mind much about that, one + way or the other.” + </p> + <p> + “I mind terribly,” said Gratian, “I want the truth.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know what I want,” said Noel slowly, “except + that sometimes I want—life; awfully.” + </p> + <p> + And the two sisters were silent, looking at each other with a sort of + wonder. + </p> + <p> + Noel had a fancy to put on a bright-coloured blue frock that evening, and + at her neck she hung a Breton cross of old paste, which had belonged to + her mother. When she had finished dressing she went into the nursery and + stood by the baby's cot. The old nurse who was sitting there beside him, + got up at once and said: + </p> + <p> + “He's sleeping beautiful—the lamb. I'll go down and get a cup + o' tea, and come up, ma'am, when the gong goes.” In the way peculiar + to those who have never to initiate, but only to support positions in + which they are placed by others, she had adopted for herself the theory + that Noel was a real war-widow. She knew the truth perfectly; for she had + watched that hurried little romance at Kestrel, but by dint of charity and + blurred meditations it was easy for her to imagine the marriage ceremony + which would and should have taken place; and she was zealous that other + people should imagine it too. It was so much more regular and natural like + that, and “her” baby invested with his proper dignity. She + went downstairs to get a “cup o' tea,” thinking: 'A picture + they make—that they do, bless his little heart; and his pretty + little mother—no more than a child, all said and done.' + </p> + <p> + Noel had been standing there some minutes in the failing light, absorbed + in the face of the sleeping baby, when, raising her eyes, she saw in a + mirror the refection of her father's dark figure by the door. She could + hear him breathing as if the ascent of the stairs had tired him; and + moving to the head of the cot, she rested her hand on it, and turned her + face towards him. He came up and stood beside her, looking silently down + at the baby. She saw him make the sign of the Cross above it, and the + movement of his lips in prayer. Love for her father, and rebellion against + this intercession for her perfect baby fought so hard in the girl's heart + that she felt suffocated, and glad of the dark, so that he could not see + her eyes. Then he took her hand and put it to his lips, but still without + a word; and for the life of her she could not speak either. In silence, he + kissed her forehead; and there mounted in Noel a sudden passion of longing + to show him her pride and love for her baby. She put her finger down and + touched one of his hands. The tiny sleeping fingers uncurled and, like + some little sea anemone, clutched round it. She heard her father draw his + breath in; saw him turn away quickly, silently, and go out. And she + stayed, hardly breathing, with the hand of her baby squeezing her finger. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0025" id="link2H_4_0025"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II + </h2> + <h3> + 1 + </h3> + <p> + When Edward Pierson, afraid of his own emotion, left the twilit nursery, + he slipped into his own room, and fell on his knees beside his bed, + absorbed in the vision he had seen. That young figure in Madonna blue, + with the halo of bright hair; the sleeping babe in the fine dusk; the + silence, the adoration in that white room! He saw, too; a vision of the + past, when Noel herself had been the sleeping babe within her mother's + arm, and he had stood beside them, wondering and giving praise. It passed + with its other-worldliness and the fine holiness which belongs to beauty, + passed and left the tormenting realism of life. Ah! to live with only the + inner meaning, spiritual and beautifed, in a rare wonderment such as he + had experienced just now! + </p> + <p> + His alarum clock, while he knelt in his narrow, monkish little room—ticked + the evening hour away into darkness. And still he knelt, dreading to come + back into it all, to face the world's eyes, and the sound of the world's + tongue, and the touch of the rough, the gross, the unseemly. How could he + guard his child? How preserve that vision in her life, in her spirit, + about to enter such cold, rough waters? But the gong sounded; he got up, + and went downstairs. + </p> + <p> + But this first family moment, which all had dreaded, was relieved, as + dreaded moments so often are, by the unexpected appearance of the Belgian + painter. He had a general invitation, of which he often availed himself; + but he was so silent, and his thin, beardless face, which seemed all eyes + and brow, so mournful, that all three felt in the presence of a sorrow + deeper even than their own family grief. During the meal he gazed silently + at Noel. Once he said: “You will let me paint you now, mademoiselle, + I hope?” and his face brightened a little when she nodded. There was + never much talk when he came, for any depth of discussion, even of art, + brought out at once too wide a difference. And Pierson could never avoid a + vague irritation with one who clearly had spirituality, but of a sort + which he could not understand. After dinner he excused himself, and went + off to his study. Monsieur would be happier alone with the two girls! + Gratian, too, got up. She had remembered Noel's words: “I mind him + less than anybody.” It was a chance for Nollie to break the ice. + </p> + <p> + 2 + </p> + <p> + “I have not seen you for a long time, mademoiselle,” said the + painter, when they were alone. + </p> + <p> + Noel was sitting in front of the empty drawing-room hearth, with her arms + stretched out as if there had been a fire there. + </p> + <p> + “I've been away. How are you going to paint me, monsieur?” + </p> + <p> + “In that dress, mademoiselle; Just as you are now, warming yourself + at the fire of life.” + </p> + <p> + “But it isn't there.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, fires soon go out. Mademoiselle, will you come and see my + wife? She is ill.” + </p> + <p> + “Now?” asked Noel, startled. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, now. She is really ill, and I have no one there. That is what + I came to ask of your sister; but—now you are here, it's even + better. She likes you.” + </p> + <p> + Noel got up. “Wait one minute!” she said, and ran upstairs. + Her baby was asleep, and the old nurse dozing. Putting on a cloak and cap + of grey rabbit's fur, she ran down again to the hall where the painter was + waiting; and they went out together. + </p> + <p> + “I do not know if I am to blame,” he said, “my wife has + been no real wife to me since she knew I had a mistress and was no real + husband to her.” + </p> + <p> + Noel stared round at his face lighted by a queer, smile. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he went on, “from that has come her tragedy. But + she should have known before I married her. Nothing was concealed. Bon + Dieu! she should have known! Why cannot a woman see things as they are? My + mistress, mademoiselle, is not a thing of flesh. It is my art. It has + always been first with me, and always will. She has never accepted that, + she is incapable of accepting it. I am sorry for her. But what would you? + I was a fool to marry her. Chere mademoiselle, no troubles are anything + beside the trouble which goes on day and night, meal after meal, year, + after year, between two people who should never have married, because one + loves too much and requires all, and the other loves not at all—no, + not at all, now, it is long dead—and can give but little.” + </p> + <p> + “Can't you separate?” asked Noel, wondering. + </p> + <p> + “It is hard to separate from one who craves for you as she craves + her drugs—yes, she takes drugs now, mademoiselle. It is impossible + for one who has any compassion in his soul. Besides, what would she do? We + live from hand to mouth, in a strange land. She has no friends here, not + one. How could I leave her while this war lasts? As well could two persons + on a desert island separate. She is killing herself, too, with these + drugs, and I cannot stop her.” + </p> + <p> + “Poor madame!” murmured Noel. “Poor monsieur!” + </p> + <p> + The painter drew his hand across his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I cannot change my nature,” he said in a stifled voice, + “nor she hers. So we go on. But life will stop suddenly some day for + one of us. After all, it is much worse for her than for me. Enter, + mademoiselle. Do not tell her I am going to paint you; she likes you, + because you refused to let me.” + </p> + <p> + Noel went up the stairs, shuddering; she had been there once before, and + remembered that sickly scent of drugs. On the third floor they entered a + small sitting-room whose walls were covered with paintings and drawings; + from one corner a triangular stack of canvases jutted out. There was + little furniture save an old red sofa, and on this was seated a stoutish + man in the garb of a Belgian soldier, with his elbows on his knees and his + bearded cheeks resting on his doubled fists. Beside him on the sofa, + nursing a doll, was a little girl, who looked up at Noel. She had a most + strange, attractive, pale little face, with pointed chin and large eyes, + which never moved from this apparition in grey rabbits' skins. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Barra! You here!” said the painter: + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle, this is Monsieur Barra, a friend of ours from the + front; and this is our landlady's little girl. A little refugee, too, + aren't you, Chica?” + </p> + <p> + The child gave him a sudden brilliant smile and resumed her grave scrutiny + of the visitor. The soldier, who had risen heavily, offered Noel one of + his podgy hands, with a sad and heavy giggle. + </p> + <p> + “Sit down, mademoiselle,” said Lavendie, placing a chair for + her: “I will bring my wife in,” and he went out through some + double doors. + </p> + <p> + Noel sat down. The soldier had resumed his old attitude, and the little + girl her nursing of the doll, though her big eyes still watched the + visitor. Overcome by strangeness, Noel made no attempt to talk. And + presently through the double doors the painter and his wife came in. She + was a thin woman in a red wrapper, with hollow cheeks, high cheek-bones, + and hungry eyes; her dark hair hung loose, and one hand played restlessly + with a fold of her gown. She took Noel's hand; and her uplifted eyes + seemed to dig into the girl's face, to let go suddenly, and flutter. + </p> + <p> + “How do you do?” she said in English. “So Pierre brought + you, to see me again. I remember you so well. You would not let him paint + you. Ah! que c'est drole! You are so pretty, too. Hein, Monsieur Barra, is + not mademoiselle pretty?” + </p> + <p> + The soldier gave his heavy giggle, and resumed his scrutiny of the floor. + </p> + <p> + “Henriette,” said Lavendie, “sit down beside Chica—you + must not stand. Sit down, mademoiselle, I beg.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm so sorry you're not well,” said Noel, and sat down again. + </p> + <p> + The painter stood leaning against the wall, and his wife looked up at his + tall, thin figure, with eyes which had in them anger, and a sort of + cunning. + </p> + <p> + “A great painter, my husband, is he not?” she said to Noel. + “You would not imagine what that man can do. And how he paints—all + day long; and all night in his head. And so you would not let him paint + you, after all?” + </p> + <p> + Lavendie said impatiently: “Voyons, Henriette, causez d'autre chose.” + </p> + <p> + His wife plucked nervously at a fold in her red gown, and gave him the + look of a dog that has been rebuked. + </p> + <p> + “I am a prisoner here, mademoiselle, I never leave the house. Here I + live day after day—my husband is always painting. Who would go out + alone under this grey sky of yours, and the hatreds of the war in every + face? I prefer to keep my room. My husband goes painting; every face he + sees interests him, except that which he sees every day. But I am a + prisoner. Monsieur Barra is our first visitor for a long time.” + </p> + <p> + The soldier raised his face from his fists. “Prisonnier, madame! + What would you say if you were out there?” And he gave his thick + giggle. “We are the prisoners, we others. What would you say to + imprisonment by explosion day and night; never a minute free. Bom! Bom! + Bom! Ah! les tranchees! It's not so free as all that, there.” + </p> + <p> + “Every one has his own prison,” said Lavendie bitterly. + “Mademoiselle even, has her prison—and little Chica, and her + doll. Every one has his prison, Barra. Monsieur Barra is also a painter, + mademoiselle.” + </p> + <p> + “Moi!” said Barra, lifting his heavy hairy hand. “I + paint puddles, star-bombs, horses' ribs—I paint holes and holes and + holes, wire and wire and wire, and water—long white ugly water. I + paint splinters, and men's souls naked, and men's bodies dead, and + nightmare—nightmare—all day and all night—I paint them + in my head.” He suddenly ceased speaking and relapsed into + contemplation of the carpet, with his bearded cheeks resting on his fists. + “And their souls as white as snow, les camarades,” he added + suddenly and loudly, “millions of Belgians, English, French, even + the Boches, with white souls. I paint those souls!” + </p> + <p> + A little shiver ran through Noel, and she looked appealingly at Lavendie. + </p> + <p> + “Barra,” he said, as if the soldier were not there, “is + a great painter, but the Front has turned his head a little. What he says + is true, though. There is no hatred out there. It is here that we are + prisoners of hatred, mademoiselle; avoid hatreds—they are poison!” + </p> + <p> + His wife put out her hand and touched the child's shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Why should we not hate?” she said. “Who killed Chica's + father, and blew her home to-rags? Who threw her out into this horrible + England—pardon, mademoiselle, but it is horrible. Ah! les Boches! If + my hatred could destroy them there would not be one left. Even my husband + was not so mad about his painting when we lived at home. But here—!” + Her eyes darted at his face again, and then sank as if rebuked. Noel saw + the painter's lips move. The sick woman's whole figure writhed. + </p> + <p> + “It is mania, your painting!” She looked at Noel with a smile. + “Will you have some tea, mademoiselle? Monsieur Barra, some tea?” + </p> + <p> + The soldier said thickly: “No, madame; in the trenches we have tea + enough. It consoles us. But when we get away—give us wine, le bon + vin; le bon petit vin!” + </p> + <p> + “Get some wine, Pierre!” + </p> + <p> + Noel saw from the painter's face that there was no wine, and perhaps no + money to get any; but he went quickly out. She rose and said: + </p> + <p> + “I must be going, madame.” + </p> + <p> + Madame Lavendie leaned forward and clutched her wrist. “Wait a + little, mademoiselle. We shall have some wine, and Pierre shall take you + back presently. You cannot go home alone—you are too pretty. Is she + not, Monsieur Barra?” + </p> + <p> + The soldier looked up: “What would you say,” he said, “to + bottles of wine bursting in the air, bursting red and bursting white, all + day long, all night long? Great steel bottles, large as Chica: bits of + bottles, carrying off men's heads? Bsum, garra-a-a, and a house comes + down, and little bits of people ever so small, ever so small, tiny bits in + the air and all over the ground. Great souls out there, madame. But I will + tell you a secret,” and again he gave his heavy giggle, “all a + little, little mad; nothing to speak of—just a little bit mad; like + a watch, you know, that you can wind for ever. That is the discovery of + this war, mademoiselle,” he said, addressing Noel for the first + time, “you cannot gain a great soul till you are a little mad.” + And lowering his piggy grey eyes at once, he resumed his former attitude. + “It is that madness I shall paint some day,” he announced to + the carpet; “lurking in one tiny corner of each soul of all those + millions, as it creeps, as it peeps, ever so sudden, ever so little when + we all think it has been put to bed, here—there, now—then, + when you least think; in and out like a mouse with bright eyes. Millions + of men with white souls, all a little mad. A great subject, I think,” + he added heavily. Involuntarily Noel put her hand to her heart, which was + beating fast. She felt quite sick. + </p> + <p> + “How long have you been at the Front, monsieur?” + </p> + <p> + “Two years, mademoiselle. Time to go home and paint, is it not? But + art—!” he shrugged his heavy round shoulders, his whole + bear-like body. “A little mad,” he muttered once more. “I + will tell you a story. Once in winter after I had rested a fortnight, I go + back to the trenches at night, and I want some earth to fill up a hole in + the ground where I was sleeping; when one has slept in a bed one becomes + particular. Well, I scratch it from my parapet, and I come to something + funny. I strike my briquet, and there is a Boche's face all frozen and + earthy and dead and greeny-white in the flame from my briquet.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! but yes, mademoiselle; true as I sit here. Very useful in the + parapet—dead Boche. Once a man like me. But in the morning I could + not stand him; we dug him out and buried him, and filled the hole up with + other things. But there I stood in the night, and my face as close to his + as this”—and he held his thick hand a foot before his face. + “We talked of our homes; he had a soul, that man. 'Il me disait des + choses', how he had suffered; and I, too, told him my sufferings. Dear + God, we know all; we shall never know more than we know out there, we + others, for we are mad—nothing to speak of, but just a little, + little mad. When you see us, mademoiselle, walking the streets, remember + that.” And he dropped his face on to his fists again. + </p> + <p> + A silence had fallen in the room-very queer and complete. The little girl + nursed her doll, the soldier gazed at the floor, the woman's mouth moved + stealthily, and in Noel the thought rushed continually to the verge of + action: 'Couldn't I get up and run downstairs?' But she sat on, hypnotised + by that silence, till Lavendie reappeared with a bottle and four glasses. + </p> + <p> + “To drink our health, and wish us luck, mademoiselle,” he + said. + </p> + <p> + Noel raised the glass he had given her. “I wish you all happiness.” + </p> + <p> + “And you, mademoiselle,” the two men murmured. + </p> + <p> + She drank a little, and rose. + </p> + <p> + “And now, mademoiselle,” said Lavendie, “if you must go, + I will see you home.” + </p> + <p> + Noel took Madame Lavendie's hand; it was cold, and returned no pressure; + her eyes had the glazed look that she remembered. The soldier had put his + empty glass down on the floor, and was regarding it unconscious of her. + Noel turned quickly to the door; the last thing she saw was the little + girl nursing her doll. + </p> + <p> + In the street the painter began at once in his rapid French: + </p> + <p> + “I ought not to have asked you to come, mademoiselle; I did not know + our friend Barra was there. Besides, my wife is not fit to receive a lady; + vous voyez qu'il y a de la manie dans cette pauvre tote. I should not have + asked you; but I was so miserable.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” murmured Noel, “I know.” + </p> + <p> + “In our home over there she had interests. In this great town she + can only nurse her grief against me. Ah! this war! It seems to me we are + all in the stomach of a great coiling serpent. We lie there, being + digested. In a way it is better out there in the trenches; they are beyond + hate, they have attained a height that we have not. It is wonderful how + they still can be for going on till they have beaten the Boche; that is + curious and it is very great. Did Barra tell you how, when they come back—all + these fighters—they are going to rule, and manage the future of the + world? But it will not be so. They will mix in with life, separate—be + scattered, and they will be ruled as they were before. The tongue and the + pen will rule them: those who have not seen the war will rule them.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!”' cried Noel, “surely they will be the bravest and + strongest in the future.” + </p> + <p> + The painter smiled. + </p> + <p> + “War makes men simple,” he said, “elemental; life in + peace is neither simple nor elemental, it is subtle, full of changing + environments, to which man must adapt himself; the cunning, the astute, + the adaptable, will ever rule in times of peace. It is pathetic, the + belief of those brave soldiers that the-future is theirs.” + </p> + <p> + “He said, a strange thing,” murmured Noel; “that they + were all a little mad.” + </p> + <p> + “He is a man of queer genius—Barra; you should see some of his + earlier pictures. Mad is not quite the word, but something is loosened, is + rattling round in them, they have lost proportion, they are being forced + in one direction. I tell you, mademoiselle, this war is one great + forcing-house; every living plant is being made to grow too fast, each + quality, each passion; hate and love, intolerance and lust and avarice, + courage and energy; yes, and self-sacrifice—all are being forced and + forced beyond their strength, beyond the natural flow of the sap, forced + till there has come a great wild luxuriant crop, and then—Psum! + Presto! The change comes, and these plants will wither and rot and stink. + But we who see Life in forms of Art are the only ones who feel that; and + we are so few. The natural shape of things is lost. There is a mist of + blood before all eyes. Men are afraid of being fair. See how we all hate + not only our enemies, but those who differ from us. Look at the streets + too—see how men and women rush together, how Venus reigns in this + forcing-house. Is it not natural that Youth about to die should yearn for + pleasure, for love, for union, before death?” + </p> + <p> + Noel stared up at him. 'Now!' she thought: I will.' + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she said, “I know that's true, because I rushed, + myself. I'd like you to know. We couldn't be married—there wasn't + time. And—he was killed. But his son is alive. That's why I've been + away so long. I want every one to know.” She spoke very calmly, but + her cheeks felt burning hot. + </p> + <p> + The painter had made an upward movement of his hands, as if they had been + jerked by an electric current, then he said quite quietly: + </p> + <p> + “My profound respect, mademoiselle, and my great sympathy. And your + father?” + </p> + <p> + “It's awful for him.” + </p> + <p> + The painter said gently: “Ah! mademoiselle, I am not so sure. + Perhaps he does not suffer so greatly. Perhaps not even your trouble can + hurt him very much. He lives in a world apart. That, I think, is his true + tragedy to be alive, and yet not living enough to feel reality. Do you + know Anatole France's description of an old woman: 'Elle vivait, mais si + peu.' Would that not be well said of the Church in these days: 'Elle + vivait, mais si peu.' I see him always like a rather beautiful dark spire + in the night-time when you cannot see how it is attached to the earth. He + does not know, he never will know, Life.” + </p> + <p> + Noel looked round at him. “What do you mean by Life, monsieur? I'm + always reading about Life, and people talk of seeing Life! What is it—where + is it? I never see anything that you could call Life.” + </p> + <p> + The painter smiled. + </p> + <p> + “To 'see life'.” he said. “Ah! that is different. To + enjoy yourself! Well, it is my experience that when people are 'seeing + life' as they call it, they are not enjoying themselves. You know when one + is very thirsty one drinks and drinks, but the thirst remains all the + same. There are places where one can see life as it is called, but the + only persons you will see enjoying themselves at such places are a few + humdrums like myself, who go there for a talk over a cup of coffee. + Perhaps at your age, though, it is different.” + </p> + <p> + Noel clasped her hands, and her eyes seemed to shine in the gloom. “I + want music and dancing and light, and beautiful things and faces; but I + never get them.” + </p> + <p> + “No, there does not exist in this town, or in any other, a place + which will give you that. Fox-trots and ragtime and paint and powder and + glare and half-drunken young men, and women with red lips you can get them + in plenty. But rhythm and beauty and charm never. In Brussels when I was + younger I saw much 'life' as they call it, but not one lovely thing + unspoiled; it was all as ashes in the mouth. Ah! you may smile, but I know + what I am talking of. Happiness never comes when you are looking for it, + mademoiselle; beauty is in Nature and in real art, never in these false + silly make believes. There is a place just here where we Belgians go; + would you like to see how true my words are? + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes!” + </p> + <p> + “Tres-bien! Let us go in?” + </p> + <p> + They passed into a revolving doorway with little glass compartments which + shot them out into a shining corridor. At the end of this the painter + looked at Noel and seemed to hesitate, then he turned off from the room + they were about to enter into a room on the right. It was large, full of + gilt and plush and marble tables, where couples were seated; young men in + khaki and older men in plain clothes, together or with young women. At + these last Noel looked, face after face, while they were passing down a + long way to an empty table. She saw that some were pretty, and some only + trying to be, that nearly all were powdered and had their eyes darkened + and their lips reddened, till she felt her own face to be dreadfully + ungarnished: Up in a gallery a small band was playing an attractive + jingling hollow little tune; and the buzz of talk and laughter was almost + deafening. + </p> + <p> + “What will you have, mademoiselle?” said the painter. “It + is just nine o'clock; we must order quickly.” + </p> + <p> + “May I have one of those green things?” + </p> + <p> + “Deux cremes de menthe,” said Lavendie to the waiter. + </p> + <p> + Noel was too absorbed to see the queer, bitter little smile hovering about + his face. She was busy looking at the faces of women whose eyes, furtively + cold and enquiring, were fixed on her; and at the faces of men with eyes + that were furtively warm and wondering. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder if Daddy was ever in a place like this?” she said, + putting the glass of green stuff to her lips. “Is it nice? It smells + of peppermint.” + </p> + <p> + “A beautiful colour. Good luck, mademoiselle!” and he chinked + his glass with hers. + </p> + <p> + Noel sipped, held it away, and sipped again. + </p> + <p> + “It's nice; but awfully sticky. May I have a cigarette?” + </p> + <p> + “Des cigarettes,” said Lavendie to the waiter, “Et deux + cafes noirs. Now, mademoiselle,” he murmured when they were brought, + “if we imagine that we have drunk a bottle of wine each, we shall + have exhausted all the preliminaries of what is called Vice. Amusing, + isn't it?” He shrugged his shoulders. + </p> + <p> + His face struck Noel suddenly as tarnished and almost sullen. + </p> + <p> + “Don't be angry, monsieur, it's all new to me, you see.” + </p> + <p> + The painter smiled, his bright, skin-deep smile. + </p> + <p> + “Pardon! I forget myself. Only, it hurts me to see beauty in a place + like this. It does not go well with that tune, and these voices, and these + faces. Enjoy yourself, mademoiselle; drink it all in! See the way these + people look at each other; what love shines in their eyes! A pity, too, we + cannot hear what they are saying. Believe me, their talk is most subtle, + tres-spirituel. These young women are 'doing their bit,' as you call it; + bringing le plaisir to all these who are serving their country. Eat, + drink, love, for tomorrow we die. Who cares for the world simple or the + world beautiful, in days like these? The house of the spirit is empty.” + </p> + <p> + He was looking at her sidelong as if he would enter her very soul. + </p> + <p> + Noel got up. “I'm ready to go, monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + He put her cloak on her shoulders, paid the bill, and they went out, + threading again through the little tables, through the buzz of talk and + laughter and the fumes of tobacco, while another hollow little tune + jingled away behind them. + </p> + <p> + “Through there,” said the painter, pointing to another door, + “they dance. So it goes. London in war-time! Well, after all, it is + never very different; no great town is. Did you enjoy your sight of + 'life,' mademoiselle?” + </p> + <p> + “I think one must dance, to be happy. Is that where your friends go?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no! To a room much rougher, and play dominoes, and drink coffee + and beer, and talk. They have no money to throw away.” + </p> + <p> + “Why didn't you show me?” + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle, in that room you might see someone perhaps whom one + day you would meet again; in the place we visited you were safe enough at + least I hope so.” + </p> + <p> + Noel shrugged. “I suppose it doesn't matter now, what I do.” + </p> + <p> + And a rush of emotion caught at her throat—a wave from the past—the + moonlit night, the dark old Abbey, the woods and the river. Two tears + rolled down her cheeks. + </p> + <p> + “I was thinking of—something,” she said in a muffled + voice. “It's all right.” + </p> + <p> + “Chere mademoiselle!” Lavendie murmured; and all the way home + he was timid and distressed. Shaking his hand at the door, she murmured: + </p> + <p> + “I'm sorry I was such a fool; and thank you awfully, monsieur. Good + night.” + </p> + <p> + “Good night; and better dreams. There is a good time coming—Peace + and Happiness once more in the world. It will not always be this + Forcing-House. Good night, chere mademoiselle!” + </p> + <p> + Noel went up to the nursery, and stole in. A night-light was burning, + Nurse and baby were fast asleep. She tiptoed through into her own room. + Once there, she felt suddenly so tired that she could hardly undress; and + yet curiously rested, as if with that rush of emotion, Cyril and the past + had slipped from her for ever. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0026" id="link2H_4_0026"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + III + </h2> + <p> + Noel's first encounter with Opinion took place the following day. The baby + had just come in from its airing; she had seen it comfortably snoozing, + and was on her way downstairs, when a voice from the hall said: + </p> + <p> + “How do you do?” and she saw the khaki-clad figure of Adrian + Lauder, her father's curate! Hesitating just a moment, she finished her + descent, and put her fingers in his. He was a rather heavy, dough-coloured + young man of nearly thirty, unsuited by khaki, with a round white collar + buttoned behind; but his aspiring eyes redeemed him, proclaiming the best + intentions in the world, and an inclination towards sentiment in the + presence of beauty. + </p> + <p> + “I haven't seen you for ages,” he said rather fatuously, + following her into her father's study. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Noel. “How—do you like being at the + Front?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” he said, “they're wonderful!” And his eyes + shone. “It's so nice to see you again.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it?” + </p> + <p> + He seemed puzzled by that answer; stammered, and said: + </p> + <p> + “I didn't know your sister had a baby. A jolly baby.” + </p> + <p> + “She hasn't.” + </p> + <p> + Lauder's mouth opened. 'A silly mouth,' she thought. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” he said. “Is it a protegee—Belgian or + something?” + </p> + <p> + “No, it's mine; my own.” And, turning round, she slipped the + little ring off her finger. When she turned back to him, his face had not + recovered from her words. It had a hapless look, as of one to whom such a + thing ought not to have happened. + </p> + <p> + “Don't look like that,” said Noel. “Didn't you + understand? It's mine-mine.” She put out her left hand. “Look! + There's no ring.” + </p> + <p> + He stammered: “I say, you oughtn't to—you oughtn't to—!” + </p> + <p> + “What?” + </p> + <p> + “Joke about—about such things; ought you?” + </p> + <p> + “One doesn't joke if one's had a baby without being married, you + know.” + </p> + <p> + Lauder went suddenly slack. A shell might have burst a few paces from him. + And then, just as one would in such a case, he made an effort, braced + himself, and said in a curious voice, both stiff and heavy: “I can't—one + doesn't—it's not—” + </p> + <p> + “It is,” said Noel. “If you don't believe me, ask Daddy.” + </p> + <p> + He put his hand up to his round collar; and with the wild thought that he + was going to tear it off, she cried: “Don't!” + </p> + <p> + “You!” he said. “You! But—” + </p> + <p> + Noel turned away from him to the window: She stood looking out, but saw + nothing whatever. + </p> + <p> + “I don't want it hidden,” she said without turning round, + “I want every one to know. It's stupid as it is—stupid!” + and she stamped her foot. “Can't you see how stupid it is—everybody's + mouth falling open!” + </p> + <p> + He uttered a little sound which had pain in it, and she felt a real pang + of compunction. He had gripped the back of a chair; his face had lost its + heaviness. A dull flush coloured his cheeks. Noel had a feeling, as if she + had been convicted of treachery. It was his silence, the curious look of + an impersonal pain beyond power of words; she felt in him something much + deeper than mere disapproval—something which echoed within herself. + She walked quickly past him and escaped. She ran upstairs and threw + herself on her bed. He was nothing: it was not that! It was in herself, + the awful feeling, for the first time developed and poignant, that she had + betrayed her caste, forfeited the right to be thought a lady, betrayed her + secret reserve and refinement, repaid with black ingratitude the love + lavished on her up bringing, by behaving like any uncared-for common girl. + She had never felt this before—not even when Gratian first heard of + it, and they had stood one at each end of the hearth, unable to speak. + Then she still had her passion, and her grief for the dead. That was gone + now as if it had never been; and she had no defence, nothing between her + and this crushing humiliation and chagrin. She had been mad! She must have + been mad! The Belgian Barra was right: “All a little mad” in + this “forcing-house” of a war! She buried her face deep in the + pillow, till it almost stopped her power of breathing; her head and cheeks + and ears seemed to be on fire. If only he had shown disgust, done + something which roused her temper, her sense of justice, her feeling that + Fate had been too cruel to her; but he had just stood there, bewilderment + incarnate, like a creature with some very deep illusion shattered. It was + horrible! Then, feeling that she could not stay still, must walk, run, get + away somehow from this feeling of treachery and betrayal, she sprang up. + All was quiet below, and she slipped downstairs and out, speeding along + with no knowledge of direction, taking the way she had taken day after day + to her hospital. It was the last of April, trees and shrubs were luscious + with blossom and leaf; the dogs ran gaily; people had almost happy faces + in the sunshine. 'If I could get away from myself, I wouldn't care,' she + thought. Easy to get away from people, from London, even from England + perhaps; but from oneself—impossible! She passed her hospital; and + looked at it dully, at the Red Cross flag against its stucco wall, and a + soldier in his blue slops and red tie, coming out. She had spent many + miserable hours there, but none quite so miserable as this. She passed the + church opposite to the flats where Leila lived, and running suddenly into + a tall man coming round the corner, saw Fort. She bent her head, and tried + to hurry past. But his hand was held out, she could not help putting hers + into it; and looking up hardily, she said: + </p> + <p> + “You know about me, don't you?” + </p> + <p> + His face, naturally so frank, seemed to clench up, as if he were riding at + a fence. 'He'll tell a lie,' she thought bitterly. But he did not. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Leila told me.” + </p> + <p> + And she thought: 'I suppose he'll try and pretend that I've not been a + beast!' + </p> + <p> + “I admire your pluck,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “I haven't any.” + </p> + <p> + “We never know ourselves, do we? I suppose you wouldn't walk my pace + a minute or two, would you? I'm going the same way.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know which way I'm going.” + </p> + <p> + “That is my case, too.” + </p> + <p> + They walked on in silence. + </p> + <p> + “I wish to God I were back in France,” said Fort abruptly. + “One doesn't feel clean here.” + </p> + <p> + Noel's heart applauded. + </p> + <p> + Ah! to get away—away from oneself! But at the thought of her baby, + her heart fell again. “Is your leg quite hopeless?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Quite.” + </p> + <p> + “That must be horrid.” + </p> + <p> + “Hundreds of thousands would look on it as splendid luck; and so it + is if you count it better to be alive than dead, which I do, in spite of + the blues.” + </p> + <p> + “How is Cousin Leila?” + </p> + <p> + “Very well. She goes on pegging away at the hospital; she's a brick.” + But he did not look at her, and again there was silence, till he stopped + by Lord's Cricket-ground. + </p> + <p> + “I mustn't keep you crawling along at this pace.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don't mind!” + </p> + <p> + “I only wanted to say that if I can be of any service to you at any + time in any way whatever, please command me.” + </p> + <p> + He gave her hand a squeeze, took his hat off; and Noel walked slowly on. + The little interview, with its suppressions, and its implications, had but + exasperated her restlessness, and yet, in a way, it had soothed the + soreness of her heart. Captain Fort at all events did not despise her; and + he was in trouble like herself. She felt that somehow by the look of his + face, and the tone of his voice when he spoke of Leila. She quickened her + pace. George's words came back to her: “If you're not ashamed of + yourself, no one will be of you!” How easy to say! The old days, her + school, the little half grown-up dances she used to go to, when everything + was happy. Gone! All gone! + </p> + <p> + But her meetings with Opinion were not over for the day, for turning again + at last into the home Square, tired out by her three hours' ramble, she + met an old lady whom she and Gratian had known from babyhood—a + handsome dame, the widow of an official, who spent her days, which showed + no symptom of declining, in admirable works. Her daughter, the widow of an + officer killed at the Marne, was with her, and the two greeted Noel with a + shower of cordial questions: So she was back from the country, and was she + quite well again? And working at her hospital? And how was her dear + father? They had thought him looking very thin and worn. But now Gratian + was at home—How dreadfully the war kept husbands and wives apart! + And whose was the dear little baby they had in the house? + </p> + <p> + “Mine,” said Noel, walking straight past them with her head + up. In every fibre of her being she could feel the hurt, startled, utterly + bewildered looks of those firm friendly persons left there on the pavement + behind her; could feel the way they would gather themselves together, and + walk on, perhaps without a word, and then round the corner begin: “What + has come to Noel? What did she mean?” And taking the little gold + hoop out of her pocket, she flung it with all her might into the Square + Garden. The action saved her from a breakdown; and she went in calmly. + Lunch was long over, but her father had not gone out, for he met her in + the hall and drew her into the dining-room. + </p> + <p> + “You must eat, my child,” he said. And while she was + swallowing down what he had caused to be kept back for her, he stood by + the hearth in that favourite attitude of his, one foot on the fender, and + one hand gripping the mantel-shelf. + </p> + <p> + “You've got your wish, Daddy,” she said dully: “Everybody + knows now. I've told Mr. Lauder, and Monsieur, and the Dinnafords.” + </p> + <p> + She saw his fingers uncrisp, then grip the shelf again. “I'm glad,” + he said. + </p> + <p> + “Aunt Thirza gave me a ring to wear, but I've thrown it away.” + </p> + <p> + “My dearest child,” he began, but could not go on, for the + quivering of his lips. + </p> + <p> + “I wanted to say once more, Daddy, that I'm fearfully sorry about + you. And I am ashamed of myself; I thought I wasn't, but I am—only, + I think it was cruel, and I'm not penitent to God; and it's no good trying + to make me.” + </p> + <p> + Pierson turned and looked at her. For a long time after, she could not get + that look out of her memory. + </p> + <p> + Jimmy Fort had turned away from Noel feeling particularly wretched. Ever + since the day when Leila had told him of the girl's misfortune he had been + aware that his liaison had no decent foundation, save a sort of pity. One + day, in a queer access of compunction, he had made Leila an offer of + marriage. She had refused; and he had respected her the more, realising by + the quiver in her voice and the look in her eyes that she refused him, not + because she did not love him well enough, but because she was afraid of + losing any of his affection. She was a woman of great experience. + </p> + <p> + To-day he had taken advantage of the luncheon interval to bring her some + flowers, with a note to say that he could not come that evening. Letting + himself in with his latchkey, he had carefully put those Japanese azaleas + in the bowl “Famille Rose,” taking water from her bedroom. + Then he had sat down on the divan with his head in his hands. + </p> + <p> + Though he had rolled so much about the world, he had never had much to do + with women. And there was nothing in him of the Frenchman, who takes what + life puts in his way as so much enjoyment on the credit side, and accepts + the ends of such affairs as they naturally and rather rapidly arrive. It + had been a pleasure, and was no longer a pleasure; but this apparently did + not dissolve it, or absolve him. He felt himself bound by an obscure but + deep instinct to go on pretending that he was not tired of her, so long as + she was not tired of him. And he sat there trying to remember any sign, + however small, of such a consummation, quite without success. On the + contrary, he had even the wretched feeling that if only he had loved her, + she would have been much more likely to have tired of him by now. For her + he was still the unconquered, in spite of his loyal endeavour to seem + conquered. He had made a fatal mistake, that evening after the concert at + Queen's Hall, to let himself go, on a mixed tide of desire and pity! + </p> + <p> + His folly came to him with increased poignancy after he had parted from + Noel. How could he have been such a base fool, as to have committed + himself to Leila on an evening when he had actually been in the company of + that child? Was it the vague, unseizable likeness between them which had + pushed him over the edge? 'I've been an ass,' he thought; 'a horrible + ass.' I would always have given every hour I've ever spent with Leila, for + one real smile from that girl.' + </p> + <p> + This sudden sight of Noel after months during which he had tried loyally + to forget her existence, and not succeeded at all, made him realise as he + never had yet that he was in love with her; so very much in love with her + that the thought of Leila was become nauseating. And yet the instincts of + a gentleman seemed to forbid him to betray that secret to either of them. + It was an accursed coil! He hailed a cab, for he was late; and all the way + back to the War Office he continued to see the girl's figure and her face + with its short hair. And a fearful temptation rose within him. Was it not + she who was now the real object for chivalry and pity? Had he not the + right to consecrate himself to championship of one in such a deplorable + position? Leila had lived her life; but this child's life—pretty + well wrecked—was all before her. And then he grinned from sheer + disgust. For he knew that this was Jesuitry. Not chivalry was moving him, + but love! Love! Love of the unattainable! And with a heavy heart, indeed, + he entered the great building, where, in a small room, companioned by the + telephone, and surrounded by sheets of paper covered with figures, he + passed his days. The war made everything seem dreary, hopeless. No wonder + he had caught at any distraction which came along—caught at it, till + it had caught him! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0027" id="link2H_4_0027"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IV + </h2> + <h3> + 1 + </h3> + <p> + To find out the worst is, for human nature, only a question of time. But + where the “worst” is attached to a family haloed, as it were, + by the authority and reputation of an institution like the Church, the + process of discovery has to break through many a little hedge. Sheer + unlikelihood, genuine respect, the defensive instinct in those identified + with an institution, who will themselves feel weaker if its strength be + diminished, the feeling that the scandal is too good to be true—all + these little hedges, and more, had to be broken through. To the + Dinnafords, the unholy importance of what Noel had said to them would have + continued to keep them dumb, out of self-protection; but its monstrosity + had given them the feeling that there must be some mistake, that the girl + had been overtaken by a wild desire to “pull their legs” as + dear Charlie would say. With the hope of getting this view confirmed, they + lay in wait for the old nurse who took the baby out, and obtained the + information, shortly imparted: “Oh, yes; Miss Noel's. Her 'usband + was killed—poor lamb!” And they felt rewarded. They had been + sure there was some mistake. The relief of hearing that word “'usband” + was intense. One of these hasty war marriages, of which the dear Vicar had + not approved, and so it had been kept dark. Quite intelligible, but so + sad! Enough misgiving however remained in their minds, to prevent their + going to condole with the dear Vicar; but not enough to prevent their + roundly contradicting the rumours and gossip already coming to their ears. + And then one day, when their friend Mrs. Curtis had said too positively: + “Well, she doesn't wear a wedding-ring, that I'll swear, because I + took very good care to look!” they determined to ask Mr. Lauder. He + would—indeed must—know; and, of course, would not tell a + story. When they asked him it was so manifest that he did know, that they + almost withdrew the question. The poor young man had gone the colour of a + tomato. + </p> + <p> + “I prefer not to answer,” he said. The rest of a very short + interview was passed in exquisite discomfort. Indeed discomfort, exquisite + and otherwise, within a few weeks of Noel's return, had begun to pervade + all the habitual congregation of Pierson's church. It was noticed that + neither of the two sisters attended Service now. Certain people who went + in the sincere hope of seeing Noel, only fell off again when she did not + appear. After all, she would not have the face! And Gratian was too + ashamed, no doubt. It was constantly remarked that the Vicar looked very + grave and thin, even for him. As the rumours hardened into certainty, the + feeling towards him became a curious medley of sympathy and condemnation. + There was about the whole business that which English people especially + resent. By the very fact of his presence before them every Sunday, and his + public ministrations, he was exhibiting to them, as it were, the seamed + and blushing face of his daughter's private life, besides affording one + long and glaring demonstration of the failure of the Church to guide its + flock: If a man could not keep his own daughter in the straight path—whom + could he? Resign! The word began to be thought about, but not yet spoken. + He had been there so long; he had spent so much money on the church and + the parish; his gentle dreamy manner was greatly liked. He was a + gentleman; and had helped many people; and, though his love of music and + vestments had always caused heart-burnings, yet it had given a certain + cachet to the church. The women, at any rate, were always glad to know + that the church they went to was capable of drawing their fellow women + away from other churches. Besides, it was war-time, and moral delinquency + which in time of peace would have bulked too large to neglect, was now + less insistently dwelt on, by minds preoccupied by food and air-raids. + Things, of course, could not go on as they were; but as yet they did go + on. + </p> + <p> + The talked-about is always the last to hear the talk; and nothing concrete + or tangible came Pierson's way. He went about his usual routine without + seeming change. And yet there was a change, secret and creeping. Wounded + almost to death himself, he felt as though surrounded by one great wound + in others; but it was some weeks before anything occurred to rouse within + him the weapon of anger or the protective impulse. + </p> + <p> + And then one day a little swift brutality shook him to the very soul. He + was coming home from a long parish round, and had turned into the Square, + when a low voice behind him said: + </p> + <p> + “Wot price the little barstard?” + </p> + <p> + A cold, sick feeling stifled his very breathing; he gasped, and spun + round, to see two big loutish boys walking fast away. With swift and + stealthy passion he sprang after them, and putting his hands on their two + neighbouring shoulders, wrenched them round so that they faced him, with + mouths fallen open in alarm. Shaking them with all his force, he said: + </p> + <p> + “How dare you—how dare you use that word?” His face and + voice must have been rather terrible, for the scare in their faces brought + him to sudden consciousness of his own violence, and he dropped his hands. + In two seconds they were at the corner. They stopped there for a second; + one of them shouted “Gran'pa”; then they vanished. He was left + with lips and hands quivering, and a feeling that he had not known for + years—the weak white empty feeling one has after yielding utterly to + sudden murderous rage. He crossed over, and stood leaning against the + Garden railings, with the thought: 'God forgive me! I could have killed + them—I could have killed them!' There had been a devil in him. If he + had had something in his hand, he might now have been a murderer: How + awful! Only one had spoken; but he could have killed them both! And the + word was true, and was in all mouths—all low common mouths, day + after day, of his own daughter's child! The ghastliness of this thought, + brought home so utterly, made him writhe, and grasp the railings as if he + would have bent them. + </p> + <p> + From that day on, a creeping sensation of being rejected of men, never + left him; the sense of identification with Noel and her tiny outcast + became ever more poignant, more real; the desire to protect them ever more + passionate; and the feeling that round about there were whispering voices, + pointing fingers, and a growing malevolence was ever more sickening. He + was beginning too to realise the deep and hidden truth: How easily the + breath of scandal destroys the influence and sanctity of those endowed + therewith by vocation; how invaluable it is to feel untarnished, and how + difficult to feel that when others think you tarnished. + </p> + <p> + He tried to be with Noel as much as possible; and in the evenings they + sometimes went walks together, without ever talking of what was always in + their minds. Between six and eight the girl was giving sittings to + Lavendie in the drawing-room, and sometimes Pierson would come there and + play to them. He was always possessed now by a sense of the danger Noel + ran from companionship with any man. On three occasions, Jimmy Fort made + his appearance after dinner. He had so little to say that it was difficult + to understand why he came; but, sharpened by this new dread for his + daughter, Pierson noticed his eyes always following her. 'He admires her,' + he thought; and often he would try his utmost to grasp the character of + this man, who had lived such a roving life. 'Is he—can he be the + sort of man I would trust Nollie to?' he would think. 'Oh, that I should + have to hope like this that some good man would marry her—my little + Nollie, a child only the other day!' + </p> + <p> + In these sad, painful, lonely weeks he found a spot of something like + refuge in Leila's sitting-room, and would go there often for half an hour + when she was back from her hospital. That little black-walled room with + its Japanese prints and its flowers, soothed him. And Leila soothed him, + innocent as he was of any knowledge of her latest aberration, and perhaps + conscious that she herself was not too happy. To watch her arranging + flowers, singing her little French songs, or to find her beside him, + listening to his confidences, was the only real pleasure he knew in these + days. And Leila, in turn, would watch him and think: 'Poor Edward! He has + never lived; and never will; now!' But sometimes the thought would shoot + through her: 'Perhaps he's to be envied. He doesn't feel what I feel, + anyway. Why did I fall in love again?' + </p> + <p> + They did not speak of Noel as a rule, but one evening she expressed her + views roundly. + </p> + <p> + “It was a great mistake to make Noel come back. Edward. It was + Quixotic. You'll be lucky if real mischief doesn't come of it. She's not a + patient character; one day she'll do something rash. And, mind you, she'll + be much more likely to break out if she sees the world treating you badly + than if it happens to herself. I should send her back to the country, + before she makes bad worse.” + </p> + <p> + “I can't do that, Leila. We must live it down together.” + </p> + <p> + “Wrong, Edward. You should take things as they are.” + </p> + <p> + With a heavy sigh Pierson answered: + </p> + <p> + “I wish I could see her future. She's so attractive. And her + defences are gone. She's lost faith, and belief in all that a good woman + should be. The day after she came back she told me she was ashamed of + herself. But since—she's not given a sign. She's so proud—my + poor little Nollie. I see how men admire her, too. Our Belgian friend is + painting her. He's a good man; but he finds her beautiful, and who can + wonder. And your friend Captain Fort. Fathers are supposed to be blind, + but they see very clear sometimes.” + </p> + <p> + Leila rose and drew down a blind. + </p> + <p> + “This sun,” she said. “Does Jimmy Fort come to you—often?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! no; very seldom. But still—I can see.” + </p> + <p> + 'You bat—you blunderer!' thought Leila: 'See! You can't even see + this beside you!' + </p> + <p> + “I expect he's sorry for her,” she said in a queer voice. + </p> + <p> + “Why should he be sorry? He doesn't know:” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes! He knows; I told him.” + </p> + <p> + “You told him!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” Leila repeated stubbornly; “and he's sorry for + her.” + </p> + <p> + And even then “this monk” beside her did not see, and went + blundering on. + </p> + <p> + “No, no; it's not merely that he's sorry. By the way he looks at + her, I know I'm not mistaken. I've wondered—what do you think, + Leila. He's too old for her; but he seems an honourable, kind man.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! a most honourable, kind man.” But only by pressing her + hand against her lips had she smothered a burst of bitter laughter. He, + who saw nothing, could yet notice Fort's eyes when he looked at Noel, and + be positive that he was in love with her! How plainly those eyes must + speak! Her control gave way. + </p> + <p> + “All this is very interesting,” she said, spurning her words + like Noel, “considering that he's more than my friend, Edward.” + It gave her a sort of pleasure to see him wince. 'These blind bats!' she + thought, terribly stung that he should so clearly assume her out of the + running. Then she was sorry, his face had become so still and wistful. And + turning away, she said: + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I shan't break my heart; I'm a good loser. And I'm a good + fighter, too; perhaps I shan't lose.” And snapping off a sprig of + geranium, she pressed it to her lips. + </p> + <p> + “Forgive me,” said Pierson slowly; “I didn't know. I'm + stupid. I thought your love for your poor soldiers had left no room for + other feelings.” + </p> + <p> + Leila uttered a shrill laugh. “What have they to do with each other? + Did you never hear of passion, Edward? Oh! Don't look at me like that. Do + you think a woman can't feel passion at my age? As much as ever, more than + ever, because it's all slipping away.” + </p> + <p> + She took her hand from her lips, but a geranium petal was left clinging + there, like a bloodstain. “What has your life been all these years,” + she went on vehemently—“suppression of passion, nothing else! + You monks twist Nature up with holy words, and try to disguise what the + eeriest simpleton can see. Well, I haven't suppressed passion, Edward. + That's all.” + </p> + <p> + “And are you happier for that?” + </p> + <p> + “I was; and I shall be again.” + </p> + <p> + A little smile curled Pierson's lips. “Shall be?” he said. + “I hope so. It's just two ways of looking at things, Leila.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Edward! Don't be so gentle! I suppose you don't think a person + like me can ever really love?” + </p> + <p> + He was standing before her with his head down, and a sense that, naive and + bat-like as he was, there was something in him she could not reach or + understand, made her cry out: + </p> + <p> + “I've not been nice to you. Forgive me, Edward! I'm so unhappy.” + </p> + <p> + “There was a Greek who used to say: 'God is the helping of man by + man.' It isn't true, but it's beautiful. Good-bye, dear Leila, and don't + be sorrowful.” + </p> + <p> + She squeezed his hand, and turned to the window. + </p> + <p> + She stood there watching his black figure cross the road in the sunshine, + and pass round the corner by the railings of the church. He walked + quickly, very upright; there was something unseeing even about that back + view of him; or was it that he saw-another world? She had never lost the + mental habits of her orthodox girlhood, and in spite of all impatience, + recognised his sanctity. When he had disappeared she went into her + bedroom. What he had said, indeed, was no discovery. She had known. Oh! + She had known. 'Why didn't I accept Jimmy's offer? Why didn't I marry him? + Is it too late?' she thought. 'Could I? Would he—even now?' But then + she started away from her own thought. Marry him! knowing his heart was + with this girl? + </p> + <p> + She looked long at her face in the mirror, studying with a fearful + interest the little hard lines and markings there beneath their light + coating of powder. She examined the cunning touches of colouring matter + here and there in her front hair. Were they cunning enough? Did they + deceive? They seemed to her suddenly to stare out. She fingered and + smoothed the slight looseness and fulness of the skin below her chin. She + stretched herself, and passed her hands down over her whole form, + searching as it were for slackness, or thickness. And she had the bitter + thought: 'I'm all out. I'm doing all I can.' The lines of a little poem + Fort had showed her went thrumming through her head: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Time, you old gipsy man + Will you not stay + Put up your caravan + Just for a day?” + </pre> + <p> + What more could she do? He did not like to see her lips reddened. She had + marked his disapprovals, watched him wipe his mouth after a kiss, when he + thought she couldn't see him. 'I need'nt!' she thought. 'Noel's lips are + no redder, really. What has she better than I? Youth—dew on the + grass!' That didn't last long! But long enough to “do her in” + as her soldier-men would say. And, suddenly she revolted against herself, + against Fort, against this chilled and foggy country; felt a fierce + nostalgia for African sun, and the African flowers; the happy-go-lucky, + hand-to-mouth existence of those five years before the war began. High + Constantia at grape harvest! How many years ago—ten years, eleven + years! Ah! To have before her those ten years, with him! Ten years in the + sun! He would have loved her then, and gone on loving her! And she would + not have tired of him, as she had tired of those others. 'In half an + hour,' she thought, 'he'll be here, sit opposite me; I shall see him + struggling forcing himself to seem affectionate! It's too humbling! But I + don't care; I want him!' + </p> + <p> + She searched her wardrobe, for some garment or touch of colour, novelty of + any sort, to help her. But she had tried them all—those little + tricks—was bankrupt. And such a discouraged, heavy mood came on her, + that she did not even “change,” but went back in her nurse's + dress and lay down on the divan, pretending to sleep, while the maid set + out the supper. She lay there moody and motionless, trying to summon + courage, feeling that if she showed herself beaten she was beaten; knowing + that she only held him by pity. But when she heard his footstep on the + stairs she swiftly passed her hands over her cheeks, as if to press the + blood out of them, and lay absolutely still. She hoped that she was white, + and indeed she was, with finger-marks under the eyes, for she had suffered + greatly this last hour. Through her lashes she saw him halt, and look at + her in surprise. Asleep, or-ill, which? She did not move. She wanted to + watch him. He tiptoed across the room and stood looking down at her. There + was a furrow between his eyes. 'Ah!' she thought, 'it would suit you, if I + were dead, my kind friend.' He bent a little towards her; and she wondered + suddenly whether she looked graceful lying there, sorry now that she had + not changed her dress. She saw him shrug his shoulders ever so faintly + with a puzzled little movement. He had not seen that she was shamming. How + nice his face was—not mean, secret, callous! She opened her eyes, + which against her will had in them the despair she was feeling. He went on + his knees, and lifting her hand to his lips, hid them with it. + </p> + <p> + “Jimmy,” she said gently, “I'm an awful bore to you. + Poor Jimmy! No! Don't pretend! I know what I know!” 'Oh, God! What + am I saying?' she thought. 'It's fatal-fatal. I ought never!' And drawing + his head to her, she put it to her heart. Then, instinctively aware that + this moment had been pressed to its uttermost, she scrambled up, kissed + his forehead, stretched herself, and laughed. + </p> + <p> + “I was asleep, dreaming; dreaming you loved me. Wasn't it funny? + Come along. There are oysters, for the last time this season.” + </p> + <p> + All that evening, as if both knew they had been looking over a precipice, + they seemed to be treading warily, desperately anxious not to rouse + emotion in each other, or touch on things which must bring a scene. And + Leila talked incessantly of Africa. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you long for the sun, Jimmy? Couldn't we—couldn't you + go? Oh! why doesn't this wretched war end? All that we've got here at home + every scrap of wealth, and comfort, and age, and art, and music, I'd give + it all for the light and the sun out there. Wouldn't you?” + </p> + <p> + And Fort said he would, knowing well of one thing which he would not give. + And she knew that, as well as he. + </p> + <p> + They were both gayer than they had been for a long time; so that when he + had gone, she fell back once more on to the divan, and burying her face in + a cushion, wept bitterly. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0028" id="link2H_4_0028"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + V + </h2> + <h3> + 1 + </h3> + <p> + It was not quite disillusionment that Pierson felt while he walked away. + Perhaps he had not really believed in Leila's regeneration. It was more an + acute discomfort, an increasing loneliness. A soft and restful spot was + now denied him; a certain warmth and allurement had gone out of his life. + He had not even the feeling that it was his duty to try and save Leila by + persuading her to marry Fort. He had always been too sensitive, too much + as it were of a gentleman, for the robuster sorts of evangelism. Such + delicacy had been a stumbling-block to him all through professional life. + In the eight years when his wife was with him, all had been more certain, + more direct and simple, with the help of her sympathy, judgment; and + companionship. At her death a sort of mist had gathered in his soul. No + one had ever spoken plainly to him. To a clergyman, who does? No one had + told him in so many words that he should have married again—that to + stay unmarried was bad for him, physically and spiritually, fogging and + perverting life; not driving him, indeed, as it drove many, to intolerance + and cruelty, but to that half-living dreaminess, and the vague unhappy + yearnings which so constantly beset him. All these celibate years he had + really only been happy in his music, or in far-away country places, taking + strong exercise, and losing himself in the beauties of Nature; and since + the war began he had only once, for those three days at Kestrel, been out + of London. + </p> + <p> + He walked home, going over in his mind very anxiously all the evidence he + had of Fort's feeling for Noel. How many times had he been to them since + she came back? Only three times—three evening visits! And he had not + been alone with her a single minute! Before this calamity befell his + daughter, he would never have observed anything in Fort's demeanour; but, + in his new watchfulness, he had seen the almost reverential way he looked + at her, noticed the extra softness of his voice when he spoke to her, and + once a look of sudden pain, a sort of dulling of his whole self, when Noel + had got up and gone out of the room. And the girl herself? Twice he had + surprised her gazing at Fort when he was not looking, with a sort of + brooding interest. He remembered how, as a little girl, she would watch a + grown-up, and then suddenly one day attach herself to him, and be quite + devoted. Yes, he must warn her, before she could possibly become + entangled. In his fastidious chastity, the opinion he had held of Fort was + suddenly lowered. He, already a free-thinker, was now revealed as a + free-liver. Poor little Nollie! Endangered again already! Every man a kind + of wolf waiting to pounce on her! + </p> + <p> + He found Lavendie and Noel in the drawing-room, standing before the + portrait which was nearing completion. He looked at it for a long minute, + and turned away: + </p> + <p> + “Don't you think it's like me, Daddy?” + </p> + <p> + “It's like you; but it hurts me. I can't tell why.” + </p> + <p> + He saw the smile of a painter whose picture is being criticised come on + Lavendie's face. + </p> + <p> + “It is perhaps the colouring which does not please you, monsieur?” + </p> + <p> + “No, no; deeper. The expression; what is she waiting for?” + </p> + <p> + The defensive smile died on Lavendie's lips. + </p> + <p> + “It is as I see her, monsieur le cure.” + </p> + <p> + Pierson turned again to the picture, and suddenly covered his eyes. + “She looks 'fey,'” he said, and went out of the room. + </p> + <p> + Lavendie and Noel remained staring at the picture. “Fey? What does + that mean, mademoiselle?” + </p> + <p> + “Possessed, or something.” + </p> + <p> + And they continued to stare at the picture, till Lavendie said: + </p> + <p> + “I think there is still a little too much light on that ear.” + </p> + <p> + The same evening, at bedtime, Pierson called Noel back. + </p> + <p> + “Nollie, I want you to know something. In all but the name, Captain + Fort is a married man.” + </p> + <p> + He saw her flush, and felt his own face darkening with colour. + </p> + <p> + She said calmly: “I know; to Leila.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean she has told you?” + </p> + <p> + Noel shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “Then how?” + </p> + <p> + “I guessed. Daddy, don't treat me as a child any more. What's the + use, now?” + </p> + <p> + He sat down in the chair before the hearth, and covered his face with his + hands. By the quivering of those hands, and the movement of his shoulders, + she could tell that he was stifling emotion, perhaps even crying; and + sinking down on his knees she pressed his hands and face to her, + murmuring: “Oh, Daddy dear! Oh, Daddy dear!” + </p> + <p> + He put his arms round her, and they sat a long time with their cheeks + pressed together, not speaking a word. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0029" id="link2H_4_0029"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VI + </h2> + <h3> + 1 + </h3> + <p> + The day after that silent outburst of emotion in the drawing-room was a + Sunday. And, obeying the longing awakened overnight to be as good as she + could to her father; Noel said to him: + </p> + <p> + “Would you like me to come to Church?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course, Nollie.” + </p> + <p> + How could he have answered otherwise? To him Church was the home of + comfort and absolution, where people must bring their sins and troubles—a + haven of sinners, the fount of charity, of forgiveness, and love. Not to + have believed that, after all these years, would have been to deny all his + usefulness in life, and to cast a slur on the House of God. + </p> + <p> + And so Noel walked there with him, for Gratian had gone down to George, + for the week-end. She slipped quietly up the side aisle to their empty + pew, under the pulpit. Never turning her eyes from the chancel, she + remained unconscious of the stir her presence made, during that hour and + twenty minutes. Behind her, the dumb currents of wonder, disapproval, and + resentment ran a stealthy course. On her all eyes were fixed sooner or + later, and every mind became the play ground of judgments. From every + soul, kneeling, standing, or sitting, while the voice of the Service + droned, sang, or spoke, a kind of glare radiated on to that one small + devoted head, which seemed so ludicrously devout. She disturbed their + devotions, this girl who had betrayed her father, her faith, her class. + She ought to repent, of course, and Church was the right place; yet there + was something brazen in her repenting there before their very eyes; she + was too palpable a flaw in the crystal of the Church's authority, too + visible a rent in the raiment of their priest. Her figure focused all the + uneasy amazement and heart searchings of these last weeks. Mothers + quivered with the knowledge that their daughters could see her; wives with + the idea that their husbands were seeing her. Men experienced sensations + varying from condemnation to a sort of covetousness. Young folk wondered, + and felt inclined to giggle. Old maids could hardly bear to look. Here and + there a man or woman who had seen life face to face, was simply sorry! The + consciousness of all who knew her personally was at stretch how to behave + if they came within reach of her in going out. For, though only half a + dozen would actually rub shoulders with her, all knew that they might be, + and many felt it their duty to be, of that half-dozen, so as to establish + their attitude once for all. It was, in fact, too severe a test for human + nature and the feelings which Church ought to arouse. The stillness of + that young figure, the impossibility of seeing her face and judging of her + state of mind thereby; finally, a faint lurking shame that they should be + so intrigued and disturbed by something which had to do with sex, in this + House of Worship—all combined to produce in every mind that + herd-feeling of defence, which so soon becomes, offensive. And, half + unconscious, half aware of it all, Noel stood, and sat, and knelt. Once or + twice she saw her father's eyes fixed on her; and, still in the glow of + last night's pity and remorse, felt a kind of worship for his thin grave + face. But for the most part, her own wore the expression Lavendie had + translated to his canvas—the look of one ever waiting for the + extreme moments of life, for those few and fleeting poignancies which + existence holds for the human heart. A look neither hungry nor + dissatisfied, but dreamy and expectant, which might blaze into warmth and + depth at any moment, and then go back to its dream. + </p> + <p> + When the last notes of the organ died away she continued to sit very + still, without looking round. + </p> + <p> + There was no second Service, and the congregation melted out behind her, + and had dispersed into the streets and squares long before she came forth. + After hesitating whether or no to go to the vestry door, she turned away + and walked home alone. + </p> + <p> + It was this deliberate evasion of all contact which probably clinched the + business. The absence of vent, of any escape-pipe for the feelings, is + always dangerous. They felt cheated. If Noel had come out amongst all + those whose devotions her presence had disturbed, if in that exit, some + had shown and others had witnessed one knows not what of a manifested + ostracism, the outraged sense of social decency might have been appeased + and sleeping dogs allowed to lie, for we soon get used to things; and, + after all, the war took precedence in every mind even over social decency. + But none of this had occurred, and a sense that Sunday after Sunday the + same little outrage would happen to them, moved more than a dozen quite + unrelated persons, and caused the posting that evening of as many letters, + signed and unsigned, to a certain quarter. London is no place for parish + conspiracy, and a situation which in the country would have provoked + meetings more or less public, and possibly a resolution, could perhaps + only thus be dealt with. Besides, in certain folk there is ever a + mysterious itch to write an unsigned letter—such missives satisfy + some obscure sense of justice, some uncontrollable longing to get even + with those who have hurt or disturbed them, without affording the + offenders chance for further hurt or disturbance. + </p> + <p> + Letters which are posted often reach their destination. + </p> + <p> + On Wednesday morning Pierson was sitting in his study at the hour devoted + to the calls of his parishioners, when the maid announced, “Canon + Rushbourne, sir,” and he saw before him an old College friend whom + he had met but seldom in recent years. His visitor was a short, + grey-haired man of rather portly figure, whose round, rosy, good-humoured + face had a look of sober goodness, and whose light-blue eyes shone a + little. He grasped Pierson's hand, and said in a voice to whose natural + heavy resonance professional duty had added a certain unction: + </p> + <p> + “My dear Edward, how many years it is since we met! Do you remember + dear old Blakeway? I saw him only yesterday. He's just the same. I'm + delighted to see you again,” and he laughed a little soft nervous + laugh. Then for a few moments he talked of the war and old College days, + and Pierson looked at him and thought: 'What has he come for?' + </p> + <p> + “You've something to say to me, Alec,” he said, at last. + </p> + <p> + Canon Rushbourne leaned forward in his chair, and answered with evident + effort: “Yes; I wanted to have a little talk with you, Edward. I + hope you won't mind. I do hope you won't.” + </p> + <p> + “Why should I mind?” + </p> + <p> + Canon Rushbourne's eyes shone more than ever, there was real friendliness + in his face. + </p> + <p> + “I know you've every right to say to me: 'Mind your own business.' + But I made up my mind to come as a friend, hoping to save you from—er” + he stammered, and began again: “I think you ought to know of the + feeling in your parish that—er—that—er—your + position is very delicate. Without breach of confidence I may tell you + that letters have been sent to headquarters; you can imagine perhaps what + I mean. Do believe, my dear friend, that I'm actuated by my old affection + for you; nothing else, I do assure you.” + </p> + <p> + In the silence, his breathing could be heard, as of a man a little touched + with asthma, while he continually smoothed his thick black knees, his + whole face radiating an anxious kindliness. The sun shone brightly on + those two black figures, so very different, and drew out of their + well-worn garments the faint latent green mossiness which. underlies the + clothes of clergymen. + </p> + <p> + At last Pierson said: “Thank you, Alec; I understand.” + </p> + <p> + The Canon uttered a resounding sigh. “You didn't realise how very + easily people misinterpret her being here with you; it seems to them a + kind—a kind of challenge. They were bound, I think, to feel that; + and I'm afraid, in consequence—” He stopped, moved by the fact + that Pierson had closed his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I am to choose, you mean, between my daughter and my parish?” + </p> + <p> + The Canon seemed, with a stammer of words, to try and blunt the edge of + that clear question. + </p> + <p> + “My visit is quite informal, my dear fellow; I can't say at all. But + there is evidently much feeling; that is what I wanted you to know. You + haven't quite seen, I think, that—” + </p> + <p> + Pierson raised his hand. “I can't talk of this.” + </p> + <p> + The Canon rose. “Believe me, Edward, I sympathise deeply. I felt I + had to warn you.” He held out his hand. “Good-bye, my dear + friend, do forgive me”; and he went out. In the hall an adventure + befell him so plump, and awkward, that he could barely recite it to Mrs. + Rushbourne that night. + </p> + <p> + “Coming out from my poor friend,” he said, “I ran into a + baby's perambulator and that young mother, whom I remember as a little + thing”—he held his hand at the level of his thigh—“arranging + it for going out. It startled me; and I fear I asked quite foolishly: 'Is + it a boy?' The poor young thing looked up at me. She has very large eyes, + quite beautiful, strange eyes. 'Have you been speaking to Daddy about me?' + 'My dear young lady,' I said, 'I'm such an old friend, you see. You must + forgive me.' And then she said: 'Are they going to ask him to resign?' + 'That depends on you,' I said. Why do I say these things, Charlotte? I + ought simply to have held my tongue. Poor young thing; so very young! And + the little baby!” “She has brought it on herself, Alec,” + Mrs. Rushbourne replied. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0030" id="link2H_4_0030"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VII + </h2> + <h3> + 1 + </h3> + <p> + The moment his visitor had vanished, Pierson paced up and down the study, + with anger rising in his, heart. His daughter or his parish! The old saw, + “An Englishman's house is his castle!” was being attacked + within him. Must he not then harbour his own daughter, and help her by + candid atonement to regain her inward strength and peace? Was he not + thereby acting as a true Christian, in by far the hardest course he and + she could pursue? To go back on that decision and imperil his daughter's + spirit, or else resign his parish—the alternatives were brutal! This + was the centre of his world, the only spot where so lonely a man could + hope to feel even the semblance of home; a thousand little threads + tethered him to his church, his parishioners, and this house—for, to + live on here if he gave up his church was out of the question. But his + chief feeling was a bewildered anger that for doing what seemed to him his + duty, he should be attacked by his parishioners. + </p> + <p> + A passion of desire to know what they really thought and felt—these + parishioners of his, whom he had befriended, and for whom he had worked so + long—beset him now, and he went out. But the absurdity of his quest + struck him before he had gone the length of the Square. One could not go + to people and say: “Stand and deliver me your inmost judgments.” + And suddenly he was aware of how far away he really was from them. Through + all his ministrations had he ever come to know their hearts? And now, in + this dire necessity for knowledge, there seemed no way of getting it. He + went at random into a stationer's shop; the shopman sang bass in his + choir. They had met Sunday after Sunday for the last seven years. But + when, with this itch for intimate knowledge on him, he saw the man behind + the counter, it was as if he were looking on him for the first time. The + Russian proverb, “The heart of another is a dark forest,” + gashed into his mind, while he said: + </p> + <p> + “Well, Hodson, what news of your son?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing more, Mr. Pierson, thank you, sir, nothing more at present.” + </p> + <p> + And it seemed to Pierson, gazing at the man's face clothed in a short, + grizzling beard cut rather like his own, that he must be thinking: 'Ah! + sir, but what news of your daughter?' No one would ever tell him to his + face what he was thinking. And buying two pencils, he went out. On the + other side of the road was a bird-fancier's shop, kept by a woman whose + husband had been taken for the Army. She was not friendly towards him, for + it was known to her that he had expostulated with her husband for keeping + larks, and other wild birds. And quite deliberately he crossed the road, + and stood looking in at the window, with the morbid hope that from this + unfriendly one he might hear truth. She was in her shop, and came to the + door. + </p> + <p> + “Have you any news of your husband, Mrs. Cherry?” + </p> + <p> + “No, Mr. Pierson, I 'ave not; not this week.” + </p> + <p> + “He hasn't gone out yet?” + </p> + <p> + “No, Mr. Pierson; 'e 'as not.” + </p> + <p> + There was no expression on her face, perfectly blank it was—Pierson + had a mad longing to say 'For God's sake, woman, speak out what's in your + mind; tell me what you think of me and my daughter. Never mind my cloth!' + But he could no more say it than the woman could tell him what was in her + mind. And with a “Good morning” he passed on. No man or woman + would tell him anything, unless, perhaps, they were drunk. He came to a + public house, and for a moment even hesitated before it, but the thought + of insult aimed at Noel stopped him, and he passed that too. And then + reality made itself known to him. Though he had come out to hear what they + were thinking, he did not really want to hear it, could not endure it if + he did. He had been too long immune from criticism, too long in the + position of one who may tell others what he thinks of them. And standing + there in the crowded street, he was attacked by that longing for the + country which had always come on him when he was hard pressed. He looked + at his memoranda. By stupendous luck it was almost a blank day. An omnibus + passed close by which would take him far out. He climbed on to it, and + travelled as far as Hendon; then getting down, set forth on foot. It was + bright and hot, and the May blossom in full foam. He walked fast along the + perfectly straight road till he came to the top of Elstree Hill. There for + a few moments he stood gazing at the school chapel, the cricket-field, the + wide land beyond. All was very quiet, for it was lunch-time. A horse was + tethered there, and a strolling cat, as though struck by the tall black + incongruity of his figure, paused in her progress, then, slithering under + the wicket gate, arched her back and rubbed herself against his leg, + crinkling and waving the tip of her tail. Pierson bent down and stroked + the creature's head; but uttering a faint miaou, the cat stepped daintily + across the road, Pierson too stepped on, past the village, and down over + the stile, into a field path. At the edge of the young clover, under a + bank of hawthorn, he lay down on his back, with his hat beside him and his + arms crossed over his chest, like the effigy of some crusader one may see + carved on an old tomb. Though he lay quiet as that old knight, his eyes + were not closed, but fixed on the blue, where a lark was singing. Its song + refreshed his spirit; its passionate light-heartedness stirred all the + love of beauty in him, awoke revolt against a world so murderous and + uncharitable. Oh! to pass up with that song into a land of bright spirits, + where was nothing ugly, hard, merciless, and the gentle face of the + Saviour radiated everlasting love! The scent of the mayflowers, borne down + by the sun shine, drenched his senses; he closed his eyes, and, at once, + as if resenting that momentary escape, his mind resumed debate with + startling intensity. This matter went to the very well-springs, had a + terrible and secret significance. If to act as conscience bade him + rendered him unfit to keep his parish, all was built on sand, had no deep + reality, was but rooted in convention. Charity, and the forgiveness of + sins honestly atoned for—what became of them? Either he was wrong to + have espoused straightforward confession and atonement for her, or they + were wrong in chasing him from that espousal. There could be no making + those extremes to meet. But if he were wrong, having done the hardest + thing already—where could he turn? His Church stood bankrupt of + ideals. He felt as if pushed over the edge of the world, with feet on + space, and head in some blinding cloud. 'I cannot have been wrong,' he + thought; 'any other course was so much easier. I sacrificed my pride, and + my poor girl's pride; I would have loved to let her run away. If for this + we are to be stoned and cast forth, what living force is there in the + religion I have loved; what does it all come to? Have I served a sham? I + cannot and will not believe it. Something is wrong with me, something is + wrong—but where—what?' He rolled over, lay on his face, and + prayed. He prayed for guidance and deliverance from the gusts of anger + which kept sweeping over him; even more for relief from the feeling of + personal outrage, and the unfairness of this thing. He had striven to be + loyal to what he thought the right, had sacrificed all his sensitiveness, + all his secret fastidious pride in his child and himself. For that he was + to be thrown out! Whether through prayer, or in the scent and feel of the + clover, he found presently a certain rest. Away in the distance he could + see the spire of Harrow Church. + </p> + <p> + The Church! No! She was not, could not be, at fault. The fault was in + himself. 'I am unpractical,' he thought. 'It is so, I know. Agnes used to + say so, Bob and Thirza think so. They all think me unpractical and dreamy. + Is it a sin—I wonder?' There were lambs in the next field; he + watched their gambollings and his heart relaxed; brushing the clover dust + off his black clothes, he began to retrace his steps. The boys were + playing cricket now, and he stood a few minutes watching them. He had not + seen cricket played since the war began; it seemed almost otherworldly, + with the click of the bats, and the shrill young 'voices, under the + distant drone of that sky-hornet threshing along to Hendon. A boy made a + good leg hit. “Well played!” he called. Then, suddenly + conscious of his own incongruity and strangeness in that green spot, he + turned away on the road back to London. To resign; to await events; to + send Noel away—of those three courses, the last alone seemed + impossible. 'Am I really so far from them,' he thought, 'that they can + wish me to go, for this? If so, I had better go. It will be just another + failure. But I won't believe it yet; I can't believe it.' + </p> + <p> + The heat was sweltering, and he became very tired before at last he + reached his omnibus, and could sit with the breeze cooling his hot face. + He did not reach home till six, having eaten nothing since breakfast. + Intending to have a bath and lie down till dinner, he went upstairs. + </p> + <p> + Unwonted silence reigned. He tapped on the nursery door. It was deserted; + he passed through to Noel's room; but that too was empty. The wardrobe + stood open as if it had been hastily ransacked, and her dressing-table was + bare. In alarm he went to the bell and pulled it sharply. The + old-fashioned ring of it jingled out far below. The parlour-maid came up. + </p> + <p> + “Where are Miss Noel and Nurse, Susan?” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't know you were in, sir. Miss Noel left me this note to give + you. They—I—” + </p> + <p> + Pierson stopped her with his hand. “Thank you, Susan; get me some + tea, please.” With the note unopened in his hand, he waited till she + was gone. His head was going round, and he sat down on the side of Noel's + bed to read: + </p> + <p> + “DARLING DADDY, + </p> + <p> + “The man who came this morning told me of what is going to happen. I + simply won't have it. I'm sending Nurse and baby down to Kestrel at once, + and going to Leila's for the night, until I've made up my mind what to do. + I knew it was a mistake my coming back. I don't care what happens to me, + but I won't have you hurt. I think it's hateful of people to try and + injure you for my fault. I've had to borrow money from Susan—six + pounds. Oh! Daddy dear, forgive me. + </p> + <p> + “Your loving + </p> + <p> + “NOLLIE.” + </p> + <p> + He read it with unutterable relief; at all events he knew where she was—poor, + wilful, rushing, loving-hearted child; knew where she was, and could get + at her. After his bath and some tea, he would go to Leila's and bring her + back. Poor little Nollie, thinking that by just leaving his house she + could settle this deep matter! He did not hurry, feeling decidedly + exhausted, and it was nearly eight before he set out, leaving a message + for Gratian, who did not as a rule come in from her hospital till past + nine. + </p> + <p> + The day was still glowing, and now, in the cool of evening, his refreshed + senses soaked up its beauty. 'God has so made this world,' he thought, + 'that, no matter what our struggles and sufferings, it's ever a joy to + live when the sun shines, or the moon is bright, or the night starry. Even + we can't spoil it.' In Regent's Park the lilacs and laburnums were still + in bloom though June had come, and he gazed at them in passing, as a lover + might at his lady. His conscience pricked him suddenly. Mrs. Mitchett and + the dark-eyed girl she had brought to him on New Year's Eve, the very + night he had learned of his own daughter's tragedy—had he ever + thought of them since? How had that poor girl fared? He had been too + impatient of her impenetrable mood. What did he know of the hearts of + others, when he did not even know his own, could not rule his feelings of + anger and revolt, had not guided his own daughter into the waters of + safety! And Leila! Had he not been too censorious in thought? How + powerful, how strange was this instinct of sex, which hovered and swooped + on lives, seized them, bore them away, then dropped them exhausted and + defenceless! Some munition-wagons, painted a dull grey, lumbered past, + driven by sunburned youths in drab. Life-force, Death-force—was it + all one; the great unknowable momentum from which there was but the one + escape, in the arms of their Heavenly Father? Blake's little old stanzas + came into his mind: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “And we are put on earth a little space, + That we may learn to bear the beams of love; + And these black bodies and this sunburnt face + Are but a cloud, and like a shady grove. + + “For when our souls have learned the heat to bear, + The cloud will vanish, we shall hear His voice, + Saying: Come out from the grove, my love and care, + And round my golden tent like lambs rejoice!” + </pre> + <p> + Learned the heat to bear! Those lambs he had watched in a field that + afternoon, their sudden little leaps and rushes, their funny quivering + wriggling tails, their tiny nuzzling black snouts—what little + miracles of careless joy among the meadow flowers! Lambs, and flowers, and + sunlight! Famine, lust, and the great grey guns! A maze, a wilderness; and + but for faith, what issue, what path for man to take which did not keep + him wandering hopeless, in its thicket? 'God preserve our faith in love, + in charity, and the life to come!' he thought. And a blind man with a dog, + to whose neck was tied a little deep dish for pennies, ground a + hurdy-gurdy as he passed. Pierson put a shilling in the dish. The man + stopped playing, his whitish eyes looked up. “Thank you kindly, sir; + I'll go home now. Come on, Dick!” He tapped his way round the + corner, with his dog straining in front. A blackbird hidden among the + blossoms of an acacia, burst into evening song, and another great grey + munition-wagon rumbled out through the Park gate. 2 + </p> + <p> + The Church-clock was striking nine when he reached Leila's flat, went up, + and knocked. Sounds from-a piano ceased; the door was opened by Noel. She + recoiled when she saw who it was, and said: + </p> + <p> + “Why did you come, Daddy? It was much better not.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you alone here?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; Leila gave me her key. She has to be at the hospital till ten + to-night.” + </p> + <p> + “You must come home with me, my dear.” + </p> + <p> + Noel closed the piano, and sat down on the divan. Her face had the same + expression as when he had told her that she could not marry Cyril Morland. + </p> + <p> + “Come, Nollie,” he said; “don't be unreasonable. We must + see this through together.” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear, that's childish. Do you think the mere accident of your + being or not being at home can affect my decision as to what my duty is?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; it's my being there that matters. Those people don't care, so + long as it isn't an open scandal.” + </p> + <p> + “Nollie!” + </p> + <p> + “But it is so, Daddy. Of course it's so, and you know it. If I'm + away they'll just pity you for having a bad daughter. And quite right too. + I am a bad daughter.” + </p> + <p> + Pierson smiled. “Just like when you were a tiny.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish I were a tiny again, or ten years older. It's this half age—But + I'm not coming back with you, Daddy; so it's no good.” + </p> + <p> + Pierson sat down beside her. + </p> + <p> + “I've been thinking this over all day,” he said quietly. + “Perhaps in my pride I made a mistake when I first knew of your + trouble. Perhaps I ought to have accepted the consequences of my failure, + then, and have given up, and taken you away at once. After all, if a man + is not fit to have the care of souls, he should have the grace to know it.” + </p> + <p> + “But you are fit,” cried Noel passionately; “Daddy, you + are fit!” + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid not. There is something wanting in me, I don't know + exactly what; but something very wanting.” + </p> + <p> + “There isn't. It's only that you're too good—that's why!” + </p> + <p> + Pierson shook his head. “Don't, Nollie!” + </p> + <p> + “I will,” cried Noel. “You're too gentle, and you're too + good. You're charitable, and you're simple, and you believe in another + world; that's what's the matter with you, Daddy. Do you think they do, + those people who want to chase us out? They don't even begin to believe, + whatever they say or think. I hate them, and sometimes I hate the Church; + either it's hard and narrow, or else it's worldly.” She stopped at + the expression on her father's face, the most strange look of pain, and + horror, as if an unspoken treachery of his own had been dragged forth for + his inspection. + </p> + <p> + “You're talking wildly,” he said, but his lips were trembling. + “You mustn't say things like that; they're blasphemous and wicked.” + </p> + <p> + Noel bit her lips, sitting very stiff and still, against a high blue + cushion. Then she burst out again: + </p> + <p> + “You've slaved for those people years and years, and you've had no + pleasure and you've had no love; and they wouldn't care that if you broke + your heart. They don't care for anything, so long as it all seems proper. + Daddy, if you let them hurt you, I won't forgive you!” + </p> + <p> + “And what if you hurt me now, Nollie?” + </p> + <p> + Noel pressed his hand against her warm cheek. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no! Oh, no! I don't—I won't. Not again. I've done that + already.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, my dear! then come home with me, and we'll see what's + best to be done. It can't be settled by running away.” + </p> + <p> + Noel dropped his hand. “No. Twice I've done what you wanted, and + it's been a mistake. If I hadn't gone to Church on Sunday to please you, + perhaps it would never have come to this. You don't see things, Daddy. I + could tell, though I was sitting right in front. I knew what their faces + were like, and what they were thinking.” + </p> + <p> + “One must do right, Nollie, and not mind.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; but what is right? It's not right for me to hurt you, and I'm + not going to.” + </p> + <p> + Pierson understood all at once that it was useless to try and move her. + </p> + <p> + “What are you going to do, then?” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose I shall go to Kestrel to-morrow. Auntie will have me, I + know; I shall talk to Leila.” + </p> + <p> + “Whatever you do, promise to let me know.” + </p> + <p> + Noel nodded. + </p> + <p> + “Daddy, you—look awfully, awfully tired. I'm going to give you + some medicine.” She went to a little three-cornered cupboard, and + bent down. Medicine! The medicine he wanted was not for the body; + knowledge of what his duty was—that alone could heal him! + </p> + <p> + The loud popping of a cork roused him. “What are you doing, Nollie?” + </p> + <p> + Noel rose with a flushed face, holding in one hand a glass of champagne, + in the other a biscuit. + </p> + <p> + “You're to take this; and I'm going to have some myself.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear,” said Pierson bewildered; “it's not yours.” + </p> + <p> + “Drink it; Daddy! Don't you know that Leila would never forgive me + if I let you go home looking like that. Besides, she told me I was to eat. + Drink it. You can send her a nice present. Drink it!” And she + stamped her foot. + </p> + <p> + Pierson took the glass, and sat there nibbling and sipping. It was nice, + very! He had not quite realised how much he needed food and drink. Noel + returned from the cupboard a second time; she too had a glass and a + biscuit. + </p> + <p> + “There, you look better already. Now you're to go home at once, in a + cab if you can get one; and tell Gratian to make you feed up, or you won't + have a body at all; you can't do your duty if you haven't one, you know.” + </p> + <p> + Pierson smiled, and finished the champagne. + </p> + <p> + Noel took the glass from him. “You're my child to-night, and I'm + going to send you to bed. Don't worry, Daddy; it'll all come right.” + And, taking his arm, she went downstairs with him, and blew him a kiss + from the doorway. + </p> + <p> + He walked away in a sort of dream. Daylight was not quite gone, but the + moon was up, just past its full, and the search-lights had begun their + nightly wanderings. It was a sky of ghosts and shadows, fitting to the + thought which came to him. The finger of Providence was in all this, + perhaps! Why should he not go out to France! At last; why not? Some better + man, who understood men's hearts, who knew the world, would take his + place; and he could go where death made all things simple, and he could + not fail. He walked faster and faster, full of an intoxicating relief. + Thirza and Gratian would take care of Nollie far better than he. Yes, + surely it was ordained! Moonlight had the town now; and all was steel + blue, the very air steel-blue; a dream-city of marvellous beauty, through + which he passed, exalted. Soon he would be where that poor boy, and a + million others, had given their lives; with the mud and the shells and the + scarred grey ground, and the jagged trees, where Christ was daily + crucified—there where he had so often longed to be these three years + past. It was ordained! + </p> + <p> + And two women whom he met looked at each other when he had gone by, and + those words 'the blighted crow' which they had been about to speak, died + on their lips. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0031" id="link2H_4_0031"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VIII + </h2> + <p> + Noel felt light-hearted too, as if she had won a victory. She found some + potted meat, spread it on another biscuit, ate it greedily, and finished + the pint bottle of champagne. Then she hunted for the cigarettes, and sat + down at the piano. She played old tunes—“There is a Tavern in + the Town,” “Once I Loved a Maiden Fair,” “Mowing + the Barley,” “Clementine,” “Lowlands,” and + sang to them such words as she remembered. There was a delicious running + in her veins, and once she got up and danced. She was kneeling at the + window, looking out, when she heard the door open, and without getting up, + cried out: + </p> + <p> + “Isn't it a gorgeous night! I've had Daddy here. I gave him some of + your champagne, and drank the rest—” then was conscious of a + figure far too tall for Leila, and a man's voice saying: + </p> + <p> + “I'm awfully sorry. It's only I, Jimmy Fort.” + </p> + <p> + Noel scrambled up. “Leila isn't in; but she will be directly—it's + past ten.” + </p> + <p> + He was standing stock-still in the middle of the room. + </p> + <p> + “Won't you sit down? Oh! and won't you have a cigarette?” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks.” + </p> + <p> + By the flash of his briquette she saw his face clearly; the look on it + filled her with a sort of malicious glee. + </p> + <p> + “I'm going now,” she said. “Would you mind telling Leila + that I found I couldn't stop?” She made towards the divan to get her + hat. When she had put it on, she found him standing just in front of her. + </p> + <p> + “Noel-if you don't mind me calling you that?” + </p> + <p> + “Not a bit.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't go; I'm going myself.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no! Not for worlds.” She tried to slip past, but he took + hold of her wrist. + </p> + <p> + “Please; just one minute!” + </p> + <p> + Noel stayed motionless, looking at him, while his hand still held her + wrist. He said quietly: + </p> + <p> + “Do you mind telling me why you came here?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, just to see Leila.” + </p> + <p> + “Things have come to a head at home, haven't they?” + </p> + <p> + Noel shrugged her shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “You came for refuge, didn't you?” + </p> + <p> + “From whom?” + </p> + <p> + “Don't be angry; from the need of hurting your father.” + </p> + <p> + She nodded. + </p> + <p> + “I knew it would come to that. What are you going to do?” + </p> + <p> + “Enjoy myself.” She was saying something fatuous, yet she + meant it. + </p> + <p> + “That's absurd. Don't be angry! You're quite right. Only, you must + begin at the right end, mustn't you? Sit down!” + </p> + <p> + Noel tried to free her wrist. + </p> + <p> + “No; sit down, please.” + </p> + <p> + Noel sat down; but as he loosed her wrist, she laughed. This was where he + sat with Leila, where they would sit when she was gone. “It's + awfully funny, isn't it?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Funny?” he muttered savagely. “Most things are, in this + funny world.” + </p> + <p> + The sound of a taxi stopping not far off had come to her ears, and she + gathered her feet under her, planting them firmly. If she sprang up, could + she slip by him before he caught her arm again, and get that taxi? + </p> + <p> + “If I go now,” he said, “will you promise me to stop + till you've seen Leila?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “That's foolish. Come, promise!” + </p> + <p> + Noel shook her head. She felt a perverse pleasure at his embarrassment. + </p> + <p> + “Leila's lucky, isn't she? No children, no husband, no father, no + anything. Lovely!” + </p> + <p> + She saw his arm go up as if to ward off a blow. “Poor Leila!” + he said. + </p> + <p> + “Why are you sorry for her? She has freedom! And she has you!” + </p> + <p> + She knew it would hurt; but she wanted to hurt him. + </p> + <p> + “You needn't envy her for that.” + </p> + <p> + He had just spoken, when Noel saw a figure over by the door. + </p> + <p> + She jumped up, and said breathlessly: + </p> + <p> + “Oh, here you are, Leila! Father's been here, and we've had some of + your champagne!” + </p> + <p> + “Capital! You are in the dark!” + </p> + <p> + Noel felt the blood rush into her cheeks. The light leaped up, and Leila + came forward. She looked extremely pale, calm, and self-contained, in her + nurse's dress; her full lips were tightly pressed together, but Noel could + see her breast heaving violently. A turmoil of shame and wounded pride + began raging in the girl. Why had she not flown long ago? Why had she let + herself be trapped like this? Leila would think she had been making up to + him! Horrible! Disgusting! Why didn't he—why didn't some one, speak? + Then Leila said: + </p> + <p> + “I didn't expect you, Jimmy; I'm glad you haven't been dull. Noel is + staying here to-night. Give me a cigarette. Sit down, both of you. I'm + awfully tired!” + </p> + <p> + She sank into a chair, leaning back, with her knees crossed; and at that + moment Noel admired her. She had said it beautifully; she looked so calm. + Fort was lighting her cigarette; his hand was shaking, his face all sorry + and mortified. + </p> + <p> + “Give Noel one, too, and draw the curtains, Jimmy. Quick! Not that + it makes any difference; it's as light as day. Sit down, dear.” + </p> + <p> + But Noel remained standing. + </p> + <p> + “What have you been talking of? Love and Chinese lanterns, or only + me?” + </p> + <p> + At those words Fort, who was drawing the last curtain, turned round; his + tall figure was poised awkwardly against the wall, his face, unsuited to + diplomacy, had a look as of flesh being beaten. If weals had started up + across it, Noel would not have been surprised. + </p> + <p> + He said with painful slowness: + </p> + <p> + “I don't exactly know; we had hardly begun, had we?” + </p> + <p> + “The night is young,” said Leila. “Go on while I just + take off my things.” + </p> + <p> + She rose with the cigarette between her lips, and went into the inner + room. In passing, she gave Noel a look. What there was in that look, the + girl could never make clear even to herself. Perhaps a creature shot would + gaze like that, with a sort of profound and distant questioning, reproach, + and anger, with a sort of pride, and the quiver of death. As the door + closed, Fort came right across the room. + </p> + <p> + “Go to her;” cried Noel; “she wants you. Can't you see, + she wants you?” + </p> + <p> + And before he could move, she was at the door. She flew downstairs, and + out into the moonlight. The taxi, a little way off, was just beginning to + move away; she ran towards it, calling out: + </p> + <p> + “Anywhere! Piccadilly!” and jumping in, blotted herself + against the cushions in the far corner. + </p> + <p> + She did not come to herself, as it were, for several minutes, and then + feeling she 'could no longer bear the cab, stopped it, and got out. Where + was she? Bond Street! She began, idly, wandering down its narrow length; + the fullest street by day, the emptiest by night. Oh! it had been + horrible! Nothing said by any of them—nothing, and yet everything + dragged out—of him, of Leila, of herself! She seemed to have no + pride or decency left, as if she had been caught stealing. All her happy + exhilaration was gone, leaving a miserable recklessness. Nothing she did + was right, nothing turned out well, so what did it all matter? The + moonlight flooding down between the tall houses gave her a peculiar heady + feeling. “Fey” her father had called her. She laughed. 'But + I'm not going home,' she thought. Bored with the street's length; she + turned off, and was suddenly in Hanover Square. There was the Church, + grey-white, where she had been bridesmaid to a second cousin, when she was + fifteen. She seemed to see it all again—her frock, the lilies in her + hand, the surplices of the choir, the bride's dress, all + moonlight-coloured, and unreal. 'I wonder what's become of her!' she + thought. 'He's dead, I expect, like Cyril!' She saw her father's face as + he was marrying them, heard his voice: “For better, for worse, for + richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, till death do you part.” + And the moonlight on the Church seemed to shift and quiver-some pigeons + perhaps had been disturbed up there. Then instead of that wedding vision, + she saw Monsieur Barra, sitting on his chair, gazing at the floor, and + Chica nursing her doll. “All mad, mademoiselle, a little mad. + Millions of men with white souls, but all a little tiny bit mad, you know.” + Then Leila's face came before her, with that look in her eyes. She felt + again the hot clasp of Fort's fingers on her wrist, and walked on, rubbing + it with the other hand. She turned into Regent Street. The wide curve of + the Quadrant swept into a sky of unreal blue, and the orange-shaded lamps + merely added to the unreality. 'Love and Chinese lanterns! I should like + some coffee,' she thought suddenly. She was quite close to the place where + Lavendie had taken her. Should she go in there? Why not? She must go + somewhere. She turned into the revolving cage of glass. But no sooner was + she imprisoned there than in a flash Lavendie's face of disgust; and the + red-lipped women, the green stuff that smelled of peppermint came back, + filling her with a rush of dismay. She made the full circle in the + revolving cage; and came out into the street again with a laugh. A tall + young man in khaki stood there: “Hallo!” he said. “Come + in and dance!” She started, recoiled from him and began to walk away + as fast as ever she could. She passed a woman whose eyes seemed to scorch + her. A woman like a swift vision of ruin with those eyes, and thickly + powdered cheeks, and loose red mouth. Noel shuddered and fled along, + feeling that her only safety lay in speed. But she could not walk about + all night. There would be no train for Kestrel till the morning—and + did she really want to go there, and eat her heart out? Suddenly she + thought of George. Why should she not go down to him? He would know what + was best for her to do. At the foot of the steps below the Waterloo Column + she stood still. All was quiet there and empty, the great buildings + whitened, the trees blurred and blue; and sweeter air was coming across + their flowering tops. The queer “fey” moony sensation was + still with her; so that she felt small and light, as if she could have + floated through a ring. Faint rims of light showed round the windows of + the Admiralty. The war! However lovely the night, however sweet the lilac + smelt-that never stopped! She turned away and passed out under the arch, + making for the station. The train of the wounded had just come in, and she + stood in the cheering crowd watching the ambulances run out. Tears of + excited emotion filled her eyes, and trickled down. Steady, smooth, grey, + one after the other they came gliding, with a little burst of cheers + greeting each one. All were gone now, and she could pass in. She went to + the buffet and got a large cup of coffee, and a bun. Then, having noted + the time of her early morning train, she sought the ladies' waiting-room, + and sitting down in a corner, took out her purse and counted her money. + Two pounds fifteen-enough to go to the hotel, if she liked. But, without + luggage—it was so conspicuous, and she could sleep in this corner + all right, if she wanted. What did girls do who had no money, and no + friends to go to? Tucked away in the corner of that empty, heavy, + varnished room, she seemed to see the cruelty and hardness of life as she + had never before seen it, not even when facing her confinement. How lucky + she had been, and was! Everyone was good to her. She had no real want or + dangers, to face. But, for women—yes, and men too—who had no + one to fall back on, nothing but their own hands and health and luck, it + must be awful. That girl whose eyes had scorched her—perhaps she had + no one—nothing. And people who were born ill, and the millions of + poor women, like those whom she had gone visiting with Gratian sometimes + in the poorer streets of her father's parish—for the first time she + seemed to really know and feel the sort of lives they led. And then, + Leila's face came back to her once more—Leila whom she had robbed. + And the worst of it was, that, alongside her remorseful sympathy, she felt + a sort of satisfaction. She could not help his not loving Leila, she could + not help it if he loved herself! And he did—she knew it! To feel + that anyone loved her was so comforting. But it was all awful! And she—the + cause of it! And yet—she had never done or said anything to attract + him. No! She could not have helped it. + </p> + <p> + She had begun to feel drowsy, and closed her eyes. And gradually there + came on her a cosey sensation, as if she were leaning up against someone + with her head tucked in against his shoulder, as she had so often leaned + as a child against her father, coming back from some long darkening drive + in Wales or Scotland. She seemed even to feel the wet soft Westerly air on + her face and eyelids, and to sniff the scent of a frieze coat; to hear the + jog of hoofs and the rolling of the wheels; to feel the closing in of the + darkness. Then, so dimly and drowsily, she seemed to know that it was not + her father, but someone—someone—then no more, no more at all. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0032" id="link2H_4_0032"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IX + </h2> + <p> + She was awakened by the scream of an engine, and looked around her amazed. + Her neck had fallen sideways while she slept, and felt horridly stiff; her + head ached, and she was shivering. She saw by the clock that it was past + five. 'If only I could get some tea!' she thought. 'Anyway I won't stay + here any longer!' When she had washed, and rubbed some of the stiffness + out of her neck, the tea renewed her sense of adventure wonderfully. Her + train did not start for an hour; she had time for a walk, to warm herself, + and went down to the river. There was an early haze, and all looked a + little mysterious; but people were already passing on their way to work. + She walked along, looking at the water flowing up under the bright mist to + which the gulls gave a sort of hovering life. She went as far as + Blackfriars Bridge, and turning back, sat down on a bench under a + plane-tree, just as the sun broke through. A little pasty woman with a + pinched yellowish face was already sitting there, so still, and seeming to + see so little, that Noel wondered of what she could be thinking. While she + watched, the woman's face began puckering, and tears rolled slowly, down, + trickling from pucker to pucker, till, summoning up her courage, Noel + sidled nearer, and said: + </p> + <p> + “Oh! What's the matter?” + </p> + <p> + The tears seemed to stop from sheer surprise; little grey eyes gazed + round, patient little eyes from above an almost bridgeless nose. + </p> + <p> + “I'ad a baby. It's dead.... its father's dead in France.... I was + goin' in the water, but I didn't like the look of it, and now I never + will.” + </p> + <p> + That “Now I never will,” moved Noel terribly. She slid her arm + along the back of the bench and clasped the skinniest of shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “Don't cry!” + </p> + <p> + “It was my first. I'm thirty-eight. I'll never 'ave another. Oh! Why + didn't I go in the water?” + </p> + <p> + The face puckered again, and the squeezed-out tears ran down. 'Of course + she must cry,' thought Noel; 'cry and cry till it feels better.' And she + stroked the shoulder of the little woman, whose emotion was disengaging + the scent of old clothes. + </p> + <p> + “The father of my baby was killed in France, too,” she said at + last. The little sad grey eyes looked curiously round. + </p> + <p> + “Was 'e? 'Ave you got your baby still?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, oh, yes!” + </p> + <p> + “I'm glad of that. It 'urts so bad, it does. I'd rather lose me + 'usband than me baby, any day.” The sun was shining now on a cheek + of that terribly patient face; its brightness seemed cruel perching there. + </p> + <p> + “Can I do anything to help you?” Noel murmured. + </p> + <p> + “No, thank you, miss. I'm goin' 'ome now. I don't live far. Thank + you kindly.” And raising her eyes for one more of those + half-bewildered looks, she moved away along the Embankment wall. When she + was out of sight, Noel walked back to the station. The train was in, and + she took her seat. She had three fellow passengers, all in khaki; very + silent and moody, as men are when they have to get up early. One was tall, + dark, and perhaps thirty-five; the second small, and about fifty, with + cropped, scanty grey hair; the third was of medium height and quite + sixty-five, with a long row of little coloured patches on his tunic, and a + bald, narrow, well-shaped head, grey hair brushed back at the sides, and + the thin, collected features and drooping moustache of the old school. It + was at him that Noel looked. When he glanced out of the window, or + otherwise retired within himself, she liked his face; but when he turned + to the ticket-collector or spoke to the others, she did not like it half + so much. It was as if the old fellow had two selves, one of which he used + when alone, the other in which he dressed every morning to meet the world. + They had begun to talk about some Tribunal on which they had to sit. Noel + did not listen, but a word or two carried to her now and then. + </p> + <p> + “How many to-day?” she heard the old fellow ask, and the + little cropped man answering: “Hundred and fourteen.” + </p> + <p> + Fresh from the sight of the poor little shabby woman and her grief, she + could not help a sort of shrinking from that trim old soldier, with his + thin, regular face, who held the fate of a “Hundred and fourteen” + in his firm, narrow grasp, perhaps every day. Would he understand their + troubles or wants? Of course he wouldn't! Then, she saw him looking at her + critically with his keen eyes. If he had known her secret, he would be + thinking: 'A lady and act like that! Oh, no! Quite-quite out of the + question!' And she felt as if she could, sink under the seat with shame. + But no doubt he was only thinking: 'Very young to be travelling by herself + at this hour of the morning. Pretty too!' If he knew the real truth of her—how + he would stare! But why should this utter stranger, this old + disciplinarian, by a casual glance, by the mere form of his face, make her + feel more guilty and ashamed than she had yet felt? That puzzled her. He + was, must be, a narrow, conventional old man; but he had this power to + make her feel ashamed, because she felt that he had faith in his gods, and + was true to them; because she knew he would die sooner than depart from + his creed of conduct. She turned to the window, biting her lips-angry and + despairing. She would never—never get used to her position; it was + no good! And again she had the longing of her dream, to tuck her face away + into that coat, smell the scent of the frieze, snuggle in, be protected, + and forget. 'If I had been that poor lonely little woman,' she thought, + 'and had lost everything, I should have gone into the water. I should have + rushed and jumped. It's only luck that I'm alive. I won't look at that old + man again: then I shan't feel so bad.' + </p> + <p> + She had bought some chocolate at the station, and nibbled it, gazing + steadily at the fields covered with daisies and the first of the + buttercups and cowslips. The three soldiers were talking now in carefully + lowered voices. The words: “women,” “under control,” + “perfect plague,” came to her, making her ears burn. In the + hypersensitive mood caused by the strain of yesterday, her broken night, + and the emotional meeting with the little woman, she felt as if they were + including her among those “women.” 'If we stop, I'll get out,' + she thought. But when the train did stop it was they who got out. She felt + the old General's keen veiled glance sum her up for the last time, and + looked full at him just for a moment. He touched his cap, and said: + “Will you have the window up or down?” and lingered to draw it + half-way up.' His punctiliousness made her feel worse than ever. When the + train had started again she roamed up and down her empty carriage; there + was no more a way out of her position than out of this rolling cushioned + carriage! And then she seemed to hear Fort's voice saying: 'Sit down, + please!' and to feel his fingers clasp her wrist, Oh! he was nice and + comforting; he would never reproach or remind her! And now, probably, she + would never see him again. + </p> + <p> + The train drew up at last. She did not know where George lodged, and would + have to go to his hospital. She planned to get there at half past nine, + and having eaten a sort of breakfast at the station, went forth into the + town. The seaside was still wrapped in the early glamour which haunts + chalk of a bright morning. But the streets were very much alive. Here was + real business of the war. She passed houses which had been wrecked. Trucks + clanged and shunted, great lorries rumbled smoothly by. Sea—and + Air-planes were moving like great birds far up in the bright haze, and + khaki was everywhere. But it was the sea Noel wanted. She made her way + westward to a little beach; and, sitting down on a stone, opened her arms + to catch the sun on her face and chest. The tide was nearly up, with the + wavelets of a blue bright sea. The great fact, the greatest fact in the + world, except the sun; vast and free, making everything human seem small + and transitory! It did her good, like a tranquillising friend. The sea + might be cruel and terrible, awful things it could do, and awful things + were being done on it; but its wide level line, its never-ending song, its + sane savour, were the best medicine she could possibly have taken. She + rubbed the Shelly sand between her fingers in absurd ecstasy; took off her + shoes and stockings, paddled, and sat drying her legs in the sun. + </p> + <p> + When she left the little beach, she felt as if someone had said to her: + </p> + <p> + 'Your troubles are very little. There's the sun, the sea, the air; enjoy + them. They can't take those from you.' + </p> + <p> + At the hospital she had to wait half an hour in a little bare room before + George came. + </p> + <p> + “Nollie! Splendid. I've got an hour. Let's get out of this cemetery. + We'll have time for a good stretch on the tops. Jolly of you to have come + to me. Tell us all about it.” + </p> + <p> + When she had finished, he squeezed her arm. 348 + </p> + <p> + “I knew it wouldn't do. Your Dad forgot that he's a public figure, + and must expect to be damned accordingly. But though you've cut and run, + he'll resign all the same, Nollie.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no!” cried Noel. + </p> + <p> + George shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he'll resign, you'll see, he's got no worldly sense; not a + grain.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I shall have spoiled his life, just as if—oh, no!” + </p> + <p> + “Let's sit down here. I must be back at eleven.” + </p> + <p> + They sat down on a bench, where the green cliff stretched out before them, + over a sea quite clear of haze, far down and very blue. + </p> + <p> + “Why should he resign,” cried Noel again, “now that I've + gone? He'll be lost without it all.” + </p> + <p> + George smiled. + </p> + <p> + “Found, my dear. He'll be where he ought to be, Nollie, where the + Church is, and the Churchmen are not—in the air!” + </p> + <p> + “Don't!” cried Noel passionately. + </p> + <p> + “No, no, I'm not chaffing. There's no room on earth for saints in + authority. There's use for a saintly symbol, even if one doesn't hold with + it, but there's no mortal use for those who try to have things both ways—to + be saints and seers of visions, and yet to come the practical and worldly + and rule ordinary men's lives. Saintly example yes; but not saintly + governance. You've been his deliverance, Nollie.” + </p> + <p> + “But Daddy loves his Church.” + </p> + <p> + George frowned. “Of course, it'll be a wrench. A man's bound to have + a cosey feeling about a place where he's been boss so long; and there is + something about a Church—the drone, the scent, the half darkness; + there's beauty in it, it's a pleasant drug. But he's not being asked to + give up the drug habit; only to stop administering drugs to others. Don't + worry, Nollie; I don't believe that's ever suited him, it wants a thicker + skin than he's got.” + </p> + <p> + “But all the people he helps?” + </p> + <p> + “No reason he shouldn't go on helping people, is there?” + </p> + <p> + “But to go on living there, without—Mother died there, you + know!” + </p> + <p> + George grunted. “Dreams, Nollie, all round him; of the past and the + future, of what people are and what he can do with them. I never see him + without a skirmish, as you know, and yet I'm fond of him. But I should be + twice as fond, and half as likely to skirmish, if he'd drop the habits of + authority. Then I believe he'd have some real influence over me; there's + something beautiful about him, I know that quite well.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” murmured Noel fervently. + </p> + <p> + “He's such a queer mixture,” mused George. “Clean out of + his age; chalks above most of the parsons in a spiritual sense and chalks + below most of them in the worldly. And yet I believe he's in the right of + it. The Church ought to be a forlorn hope, Nollie; then we should believe + in it. Instead of that, it's a sort of business that no one can take too + seriously. You see, the Church spiritual can't make good in this age—has + no chance of making good, and so in the main it's given it up for vested + interests and social influence. Your father is a symbol of what the Church + is not. But what about you, my dear? There's a room at my boarding-house, + and only one old lady besides myself, who knits all the time. If Grace can + get shifted we'll find a house, and you can have the baby. They'll send + your luggage on from Paddington if you write; and in the meantime Gracie's + got some things here that you can have.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll have to send a wire to Daddy.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll do that. You come to my diggings at half past one, and I'll + settle you in. Until then, you'd better stay up here.” + </p> + <p> + When he had gone she roamed a little farther, and lay down on the short + grass, where the chalk broke through in patches. She could hear a distant + rumbling, very low, travelling in that grass, the long mutter of the + Flanders guns. 'I wonder if it's as beautiful a day there,' she thought. + 'How dreadful to see no green, no butterflies, no flowers-not even sky-for + the dust of the shells. Oh! won't it ever, ever end?' And a sort of + passion for the earth welled up in her, the warm grassy earth along which + she lay, pressed so close that she could feel it with every inch of her + body, and the soft spikes of the grass against her nose and lips. An + aching sweetness tortured her, she wanted the earth to close its arms + about her, she wanted the answer to her embrace of it. She was alive, and + wanted love. Not death—not loneliness—not death! And out + there, where the guns muttered, millions of men would be thinking that + same thought! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0033" id="link2H_4_0033"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + X + </h2> + <p> + Pierson had passed nearly the whole night with the relics of his past, the + records of his stewardship, the tokens of his short married life. The idea + which had possessed him walking home in the moonlight sustained him in + that melancholy task of docketing and destruction. There was not nearly so + much to do as one would have supposed, for, with all his dreaminess, he + had been oddly neat and businesslike in all parish matters. But a hundred + times that night he stopped, overcome by memories. Every corner, drawer, + photograph, paper was a thread in the long-spun web of his life in this + house. Some phase of his work, some vision of his wife or daughters + started forth from each bit of furniture, picture, doorway. Noiseless, in + his slippers, he stole up and down between the study, diningroom, + drawing-room, and anyone seeing him at his work in the dim light which + visited the staircase from above the front door and the upper-passage + window, would have thought: 'A ghost, a ghost gone into mourning for the + condition of the world.' He had to make this reckoning to-night, while the + exaltation of his new idea was on him; had to rummage out the very depths + of old association, so that once for all he might know whether he had + strength to close the door on the past. Five o'clock struck before he had + finished, and, almost dropping from fatigue, sat down at his little piano + in bright daylight. The last memory to beset him was the first of all; his + honeymoon, before they came back to live in this house, already chosen, + furnished, and waiting for them. They had spent it in Germany—the + first days in Baden-baden, and each morning had been awakened by a Chorale + played down in the gardens of the Kurhaus, a gentle, beautiful tune, to + remind them that they were in heaven. And softly, so softly that the tunes + seemed to be but dreams he began playing those old Chorales, one after + another, so that the stilly sounds floated out, through the opened window, + puzzling the early birds and cats and those few humans who were abroad as + yet..... + </p> + <p> + He received the telegram from Noel in the afternoon of the same day, just + as he was about to set out for Leila's to get news of her; and close on + the top of it came Lavendie. He found the painter standing disconsolate in + front of his picture. + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle has deserted me?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid we shall all desert you soon, monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + “You are going?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I am leaving here. I hope to go to France.” + </p> + <p> + “And mademoiselle?” + </p> + <p> + “She is at the sea with my son-in-law.” + </p> + <p> + The painter ran his hands through his hair, but stopped them half-way, as + if aware that he was being guilty of ill-breeding. + </p> + <p> + “Mon dieu!” he said: “Is this not a calamity for you, + monsieur le cure?” But his sense of the calamity was so patently + limited to his unfinished picture that Pierson could not help a smile. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, monsieur!” said the painter, on whom nothing was lost. + “Comme je suis egoiste! I show my feelings; it is deplorable. My + disappointment must seem a bagatelle to you, who will be so distressed at + leaving your old home. This must be a time of great trouble. Believe me; I + understand. But to sympathise with a grief which is not shown would be an + impertinence, would it not? You English gentlefolk do not let us share + your griefs; you keep them to yourselves.” + </p> + <p> + Pierson stared. “True,” he said. “Quite true!” + </p> + <p> + “I am no judge of Christianity, monsieur, but for us artists the + doors of the human heart stand open, our own and others. I suppose we have + no pride—c'est tres-indelicat. Tell me, monsieur, you would not + think it worthy of you to speak to me of your troubles, would you, as I + have spoken of mine?” + </p> + <p> + Pierson bowed his head, abashed. + </p> + <p> + “You preach of universal charity and love,” went on Lavendie; + “but how can there be that when you teach also secretly the keeping + of your troubles to yourselves? Man responds to example, not to teaching; + you set the example of the stranger, not the brother. You expect from + others what you do not give. Frankly, monsieur, do you not feel that with + every revelation of your soul and feelings, virtue goes out of you? And I + will tell you why, if you will not think it an offence. In opening your + hearts you feel that you lose authority. You are officers, and must never + forget that. Is it not so?” + </p> + <p> + Pierson grew red. “I hope there is another feeling too. I think we + feel that to speak of our sufferings or, deeper feelings is to obtrude + oneself, to make a fuss, to be self-concerned, when we might be concerned + with others.” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur, au fond we are all concerned with self. To seem selfless + is but your particular way of cultivating the perfection of self. You + admit that not to obtrude self is the way to perfect yourself. Eh bien! + What is that but a deeper concern with self? To be free of this, there is + no way but to forget all about oneself in what one is doing, as I forget + everything when I am painting. But,” he added, with a sudden smile, + “you would not wish to forget the perfecting of self—it would + not be right in your profession. So I must take away this picture, must I + not? It is one of my best works: I regret much not to have finished it.” + </p> + <p> + “Some day, perhaps—” + </p> + <p> + “Some day! The picture will stand still, but mademoiselle will not. + She will rush at something, and behold! this face will be gone. No; I + prefer to keep it as it is. It has truth now.” And lifting down the + canvas, he stood it against the wall and folded up the easel. “Bon + soir, monsieur, you have been very good to me.” He wrung Pierson's + hand; and his face for a moment seemed all eyes and spirit. “Adieu!” + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye,” Pierson murmured. “God bless you!” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know if I have great confidence in Him,” replied + Lavendie, “but I shall ever remember that so good a man as you has + wished it. To mademoiselle my distinguished salutations, if you please. If + you will permit me, I will come back for my other things to-morrow.” + And carrying easel and canvas, he departed. + </p> + <p> + Pierson stayed in the old drawing-room, waiting for Gratian to come in, + and thinking over the painter's words. Had his education and position + really made it impossible for him to be brotherly? Was this the secret of + the impotence which he sometimes felt; the reason why charity and love + were not more alive in the hearts of his congregation? 'God knows I've no + consciousness of having felt myself superior,' he thought; 'and yet I + would be truly ashamed to tell people of my troubles and of my struggles. + Can it be that Christ, if he were on earth, would count us Pharisees, + believing ourselves not as other men? But surely it is not as Christians + but rather as gentlemen that we keep ourselves to ourselves. Officers, he + called us. I fear—I fear it is true.' Ah, well! There would not be + many more days now. He would learn out there how to open the hearts of + others, and his own. Suffering and death levelled all barriers, made all + men brothers. He was still sitting there when Gratian came in; and taking + her hand, he said: + </p> + <p> + “Noel has gone down to George, and I want you to get transferred and + go to them, Gracie. I'm giving up the parish and asking for a chaplaincy.” + </p> + <p> + “Giving up? After all this time? Is it because of Nollie?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I think not; I think the time has come. I feel my work here is + barren.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no! And even if it is, it's only because—” + </p> + <p> + Pierson smiled. “Because of what, Gracie?” + </p> + <p> + “Dad, it's what I've felt in myself. We want to think and decide + things for ourselves, we want to own our consciences, we can't take things + at second-hand any longer.” + </p> + <p> + Pierson's face darkened. “Ah!” he said, “to have lost + faith is a grievous thing.” + </p> + <p> + “We're gaining charity,” cried Gratian. + </p> + <p> + “The two things are not opposed, my dear.” + </p> + <p> + “Not in theory; but in practice I think they often are. Oh, Dad! you + look so tired. Have you really made up your mind? Won't you feel lost?” + </p> + <p> + “For a little. I shall find myself, out there.” + </p> + <p> + But the look on his face was too much for Gratian's composure, and she + turned away. + </p> + <p> + Pierson went down to his study to write his letter of resignation. Sitting + before that blank sheet of paper, he realised to the full how strongly he + had resented the public condemnation passed on his own flesh and blood, + how much his action was the expression of a purely mundane championship of + his daughter; of a mundane mortification. 'Pride,' he thought. 'Ought I to + stay and conquer it?' Twice he set his pen down, twice took it up again. + He could not conquer it. To stay where he was not wanted, on a sort of + sufferance—never! And while he sat before that empty sheet of paper + he tried to do the hardest thing a man can do—to see himself as + others see him; and met with such success as one might expect—harking + at once to the verdicts, not of others at all, but of his own conscience; + and coming soon to that perpetual gnawing sense which had possessed him + ever since the war began, that it was his duty to be dead. This feeling + that to be alive was unworthy of him when so many of his flock had made + the last sacrifice, was reinforced by his domestic tragedy and the bitter + disillusionment it had brought. A sense of having lost caste weighed on + him, while he sat there with his past receding from him, dusty and unreal. + He had the queerest feeling of his old life falling from him, dropping + round his feet like the outworn scales of a serpent, rung after rung of + tasks and duties performed day after day, year after year. Had they ever + been quite real? Well, he had shed them now, and was to move out into life + illumined by the great reality-death! And taking up his pen, he wrote his + resignation. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0034" id="link2H_4_0034"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XI + </h2> + <h3> + 1 + </h3> + <p> + The last Sunday, sunny and bright! Though he did not ask her to go, + Gratian went to every Service that day. And the sight of her, after this + long interval, in their old pew, where once he had been wont to see his + wife's face, and draw refreshment therefrom, affected Pierson more than + anything else. He had told no one of his coming departure, shrinking from + the falsity and suppression which must underlie every allusion and + expression of regret. In the last minute of his last sermon he would tell + them! He went through the day in a sort of dream. Truly proud and + sensitive, under this social blight, he shrank from all alike, made no + attempt to single out supporters or adherents from those who had fallen + away. He knew there would be some, perhaps many, seriously grieved that he + was going; but to try and realise who they were, to weigh them in the + scales against the rest and so forth, was quite against his nature. It was + all or nothing. But when for the last time of all those hundreds, he + mounted the steps of his dark pulpit, he showed no trace of finality, did + not perhaps even feel it yet. For so beautiful a summer evening the + congregation was large. In spite of all reticence, rumour was busy and + curiosity still rife. The writers of the letters, anonymous and otherwise, + had spent a week, not indeed in proclaiming what they had done, but in + justifying to themselves the secret fact that they had done it. And this + was best achieved by speaking to their neighbours of the serious and + awkward situation of the poor Vicar. The result was visible in a better + attendance than had been seen since summer-time began. + </p> + <p> + Pierson had never been a great preacher, his voice lacked resonance and + pliancy, his thought breadth and buoyancy, and he was not free from, the + sing-song which mars the utterance of many who have to speak + professionally. But he always made an impression of goodness and + sincerity. On this last Sunday evening he preached again the first sermon + he had ever preached from that pulpit, fresh from the honeymoon with his + young wife. “Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of + these.” It lacked now the happy fervour of that most happy of all + his days, yet gained poignancy, coming from so worn a face and voice. + Gratian, who knew that he was going to end with his farewell, was in a + choke of emotion long before he came to it. She sat winking away her + tears, and not till he paused, for so long that she thought his strength + had failed, did she look up. He was leaning a little forward, seeming to + see nothing; but his hands, grasping the pulpit's edge, were quivering. + There was deep silence in the Church, for the look of his face and figure + was strange, even to Gratian. When his lips parted again to speak, a mist + covered her eyes, and she lost sight of him. + </p> + <p> + “Friends, I am leaving you; these are the last words I shall ever + speak in this place. I go to other work. You have been very good to me. + God has been very good to me. I pray with my whole heart that He may bless + you all. Amen! Amen!” + </p> + <p> + The mist cleared into tears, and she could see him again gazing down at + her. Was it at her? He was surely seeing something—some vision + sweeter than reality, something he loved more dearly. She fell on her + knees, and buried her face in her hand. All through the hymn she knelt, + and through his clear slow Benediction: “The peace of God, which + passeth all understanding, keep your hearts and minds in the knowledge and + love of God, and of his Son Jesus Christ our Lord; and the blessing of God + Almighty, the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, be amongst you and + remain with you always.” And still she knelt on; till she was alone + in the Church. Then she rose and stole home. He did not come in; she did + not expect him. 'It's over,' she kept thinking; 'all over. My beloved + Daddy! Now he has no home; Nollie and I have pulled him down. And yet I + couldn't help it, and perhaps she couldn't. Poor Nollie!...' + </p> + <p> + 2 + </p> + <p> + Pierson had stayed in the vestry, talking with his choir and wardens; + there was no hitch, for his resignation had been accepted, and he had + arranged with a friend to carry on till the new Vicar was appointed. When + they were gone he went back into the empty Church, and mounted to the + organ-loft. A little window up there was open, and he stood leaning + against the stone, looking out, resting his whole being. Only now that it + was over did he know what stress he had been through. Sparrows were + chirping, but sound of traffic had almost ceased, in that quiet Sunday + hour of the evening meal. Finished! Incredible that he would never come up + here again, never see those roof-lines, that corner of Square Garden, and + hear this familiar chirping of the sparrows. He sat down at the organ and + began to play. The last time the sound would roll out and echo 'round the + emptied House of God. For a long time he played, while the building + darkened slowly down there below him. Of all that he would leave, he would + miss this most—the right to come and play here in the darkening + Church, to release emotional sound in this dim empty space growing ever + more beautiful. From chord to chord he let himself go deeper and deeper + into the surge and swell of those sound waves, losing all sense of + actuality, till the music and the whole dark building were fused in one + rapturous solemnity. Away down there the darkness crept over the Church, + till the pews, the altar-all was invisible, save the columns; and the + walls. He began playing his favourite slow movement from Beethoven's + Seventh Symphony—kept to the end, for the visions it ever brought + him. And a cat, which had been stalking the sparrows, crept in through the + little window, and crouched, startled, staring at him with her green eyes. + He closed the organ, went quickly down, and locked up his Church for the + last time. It was warmer outside than in, and lighter, for daylight was + not quite gone. He moved away a few yards, and stood looking up. Walls, + buttresses, and spire were clothed in milky shadowy grey. The top of the + spire seemed to touch a star. 'Goodbye, my Church!' he thought. 'Good-bye, + good-bye!' He felt his face quiver; clenched his teeth, and turned away. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0035" id="link2H_4_0035"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XII + </h2> + <p> + When Noel fled, Fort had started forward to stop her; then, realising that + with his lameness he could never catch her, he went back and entered + Leila's bedroom. + </p> + <p> + She had taken off her dress, and was standing in front of her glass, with + the cigarette still in her mouth; and the only movement was the curling of + its blue smoke. He could see her face reflected, pale, with a little spot + of red in each cheek, and burning red ears. She had not seemed to hear him + coming in, but he saw her eyes change when they caught his reflection in + the mirror. From lost and blank, they became alive and smouldering. + </p> + <p> + “Noel's gone!” he said. + </p> + <p> + She answered, as if to his reflection in the glass + </p> + <p> + “And you haven't gone too? Ah, no! Of course—your leg! She + fled, I suppose? It was rather a jar, my coming in, I'm afraid.” + </p> + <p> + “No; it was my coming in that was the jar.” + </p> + <p> + Leila turned round. “Jimmy! I wonder you could discuss me. The rest—” + She shrugged her shoulders—“But that!” + </p> + <p> + “I was not discussing you. I merely said you were not to be envied + for having me. Are you?” + </p> + <p> + The moment he had spoken, he was sorry. The anger in her eyes changed + instantly, first to searching, then to misery. She cried out: + </p> + <p> + “I was to be envied. Oh! Jimmy; I was!” and flung herself face + down on the bed. + </p> + <p> + Through Fort's mind went the thought: 'Atrocious!' How could he soothe—make + her feel that he loved her, when he didn't—that he wanted her, when + he wanted Noel. He went up to the bedside and touched her timidly: + </p> + <p> + “Leila, what is it? You're overtired. What's the matter? I couldn't + help the child's being here. Why do you let it upset you? She's gone. It's + all right. Things are just as they were.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes!” came the strangled echo; “just!” + </p> + <p> + He knelt down and stroked her arm. It shivered under the touch, seemed to + stop shivering and wait for the next touch, as if hoping it might be + warmer; shivered again. + </p> + <p> + “Look at me!” he said. “What is it you want? I'm ready + to do anything.” + </p> + <p> + She turned and drew herself up on the bed, screwing herself back against + the pillow as if for support, with her knees drawn under her. He was + astonished at the strength of her face and figure, thus entrenched. + </p> + <p> + “My dear Jimmy!” she said, “I want you to do nothing but + get me another cigarette. At my age one expects no more than one gets!” + She held out her thumb and finger: “Do you mind?” + </p> + <p> + Fort turned away to get the cigarette. With what bitter restraint and + curious little smile she had said that! But no sooner was he out of the + room and hunting blindly for the cigarettes, than his mind was filled with + an aching concern for Noel, fleeing like that, reckless and hurt, with + nowhere to go. He found the polished birch-wood box which held the + cigarettes, and made a desperate effort to dismiss the image of the girl + before he again reached Leila. She was still sitting there, with her arms + crossed, in the stillness of one whose every nerve and fibre was stretched + taut. + </p> + <p> + “Have one yourself,” she said. “The pipe of peace.” + </p> + <p> + Fort lit the cigarettes, and sat down on the edge of the bed; and his mind + at once went back to Noel. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she said suddenly; “I wonder where she's gone. + Can you see her? She might do something reckless a second time. Poor + Jimmy! It would be a pity. And so that monk's been here, and drunk + champagne. Good idea! Get me some, Jimmy!” + </p> + <p> + Again Fort went, and with him the image of the girl. When he came back the + second time; she had put on that dark silk garment in which she had + appeared suddenly radiant the fatal night after the Queen's Hall concert. + She took the wineglass, and passed him, going into the sitting-room. + </p> + <p> + “Come and sit down,” she said. “Is your leg hurting you?” + </p> + <p> + “Not more than usual,” and he sat down beside her. + </p> + <p> + “Won't you have some? 'In vino veritas;' my friend.” + </p> + <p> + He shook his head, and said humbly: “I admire you, Leila.” + </p> + <p> + “That's lucky. I don't know anyone else who, would.” And she + drank her champagne at a draught. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you wish,” she said suddenly, “that I had been + one of those wonderful New Women, all brain and good works. How I should + have talked the Universe up and down, and the war, and Causes, drinking + tea, and never boring you to try and love me. What a pity!” + </p> + <p> + But to Fort there had come Noel's words: “It's awfully funny, isn't + it?” + </p> + <p> + “Leila,” he said suddenly, “something's got to be done. + So long as you don't wish me to, I'll promise never to see that child + again.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear boy, she's not a child. She's ripe for love; and—I'm + too ripe for love. That's what's the matter, and I've got to lump it.” + She wrenched her hand out of his and, dropping the empty glass, covered + her face. The awful sensation which visits the true Englishman when a + scene stares him in the face spun in Fort's brain. Should he seize her + hands, drag them down, and kiss her? Should he get up and leave her alone? + Speak, or keep silent; try to console; try to pretend? And he did + absolutely nothing. So far as a man can understand that moment in a + woman's life when she accepts the defeat of Youth and Beauty, he + understood perhaps; but it was only a glimmering. He understood much + better how she was recognising once for all that she loved where she was + not loved. + </p> + <p> + 'And I can't help that,' he thought dumbly; 'simply can't help that!' + Nothing he could say or do would alter it. No words can convince a woman + when kisses have lost reality. Then, to his infinite relief, she took her + hands from her face, and said: + </p> + <p> + “This is very dull. I think you'd better go, Jimmy.” + </p> + <p> + He made an effort to speak, but was too afraid of falsity in his voice. + </p> + <p> + “Very nearly a scene!” said Leila. “My God! + </p> + <p> + “How men hate them! So do I. I've had too many in my time; nothing + comes of them but a headache next morning. I've spared you that, Jimmy. + Give me a kiss for it.” + </p> + <p> + He bent down and put his lips to hers. With all his heart he tried to + answer the passion in her kiss. She pushed him away suddenly, and said + faintly: + </p> + <p> + “Thank you; you did try!” + </p> + <p> + Fort dashed his hand across his eyes. The sight of her face just then + moved him horribly. What a brute he felt! He took her limp hand, put it to + his lips, and murmured: + </p> + <p> + “I shall come in to-morrow. We'll go to the theatre, shall we? Good + night, Leila!” + </p> + <p> + But, in opening the door, he caught sight of her face, staring at him, + evidently waiting for him to turn; the eyes had a frightened look. They + went suddenly soft, so soft as to give his heart a squeeze. + </p> + <p> + She lifted her hand, blew him a kiss, and he saw her smiling. Without + knowing what his own lips answered, he went out. He could not make up his + mind to go away, but, crossing to the railings, stood leaning against + them, looking up at her windows. She had been very good to him. He felt + like a man who has won at cards, and sneaked away without giving the loser + his revenge. If only she hadn't loved him; and it had been a soulless + companionship, a quite sordid business. Anything rather than this! English + to the backbone, he could not divest himself of a sense of guilt. To see + no way of making up to her, of straightening it out, made him feel + intensely mean. 'Shall I go up again?' he thought. The window-curtain + moved. Then the shreds of light up there vanished. 'She's gone to bed,' he + thought. 'I should only upset her worse. Where is Noel, now, I wonder? I + shall never see her again, I suppose. Altogether a bad business. My God, + yes! A bad-bad business!' + </p> + <p> + And, painfully, for his leg was hurting him, he walked away. + </p> + <p> + Leila was only too well aware of a truth that feelings are no less real, + poignant, and important to those outside morality's ring fence than to + those within. Her feelings were, indeed, probably even more real and + poignant, just as a wild fruit's flavour is sharper than that of the tame + product. Opinion—she knew—would say, that having wilfully + chosen a position outside morality she had not half the case for + brokenheartedness she would have had if Fort had been her husband: Opinion—she + knew—would say she had no claim on him, and the sooner an illegal + tie was broken, the better! But she felt fully as wretched as if she had + been married. She had not wanted to be outside morality; never in her life + wanted to be that. She was like those who by confession shed their sins + and start again with a clear conscience. She never meant to sin, only to + love, and when she was in love, nothing else mattered for the moment. But, + though a gambler, she had always so far paid up. Only, this time the + stakes were the heaviest a woman can put down. It was her last throw; and + she knew it. So long as a woman believed in her attraction, there was + hope, even when the curtain fell on a love-affair! But for Leila the lamp + of belief had suddenly gone out, and when this next curtain dropped she + felt that she must sit in the dark until old age made her indifferent. And + between forty-four and real old age a gulf is fixed. This was the first + time a man had tired of her. Why! he had been tired before he began, or so + she felt. In one swift moment as of a drowning person, she saw again all + the passages of their companionship, knew with certainty that it had never + been a genuine flame. Shame ran, consuming, in her veins. She buried her + face in the cushions. This girl had possessed his real heart all the time. + With a laugh she thought: 'I put my money on the wrong horse; I ought to + have backed Edward. I could have turned that poor monk's head. If only I + had never seen Jimmy again; if I had torn his letter up, I could have made + poor Edward love me!' Ifs! What folly! Things happened as they must! + </p> + <p> + And, starting up, she began to roam the little room. Without Jimmy she + would be wretched, with him she would be wretched too! 'I can't bear to + see his face,' she thought; 'and I can't live here without him! It's + really funny!' The thought of her hospital filled her with loathing. To go + there day after day with this despair eating at her heart—she simply + could not. She went over her resources. She had more money than she + thought; Jimmy had given her a Christmas present of five hundred pounds. + She had wanted to tear up the cheque, or force him to take it back; but + the realities of the previous five years had prevailed with her, and she + had banked it. She was glad now. She had not to consider money. Her mind + sought to escape in the past. She thought of her first husband, Ronny + Fane; of their mosquito-curtained rooms in that ghastly Madras heat. Poor + Ronny! What a pale, cynical young ghost started up under that name. She + thought of Lynch, his horsey, matter-of-fact solidity. She had loved them + both—for a time. She thought of the veldt, of Constantia, and the + loom of Table Mountain under the stars; and the first sight of Jimmy, his + straight look, the curve of his crisp head, the kind, fighting-schoolboy + frankness of his face. Even now, after all those months of their + companionship, that long-ago evening at grape harvest, when she sang to + him under the scented creepers, was the memory of him most charged with + real feeling. That one evening at any rate he had longed for her, eleven: + years ago, when she was in her prime. She could have held her own then; + Noel would have come in vain. To think that this girl had still fifteen + years before she would be even in her prime. Fifteen years of witchery; + and then another ten before she was on the shelf. Why! if Noel married + Jimmy, he would be an old man doting on her still, by the time she had + reached this fatal age of forty-four: She felt as if she must scream, and; + stuffing her handkerchief into her mouth, turned out the light. Darkness + cooled her, a little. She pulled aside the curtains, and let in the moon + light. Jimmy and that girl were out in it some where, seeking each other, + if not in body, then in thought. And soon, somehow, somewhere, they would + come together—come together because Fate meant them to! Fate which + had given her young cousin a likeness to herself; placed her, too, in just + such a hopeless position as appealed to Jimmy, and gave him a chance + against younger men. She saw it with bitter surety. Good gamblers cut + their losses! Yes, and proud women did not keep unwilling lovers! If she + had even an outside chance, she would trail her pride, drag it through the + mud, through thorns! But she had not. And she clenched her fist, and + struck out at the night, as though at the face of that Fate which one + could never reach—impalpable, remorseless, surrounding Fate with its + faint mocking smile, devoid of all human warmth. Nothing could set back + the clock, and give her what this girl had. Time had “done her in,” + as it “did in” every woman, one by one. And she saw herself + going down the years, powdering a little more, painting a little more, + touching up her hair, till it was all artifice, holding on by every little + device—and all, to what end? To see his face get colder and colder, + hear his voice more and more constrained to gentleness; and know that + underneath, aversion was growing with the thought 'You are keeping me from + life, and love!' till one evening, in sheer nerve-break, she would say or + do some fearful thing, and he would come no more. 'No, Jimmy!' she + thought; 'find her, and stay with her. You're not worth all that!' And + puffing to the curtains, as though with that gesture she could shut out + her creeping fate, she turned up the light and sat down at her writing + table. She stayed some minutes motionless, her chin resting on her hands, + the dark silk fallen down from her arms. A little mirror, framed in + curiously carved ivory, picked up by her in an Indian bazaar twenty-five + years ago, hung on a level with her face and gave that face back to her. + 'I'm not ugly,' she thought passionately, 'I'm not. I still have some + looks left. If only that girl hadn't come. And it was all my doing. Oh, + what made me write to both of them, Edward and Jimmy?' She turned the + mirror aside, and took up a pen. + </p> + <p> + “MY DEAR JIMMY,” she wrote: “It will be better for us + both if you take a holiday from here. Don't come again till I write for + you. I'm sorry I made you so much disturbance to-night. Have a good time, + and a good rest; and don't worry. Your—” + </p> + <p> + So far she had written when a tear dropped on the page, and she had to + tear it up and begin again. This time she wrote to the end—“Your + Leila.” 'I must post it now,' she thought, 'or he may not get it + before to-morrow evening. I couldn't go through with this again.' She + hurried out with it and slipped it in a pillar box. The night smelled of + flowers; and, hastening back, she lay down, and stayed awake for hours, + tossing, and staring at the dark. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0036" id="link2H_4_0036"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIII + </h2> + <h3> + 1 + </h3> + <p> + Leila had pluck, but little patience. Her one thought was to get away and + she at once began settling up her affairs and getting a permit to return + to South Africa. The excitements of purchase and preparation were as good + an anodyne as she could have taken. The perils of the sea were at full + just then, and the prospect of danger gave her a sort of pleasure. 'If I + go down,' she thought, 'all the better; brisk, instead of long and + dreary.' But when she had the permit and her cabin was booked, the + irrevocability of her step came to her with full force. Should she see him + again or no? Her boat started in three days, and she must decide. If in + compunction he were to be affectionate, she knew she would never keep to + her decision, and then the horror would begin again, till again she was + forced to this same action. She let the hours go and go till the very day + before, when the ache to see him and the dread of it had become so + unbearable that she could not keep quiet. Late that afternoon—everything, + to the last label, ready—she went out, still undecided. An itch to + turn the dagger in her wound, to know what had become of Noel, took her to + Edward's house. Almost unconsciously she had put on her prettiest frock, + and spent an hour before the glass. A feverishness of soul, more than of + body, which had hung about her ever since that night, gave her colour. She + looked her prettiest; and she bought a gardenia at a shop in Baker Street + and fastened it in her dress. Reaching the old Square, she was astonished + to see a board up with the words: “To let,” though the house + still looked inhabited. She rang, and was shown into the drawing-room. She + had only twice been in this house before; and for some reason, perhaps + because of her own unhappiness, the old, rather shabby room struck her as + pathetic, as if inhabited by the past. 'I wonder what his wife was like,' + she thought: And then she saw, hanging against a strip of black velvet on + the wall, that faded colour sketch of the slender young woman leaning + forward, with her hands crossed in her lap. The colouring was lavender and + old ivory, with faint touches of rose. The eyes, so living, were a little + like Gratian's; the whole face delicate, eager, good. 'Yes,' she thought, + 'he must have loved you very much. To say good-bye must have been hard.' + She was still standing before it when Pierson came in. + </p> + <p> + “That's a dear face, Edward. I've come to say good-bye. I'm leaving + for South Africa to-morrow.” And, as her hand touched his, she + thought: 'I must have been mad to think I could ever have made him love + me.' + </p> + <p> + “Are you—are you leaving him?” + </p> + <p> + Leila nodded: + </p> + <p> + “That's very brave, and wonderful.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! no. Needs must when the devil drives—that's all. I don't + give up happiness of my own accord. That's not within a hundred miles of + the truth. What I shall become, I don't know, but nothing better, you may + be sure. I give up because I can't keep, and you know why. Where is Noel?” + </p> + <p> + “Down at the sea, with George and Gratian.” + </p> + <p> + He was looking at her in wonder; and the pained, puzzled expression on his + face angered her. + </p> + <p> + “I see the house is to let. Who'd have thought a child like that + could root up two fossils like us? Never mind, Edward, there's the same + blood in us. We'll keep our ends up in our own ways. Where are you going?” + </p> + <p> + “They'll give me a chaplaincy in the East, I think.” + </p> + <p> + For a wild moment Leila thought: 'Shall I offer to go with him—the + two lost dogs together?' + </p> + <p> + “What would have happened, Edward, if you had proposed to me that + May week, when we were—a little bit in love? Which would it have + been, worst for, you or me?” + </p> + <p> + “You wouldn't have taken me, Leila.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, one never knows. But you'd never have been a priest then, and + you'd never have become a saint.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't use that silly word. If you knew—” + </p> + <p> + “I do; I can see that you've been half burned alive; half burned and + half buried! Well, you have your reward, whatever it is, and I mine. + Good-bye, Edward!” She took his hand. “You might give me your + blessing; I want it.” + </p> + <p> + Pierson put his other hand on her shoulder and, bending forward, kissed + her forehead. + </p> + <p> + The tears rushed up in Leila's eyes. “Ah me!” she said, + “it's a sad world!” And wiping the quivering off her lips with + the back of her gloved hand, she went quickly past him to the door. She + looked back from there. He had not stirred, but his lips were moving. + 'He's praying for me!' she thought. 'How funny!' + </p> + <p> + 2 + </p> + <p> + The moment she was outside, she forgot him; the dreadful ache for Fort + seemed to have been whipped up within her, as if that figure of lifelong + repression had infuriated the love of life and pleasure in her. She must + and would see Jimmy again, if she had to wait and seek for him all night! + It was nearly seven, he would surely have finished at the War Office; he + might be at his Club or at his rooms. She made for the latter. + </p> + <p> + The little street near Buckingham Gate, where no wag had chalked “Peace” + on the doors for nearly a year now, had an arid look after a hot day's + sun. The hair-dresser's shop below his rooms was still open, and the + private door ajar: 'I won't ring,' she thought; 'I'll go straight up.' + While she was mounting the two flights of stairs, she stopped twice, + breathless, from a pain in her side. She often had that pain now, as if + the longing in her heart strained it physically. On the modest landing at + the top, outside his rooms, she waited, leaning against the wall, which + was covered with a red paper. A window at the back was open and the + confused sound of singing came in—a chorus “Vive-la, vive-la, + vive-la ve. Vive la compagnie.” So it came to her. 'O God!' she + thought: 'Let him be in, let him be nice to me. It's the last time.' And, + sick from anxiety, she opened the door. He was in—lying on a + wicker-couch against the wall in the far corner, with his arms crossed + behind his head, and a pipe in his mouth; his eyes were closed, and he + neither moved, nor opened them, perhaps supposing her to be the servant. + Noiseless as a cat, Leila crossed the room till she stood above him. And + waiting for him to come out of that defiant lethargy, she took her fill of + his thin, bony face, healthy and hollow at the same time. With teeth + clenched on the pipe it had a look of hard resistance, as of a man with + his head back, his arms pinioned to his sides, stiffened against some + creature, clinging and climbing and trying to drag him down. The pipe was + alive, and dribbled smoke; and his leg, the injured one, wriggled + restlessly, as if worrying him; but the rest of him was as utterly and + obstinately still as though he were asleep. His hair grew thick and crisp, + not a thread of grey in it, the teeth which held the pipe glinted white + and strong. His face was young; so much younger than hers. Why did she + love it—the face of a man who couldn't love her? For a second she + felt as if she could seize the cushion which had slipped down off the + couch, and smother him as he lay there, refusing, so it seemed to her, to + come to consciousness. Love despised! Humiliation! She nearly turned and + stole away. Then through the door, left open, behind her, the sound of + that chorus: “Vive-la, vive-la, vive-la ve!” came in and + jolted her nerves unbearably. Tearing the gardenia from her breast, she + flung it on to his upturned face. + </p> + <p> + “Jimmy!” + </p> + <p> + Fort struggled up, and stared at her. His face was comic from + bewilderment, and she broke into a little nervous laugh. + </p> + <p> + “You weren't dreaming of me, dear Jimmy, that's certain. In what + garden were you wandering?” + </p> + <p> + “Leila! You! How—how jolly!” + </p> + <p> + “How—how jolly! I wanted to see you, so I came. And I have + seen you, as you are, when you aren't with me. I shall remember it; it was + good for me—awfully good for me.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't hear you.” + </p> + <p> + “Far, far away, my dear. Put my gardenia in, your buttonhole. Stop, + I'll pin it in. Have you had a good rest all this week? Do you like my + dress? It's new. You wouldn't have noticed it, would you?” + </p> + <p> + “I should have noticed. I think it's charming. + </p> + <p> + “Jimmy, I believe that nothing—nothing will ever shake your + chivalry.” + </p> + <p> + “Chivalry? I have none.” + </p> + <p> + “I am going to shut the door, do you mind?” But he went to the + door himself, shut it, and came back to her. Leila looked up at him. + </p> + <p> + “Jimmy, if ever you loved me a little bit, be nice to me today. And + if I say things—if I'm bitter—don't mind; don't notice it. + Promise!” + </p> + <p> + “I promise.” + </p> + <p> + She took off her hat and sat leaning against him on the couch, so that she + could not see his face. And with his arm round her, she let herself go, + deep into the waters of illusion; down-down, trying to forget there was a + surface to which she must return; like a little girl she played that game + of make-believe. 'He loves me-he loves me—he loves me!' To lose + herself like that for, just an hour, only an hour; she felt that she would + give the rest of the time vouchsafed to her; give it all and willingly. + Her hand clasped his against her heart, she turned her face backward, up + to his, closing her eyes so as still not to see his face; the scent of the + gardenia in his coat hurt her, so sweet and strong it was. + </p> + <p> + 3 + </p> + <p> + When with her hat on she stood ready to go, it was getting dark. She had + come out of her dream now, was playing at make-believe no more. And she + stood with a stony smile, in the half-dark, looking between her lashes at + the mortified expression on his unconscious face. + </p> + <p> + “Poor Jimmy!” she said; “I'm not going to keep you from + dinner any longer. No, don't come with me. I'm going alone; and don't + light up, for heaven's sake.” + </p> + <p> + She put her hand on the lapel of his coat. “That flower's gone brown + at the edges. Throw it away; I can't bear faded flowers. Nor can you. Get + yourself a fresh one tomorrow.” + </p> + <p> + She pulled the flower from his buttonhole and, crushing it in her hand, + held her face up. + </p> + <p> + “Well, kiss me once more; it won't hurt you.” + </p> + <p> + For one moment her lips clung to his with all their might. She wrenched + them away, felt for the handle blindly, opened the door, and, shutting it + in his face, went slowly, swaying a little, down the stairs. She trailed a + gloved hand along the wall, as if its solidity could help her. At the last + half-landing, where a curtain hung, dividing off back premises, she + stopped and listened. There wasn't a sound. 'If I stand here behind this + curtain,' she thought, 'I shall see him again.' She slipped behind the + curtain, close drawn but for a little chink. It was so dark there that she + could not see her own hand. She heard the door open, and his slow + footsteps coming down the stairs. His feet, knees, whole figure came into + sight, his face just a dim blur. He passed, smoking a cigarette. She + crammed her hand against her mouth to stop herself from speaking and the + crushed gardenia filled her nostrils with its cold, fragrant velvet. He + was gone, the door below was shut. A wild, half-stupid longing came on her + to go up again, wait till he came in, throw herself upon him, tell him she + was going, beg him to keep her with him. Ah! and he would! He would look + at her with that haggard pity she could not bear, and say, “Of + course, Leila, of course.” No! By God, no! “I am going quietly + home,” she muttered; “just quietly home! Come along, be brave; + don't be a fool! Come along!” And she went down into the street: At + the entrance to the Park she saw him, fifty yards in front, dawdling + along. And, as if she had been his shadow lengthened out to that far + distance, she moved behind him. Slowly, always at that distance, she + followed him under the plane-trees, along the Park railings, past St. + James's Palace, into Pall Mall. He went up some steps, and vanished into + his Club. It was the end. She looked up at the building; a monstrous + granite tomb, all dark. An emptied cab was just moving from the door. She + got in. “Camelot Mansions, St. John's Wood.” And braced + against the cushions, panting, and clenching her hands, she thought: + 'Well, I've seen him again. Hard crust's better than no bread. Oh, God! + All finished—not a crumb, not a crumb! Vive-la, vive-la, vive-la ve. + Vive-la compagnie!' + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0037" id="link2H_4_0037"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIV + </h2> + <p> + Fort had been lying there about an hour, sleeping and awake, before that + visit: He had dreamed a curious and wonderfully emotionalising dream. A + long grey line, in a dim light, neither of night nor morning, the whole + length of the battle-front in France, charging in short drives, which + carried the line a little forward, with just a tiny pause and suck-back; + then on again irresistibly, on and on; and at each rush, every voice, his + own among them, shouted “Hooray! the English! Hooray! the English!” + The sensation of that advancing tide of dim figures in grey light, the + throb and roar, the wonderful, rhythmic steady drive of it, no more to be + stopped than the waves of an incoming tide, was gloriously fascinating; + life was nothing, death nothing. “Hooray, the English!” In + that dream, he was his country, he was every one of that long charging + line, driving forward in. those great heaving pulsations, irresistible, on + and on. Out of the very centre of this intoxicating dream he had been + dragged by some street noise, and had closed his eyes again, in the vain + hope that he might dream it on to its end. But it came no more; and + lighting his pipe, he lay there wondering at its fervid, fantastic + realism. Death was nothing, if his country lived and won. In waking hours + he never had quite that single-hearted knowledge of himself. And what + marvellously real touches got mixed into the fantastic stuff of dreams, as + if something were at work to convince the dreamer in spite of himself—“Hooray!” + not “Hurrah!” Just common “Hooray!” And “the + English,” not the literary “British.” And then the soft + flower had struck his forehead, and Leila's voice cried: “Jimmy!” + </p> + <p> + When she left him, his thought was just a tired: 'Well, so it's begun + again!' What did it matter, since common loyalty and compassion cut him + off from what his heart desired; and that desire was absurd, as little + likely of attainment as the moon. What did it matter? If it gave her any + pleasure to love him, let it go on! Yet, all the time that he was walking + across under the plane trees, Noel seemed to walk in front of him, just + out of reach, so that he ached with the thought that he would never catch + her up, and walk beside her. + </p> + <p> + Two days later, on reaching his rooms in the evening, he found this letter + on ship's note-paper, with the Plymouth postmark— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Fare thee well, and if for ever, + Then for ever fare thee well” + “Leila” + </pre> + <p> + He read it with a really horrible feeling, for all the world as if he had + been accused of a crime and did not know whether he had committed it or + not. And, trying to collect his thoughts, he took a cab and drove to her + fiat. It was closed, but her address was given him; a bank in Cape Town. + He had received his release. In his remorse and relief, so confusing and + so poignant, he heard the driver of the cab asking where he wanted to go + now. “Oh, back again!” But before they had gone a mile he + corrected the address, in an impulse of which next moment he felt + thoroughly ashamed. What he was doing indeed, was as indecent as if he + were driving from the funeral of his wife to the boudoir of another woman. + When he reached the old Square, and the words “To let” stared + him in the face, he felt a curious relief, though it meant that he would + not see her whom to see for ten minutes he felt he would give a year of + life. Dismissing his cab, he stood debating whether to ring the bell. The + sight of a maid's face at the window decided him. Mr. Pierson was out, and + the young ladies were away. He asked for Mrs. Laird's address, and turned + away, almost into the arms of Pierson himself. The greeting was stiff and + strange. 'Does he know that Leila's gone?' he thought. 'If so, he must + think me the most awful skunk. And am I? Am I?' When he reached home, he + sat down to write to Leila. But having stared at the paper for an hour and + written these three lines— + </p> + <p> + “MY DEAR LEILA, + </p> + <p> + “I cannot express to you the feelings with which I received your + letter—” + </p> + <p> + he tore it up. Nothing would be adequate, nothing would be decent. Let the + dead past bury its dead—the dead past which in his heart had never + been alive! Why pretend? He had done his best to keep his end up. Why + pretend? + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PART4" id="link2H_PART4"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PART IV + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0039" id="link2H_4_0039"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + I + </h2> + <p> + In the boarding-house, whence the Lairds had not yet removed, the old lady + who knitted, sat by the fireplace, and light from the setting sun threw + her shadow on the wall, moving spidery and grey, over the yellowish + distemper, in time to the tune of her needles. She was a very old lady—the + oldest lady in the world, Noel thought—and she knitted without + stopping, without breathing, so that the girl felt inclined to scream. In + the evening when George and Gratian were not in, Noel would often sit + watching the needles, brooding over her as yet undecided future. And now + and again the old lady would look up above her spectacles; move the + corners of her lips ever so slightly, and drop her gaze again. She had + pitted herself against Fate; so long as she knitted, the war could not + stop—such was the conclusion Noel had come to. This old lady knitted + the epic of acquiescence to the tune of her needles; it was she who kept + the war going such a thin old lady! 'If I were to hold her elbows from + behind,' the girl used to think, 'I believe she'd die. I expect I ought + to; then the war would stop. And if the war stopped, there'd be love and + life again.' Then the little silvery tune would click itself once more + into her brain, and stop her thinking. In her lap this evening lay a + letter from her father. + </p> + <p> + “MY DEAREST NOLLIE, + </p> + <p> + “I am glad to say I have my chaplaincy, and am to start for Egypt + very soon. I should have wished to go to France, but must take what I can + get, in view of my age, for they really don't want us who are getting on, + I fear. It is a great comfort to me to think that Gratian is with you, and + no doubt you will all soon be in a house where my little grandson can join + you. I have excellent accounts of him in a letter from your aunt, just + received: My child, you must never again think that my resignation has + been due to you. It is not so. You know, or perhaps you don't, that ever + since the war broke out, I have chafed over staying at home, my heart has + been with our boys out there, and sooner or later it must have come to + this, apart from anything else. Monsieur Lavendie has been round in the + evening, twice; he is a nice man, I like him very much, in spite of our + differences of view. He wanted to give me the sketch he made of you in the + Park, but what can I do with it now? And to tell you the truth, I like it + no better than the oil painting. It is not a likeness, as I know you. I + hope I didn't hurt his feelings, the feelings of an artist are so very + easily wounded. There is one thing I must tell you. Leila has gone back to + South Africa; she came round one evening about ten days ago, to say + goodbye. She was very brave, for I fear it means a great wrench for her. I + hope and pray she may find comfort and tranquillity out there. And now, my + dear, I want you to promise me not to see Captain Fort. I know that he + admires you. But, apart from the question of his conduct in regard to + Leila, he made the saddest impression on me by coming to our house the + very day after her departure. There is something about that which makes me + feel he cannot be the sort of man in whom I could feel any confidence. I + don't suppose for a moment that he is in your thoughts, and yet before + going so far from you, I feel I must warn you. I should rejoice to see you + married to a good man; but, though I don't wish to think hardly of anyone, + I cannot believe Captain Fort is that. + </p> + <p> + “I shall come down to you before I start, which may be in quite a + short time now. My dear love to you and Gracie, and best wishes to George. + </p> + <p> + “Your ever loving father, + </p> + <p> + “EDWARD PIERSON” + </p> + <p> + Across this letter lying on her knees, Noel gazed at the spidery movement + on the wall. Was it acquiescence that the old lady knitted, or was it + resistance—a challenge to death itself, a challenge dancing to the + tune of the needles like the grey ghost of human resistance to Fate! She + wouldn't give in, this oldest lady in the world, she meant to knit till + she fell into the grave. And so Leila had gone! It hurt her to know that; + and yet it pleased her. Acquiescence—resistance! Why did Daddy + always want to choose the way she should go? So gentle he was, yet he + always wanted to! And why did he always make her feel that she must go the + other way? The sunlight ceased to stream in, the old lady's shadow faded + off the wall, but the needles still sang their little tune. And the girl + said: + </p> + <p> + “Do you enjoy knitting, Mrs. Adam?” + </p> + <p> + The old lady looked at her above the spectacles. + </p> + <p> + “Enjoy, my dear? It passes the time.” + </p> + <p> + “But do you want the time to pass?” + </p> + <p> + There was no answer for a moment, and Noel thought: 'How dreadful of me to + have said that!' + </p> + <p> + “Eh?” said the old lady. + </p> + <p> + “I said: Isn't it very tiring?” + </p> + <p> + “Not when I don't think about it, my dear.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you think about?” + </p> + <p> + The old lady cackled gently. + </p> + <p> + “Oh—well!” she said. + </p> + <p> + And Noel thought: 'It must be dreadful to grow old, and pass the time!' + </p> + <p> + She took up her father's letter, and bent it meditatively against her + chin. He wanted her to pass the time—not to live, not to enjoy! To + pass the time. What else had he been doing himself, all these years, ever + since she could remember, ever since her mother died, but just passing the + time? Passing the time because he did not believe in this life; not living + at all, just preparing for the life he did believe in. Denying himself + everything that was exciting and nice, so that when he died he might pass + pure and saintly to his other world. He could not believe Captain Fort a + good man, because he had not passed the time, and resisted Leila; and + Leila was gone! And now it was a sin for him to love someone else; he must + pass the time again. 'Daddy doesn't believe in life,' she thought; 'it's + monsieur's picture. Daddy's a saint; but I don't want to be a saint, and + pass the time. He doesn't mind making people unhappy, because the more + they're repressed, the saintlier they'll be. But I can't bear to be + unhappy, or to see others unhappy. I wonder if I could bear to be unhappy + to save someone else—as Leila is? I admire her! Oh! I admire her! + She's not doing it because she thinks it good for her soul; only because + she can't bear making him unhappy. She must love him very much. Poor + Leila! And she's done it all by herself, of her own accord.' It was like + what George said of the soldiers; they didn't know why they were heroes, + it was not because they'd been told to be, or because they believed in a + future life. They just had to be, from inside somewhere, to save others. + 'And they love life as much as I do,' she thought. 'What a beast it makes + one feel!' Those needles! Resistance—acquiescence? Both perhaps. The + oldest lady in the world, with her lips moving at the corners, keeping + things in, had lived her life, and knew it. How dreadful to live on when + you were of no more interest to anyone, but must just “pass the time” + and die. But how much more dreadful to “pass the time” when + you were strong, and life and love were yours for the taking! 'I shan't + answer Daddy,' she thought. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0040" id="link2H_4_0040"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II + </h2> + <p> + The maid, who one Saturday in July opened the door to Jimmy Fort, had + never heard the name of Laird, for she was but a unit in the ceaseless + procession which pass through the boarding-houses of places subject to + air-raids. Placing him in a sitting-room, she said she would find Miss + 'Allow. There he waited, turning the leaves of an illustrated Journal, + wherein Society beauties; starving Servians, actresses with pretty legs, + prize dogs, sinking ships, Royalties, shells bursting, and padres reading + funeral services, testified to the catholicity of the public taste, but + did not assuage his nerves. What if their address were not known here? + Why, in his fear of putting things to the test, had he let this month go + by? An old lady was sitting by the hearth, knitting, the click of whose + needles blended with the buzzing of a large bee on the window-pane. 'She + may know,' he thought, 'she looks as if she'd been here for ever.' And + approaching her, he said: + </p> + <p> + “I can assure you those socks are very much appreciated, ma'am.” + </p> + <p> + The old lady bridled over her spectacles. + </p> + <p> + “It passes the time,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, more than that; it helps to win the war, ma'am.” + </p> + <p> + The old lady's lips moved at the corners; she did not answer. 'Deaf!' he + thought. + </p> + <p> + “May I ask if you knew my friends, Doctor and Mrs. Laird, and Miss + Pierson?” + </p> + <p> + The old lady cackled gently. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes! A pretty young girl; as pretty as life. She used to sit + with me. Quite a pleasure to watch her; such large eyes she had.” + </p> + <p> + “Where have they gone? Can you tell me?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don't know at all.” + </p> + <p> + It was a little cold douche on his heart. He longed to say: 'Stop knitting + a minute, please. It's my life, to know.' But the tune of the needles + answered: 'It's my life to knit.' And he turned away to the window. + </p> + <p> + “She used to sit just there; quite still; quite still.” + </p> + <p> + Fort looked down at the window-seat. So, she used to sit just here, quite + still. + </p> + <p> + “What a dreadful war this is!” said the old lady. “Have + you been at the front?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “To think of the poor young girls who'll never have husbands! I'm + sure I think it's dreadful.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Fort; “it's dreadful—” And then + a voice from the doorway said: + </p> + <p> + “Did you want Doctor and Mrs. Laird, sir? East Bungalow their + address is; it's a little way out on the North Road. Anyone will tell you.” + </p> + <p> + With a sigh of relief Fort looked gratefully at the old lady who had + called Noel as pretty as life. “Good afternoon, ma'am.” + </p> + <p> + “Good afternoon.” The needles clicked, and little movements + occurred at the corners of her mouth. Fort went out. He could not find a + vehicle, and was a long time walking. The Bungalow was ugly, of yellow + brick pointed with red. It lay about two-thirds up between the main road + and cliffs, and had a rock-garden and a glaring, brand-new look, in the + afternoon sunlight. He opened the gate, uttering one of those prayers + which come so glibly from unbelievers when they want anything. A baby's + crying answered it, and he thought with ecstasy: 'Heaven, she is here!' + Passing the rock-garden he could see a lawn at the back of the house and a + perambulator out there under a holm-oak tree, and Noel—surely Noel + herself! Hardening his heart, he went forward. In a lilac sunbonnet she + was bending over the perambulator. He trod softly on the grass, and was + quite close before she heard him. He had prepared no words, but just held + out his hand. The baby, interested in the shadow failing across its pram, + ceased crying. Noel took his hand. Under the sunbonnet, which hid her + hair, she seemed older and paler, as if she felt the heat. He had no + feeling that she was glad to see him. + </p> + <p> + “How do you do? Have you seen Gratian; she ought to be in.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't come to see her; I came to see you.” + </p> + <p> + Noel turned to the baby. + </p> + <p> + “Here he is.” + </p> + <p> + Fort stood at the end of the perambulator, and looked at that other + fellow's baby. In the shade of the hood, with the frilly clothes, it + seemed to him lying with its head downhill. It had scratched its snub nose + and bumpy forehead, and it stared up at its mother with blue eyes, which + seemed to have no underlids so fat were its cheeks. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder what they think about,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Noel put her finger into the baby's fist. + </p> + <p> + “They only think when they want some thing.” + </p> + <p> + “That's a deep saying: but his eyes are awfully interested in you.” + </p> + <p> + Noel smiled; and very slowly the baby's curly mouth unclosed, and + discovered his toothlessness. + </p> + <p> + “He's a darling,” she said in a whisper. + </p> + <p> + 'And so are you,' he thought, 'if only I dared say it!' + </p> + <p> + “Daddy is here,” she said suddenly, without looking up. + “He's sailing for Egypt the day after to-morrow. He doesn't like + you.” + </p> + <p> + Fort's heart gave a jump. Why did she tell him that, unless—unless + she was just a little on his side? + </p> + <p> + “I expected that,” he said. “I'm a sinner, as you know.” + </p> + <p> + Noel looked up at him. “Sin!” she said, and bent again over + her baby. The word, the tone in which she said it, crouching over her + baby, gave him the thought: 'If it weren't for that little creature, I + shouldn't have a dog's chance.' He said, “I'll go and see your + father. Is he in?” + </p> + <p> + “I think so.” + </p> + <p> + “May I come to-morrow?” + </p> + <p> + “It's Sunday; and Daddy's last day.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Of course.” He did not dare look back, to see if her gaze + was following him, but he thought: 'Chance or no chance, I'm going to + fight for her tooth and nail.' + </p> + <p> + In a room darkened against the evening sun Pierson was sitting on a sofa + reading. The sight of that figure in khaki disconcerted Fort, who had not + realised that there would be this metamorphosis. The narrow face, + clean-shaven now, with its deep-set eyes and compressed lips, looked more + priestly than ever, in spite of this brown garb. He felt his hope suddenly + to be very forlorn indeed. And rushing at the fence, he began abruptly: + </p> + <p> + “I've come to ask you, sir, for your permission to marry Noel, if + she will have me.” + </p> + <p> + He had thought Pierson's face gentle; it was not gentle now. “Did + you know I was here, then, Captain Fort?” + </p> + <p> + “I saw Noel in the garden. I've said nothing to her, of course. But + she told me you were starting to-morrow for Egypt, so I shall have no + other chance.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry you have come. It is not for me to judge, but I don't + think you will make Noel happy.” + </p> + <p> + “May I ask you why, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “Captain Fort, the world's judgment of these things is not mine; but + since you ask me. I will tell you frankly. My cousin Leila has a claim on + you. It is her you should ask to marry you.” + </p> + <p> + “I did ask her; she refused.” + </p> + <p> + “I know. She would not refuse you again if you went out to her.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not free to go out to her; besides, she would refuse. She + knows I don't love her, and never have.” + </p> + <p> + “Never have?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Then why—” + </p> + <p> + “Because I'm a man, I suppose, and a fool” + </p> + <p> + “If it was simply, 'because you are a man' as you call it, it is + clear that no principle or faith governs you. And yet you ask me to give + you Noel; my poor Noel, who wants the love and protection not of a 'man' + but of a good man. No, Captain Fort, no!” + </p> + <p> + Fort bit his lips. “I'm clearly not a good man in your sense of the + word; but I love her terribly, and I would protect her. I don't in the + least know whether she'll have me. I don't expect her to, naturally. But I + warn you that I mean to ask her, and to wait for her. I'm so much in love + that I can do nothing else.” + </p> + <p> + “The man who is truly in love does what is best for the one he + loves.” Fort bent his head; he felt as if he were at school again, + confronting his head-master. “That's true,” he said. “And + I shall never trade on her position. If she can't feel anything for me now + or in the future, I shan't trouble her, you may be sure of that. But if by + some wonderful chance she should, I know I can make her happy, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “She is a child.” + </p> + <p> + “No, she's not a child,” said Fort stubbornly. + </p> + <p> + Pierson touched the lapel of his new tunic. “Captain Fort, I am + going far away from her, and leaving her without protection. I trust to + your chivalry not to ask her, till I come back.” + </p> + <p> + Fort threw back his head. “No, no, I won't accept that position. + With or without your presence the facts will be the same. Either she can + love me, or she can't. If she can, she'll be happier with me. If she + can't, there's an end of it.” + </p> + <p> + Pierson came slowly up to him. “In my view,” he said, “you + are as bound to Leila as if you were married to her.” + </p> + <p> + “You can't, expect me to take the priest's view, sir.” + </p> + <p> + Pierson's lips trembled. + </p> + <p> + “You call it a priest's view; I think it is only the view of a man + of honour.” + </p> + <p> + Fort reddened. “That's for my conscience,” he said stubbornly. + “I can't tell you, and I'm not going to, how things began. I was a + fool. But I did my best, and I know that Leila doesn't think I'm bound. If + she had, she would never have gone. When there's no feeling—there + never was real feeling on my side—and when there's this terribly + real feeling for Noel, which I never sought, which I tried to keep down, + which I ran away from—” + </p> + <p> + “Did you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. To go on with the other was foul. I should have thought you + might have seen that, sir; but I did go on with it. It was Leila who made + an end.” + </p> + <p> + “Leila behaved nobly, I think.” + </p> + <p> + “She was splendid; but that doesn't make me a brute.”. + </p> + <p> + Pierson turned away to the window, whence he must see Noel. + </p> + <p> + “It is repugnant to me,” he said. “Is there never to be + any purity in her life?” + </p> + <p> + “Is there never to be any life for her? At your rate, sir, there + will be none. I'm no worse than other men, and I love her more than they + could.” + </p> + <p> + For fully a minute Pierson stood silent, before he said: “Forgive me + if I've spoken harshly. I didn't mean to. I love her intensely; I wish for + nothing but her good. But all my life I have believed that for a man there + is only one woman—for a woman only one man.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, Sir,” Fort burst out, “you wish her—” + </p> + <p> + Pierson had put his hand up, as if to ward off a blow; and, angry though + he was, Fort stopped. + </p> + <p> + “We are all made of flesh and blood,” he continued coldly, + “and it seems to me that you think we aren't.” + </p> + <p> + “We have spirits too, Captain Fort.” The voice was suddenly so + gentle that Fort's anger evaporated. + </p> + <p> + “I have a great respect for you, sir; but a greater love for Noel, + and nothing in this world will prevent me trying to give my life to her.” + </p> + <p> + A smile quivered over Pierson's face. “If you try, then I can but + pray that you will fail.” + </p> + <p> + Fort did not answer, and went out. + </p> + <p> + He walked slowly away from the bungalow, with his head down, sore, angry, + and yet-relieved. He knew where he stood; nor did he feel that he had been + worsted—those strictures had not touched him. Convicted of + immorality, he remained conscious of private justifications, in a way that + human beings have. Only one little corner of memory, unseen and + uncriticised by his opponent, troubled him. He pardoned himself the rest; + the one thing he did not pardon was the fact that he had known Noel before + his liaison with Leila commenced; had even let Leila sweep him away on, an + evening when he had been in Noel's company. For that he felt a real + disgust with himself. And all the way back to the station he kept + thinking: 'How could I? I deserve to lose her! Still, I shall try; but not + now—not yet!' And, wearily enough, he took the train back to town. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0041" id="link2H_4_0041"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + III + </h2> + <p> + Both girls rose early that last day, and went with their father to + Communion. As Gratian had said to George: “It's nothing to me now, + but it will mean a lot to him out there, as a memory of us. So I must go.” + And he had answered: “Quite right, my dear. Let him have all he can + get of you both to-day. I'll keep out of the way, and be back the last + thing at night.” Their father's smile when he saw them waiting for + him went straight to both their hearts. It was a delicious day, and the + early freshness had not yet dried out of the air, when they were walking + home to breakfast. Each girl had slipped a hand under his arm. 'It's like + Moses or was it Aaron?' Noel thought absurdly Memory had complete hold of + her. All the old days! Nursery hours on Sundays after tea, stories out of + the huge Bible bound in mother-o'pearl, with photogravures of the Holy + Land—palms, and hills, and goats, and little Eastern figures, and + funny boats on the Sea of Galilee, and camels—always camels. The + book would be on his knee, and they one on each arm of his chair, waiting + eagerly for the pages to be turned so that a new picture came. And there + would be the feel of his cheek, prickly against theirs; and the old names + with the old glamour—to Gratian, Joshua, Daniel, Mordecai, Peter; to + Noel Absalom because of his hair, and Haman because she liked the sound, + and Ruth because she was pretty and John because he leaned on Jesus' + breast. Neither of them cared for Job or David, and Elijah and Elisha they + detested because they hated the name Eliza. And later days by firelight in + the drawing-room, roasting chestnuts just before evening church, and + telling ghost stories, and trying to make Daddy eat his share. And hours + beside him at the piano, each eager for her special hymns—for + Gratian, “Onward, Christian Soldiers,” “Lead, Kindly + Light,” and “O God Our Help”; for Noel, “Nearer, + My God, to Thee,” the one with “The Hosts of Midian” in + it, and “For Those in Peril on the Sea.” And carols! Ah! And + Choristers! Noel had loved one deeply—the word “chorister” + was so enchanting; and because of his whiteness, and hair which had no + grease on it, but stood up all bright; she had never spoken to him—a + far worship, like that for a star. And always, always Daddy had been + gentle; sometimes angry, but always gentle; and they sometimes not at all! + And mixed up with it all, the dogs they had had, and the cats they had + had, and the cockatoo, and the governesses, and their red cloaks, and the + curates, and the pantomimes, and “Peter Pan,” and “Alice + in Wonderland”—Daddy sitting between them, so that one could + snuggle up. And later, the school-days, the hockey, the prizes, the + holidays, the rush into his arms; and the great and wonderful yearly + exodus to far places, fishing and bathing; walks and drives; rides and + climbs, always with him. And concerts and Shakespeare plays in the + Christmas and Easter holidays; and the walk home through the streets—all + lighted in those days—one on each side of him. And this was the end! + They waited on him at breakfast: they kept stealing glances at him, + photographing him in their minds. Gratian got her camera and did actually + photograph him in the morning sunlight with Noel, without Noel, with the + baby; against all regulations for the defence of the realm. It was Noel + who suggested: “Daddy, let's take lunch out and go for all day on + the cliffs, us three, and forget there's a war.” + </p> + <p> + So easy to say, so difficult to do, with the boom of the guns travelling + to their ears along the grass, mingled with the buzz of insects. Yet that + hum of summer, the innumerable voices of tiny lives, gossamer things all + as alive as they, and as important to their frail selves; and the white + clouds, few and so slow-moving, and the remote strange purity which clings + to the chalky downs, all this white and green and blue of land and sea had + its peace, which crept into the spirits of those three alone with Nature, + this once more, the last time for—who could say how long? They + talked, by tacit agreement, of nothing but what had happened before the + war began, while the flock of the blown dandelions drifted past. Pierson + sat cross-legged on the grass, without his cap, suffering a little still + from the stiffness of his unwonted garments. And the girls lay one on each + side of him, half critical, and half admiring. Noel could not bear his + collar. + </p> + <p> + “If you had a soft collar you'd be lovely, Daddy. Perhaps out there + they'll let you take it off. It must be fearfully hot in Egypt. Oh! I wish + I were going. I wish I were going everywhere in the world. Some day!” + Presently he read to them, Murray's “Hippolytus” of Euripides. + And now and then Gratian and he discussed a passage. But Noel lay silent, + looking at the sky. Whenever his voice ceased, there was the song of the + larks, and very faint, the distant mutter of the guns. + </p> + <p> + They stayed up there till past six, and it was time to go and have tea + before Evening Service. Those hours in the baking sun had drawn virtue out + of them; they were silent and melancholy all the evening. Noel was the + first to go up to her bedroom. She went without saying good night—she + knew her father would come to her room that last evening. George had not + yet come in; and Gratian was left alone with Pierson in the drawing-room, + round whose single lamp, in spite of close-drawn curtains, moths were + circling: She moved over to him on the sofa. + </p> + <p> + “Dad, promise me not to worry about Nollie; we'll take care of her.” + </p> + <p> + “She can only take care of herself, Gracie, and will she? Did you + know that Captain Fort was here yesterday?” + </p> + <p> + “She told me.” + </p> + <p> + “What is her feeling about him?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't think she knows. Nollie dreams along, and then suddenly + rushes.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish she were safe from that man.” + </p> + <p> + “But, Dad, why? George likes him and so do I.” + </p> + <p> + A big grey moth was fluttering against the lamp. Pierson got up and caught + it in the curve of his palm. “Poor thing! You're like my Nollie; so + soft, and dreamy, so feckless, so reckless.” And going to the + curtains, he thrust his hand through, and released the moth. + </p> + <p> + “Dad!” said Gratian suddenly, “we can only find out for + ourselves, even if we do singe our wings in doing it. We've been reading + James's 'Pragmatism.' George says the only chapter that's important is + missing—the one on ethics, to show that what we do is not wrong till + it's proved wrong by the result. I suppose he was afraid to deliver that + lecture.” + </p> + <p> + Pierson's face wore the smile which always came on it when he had to deal + with George, the smile which said: “Ah, George, that's very clever; + but I know.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear,” he said, “that doctrine is the most dangerous + in the world. I am surprised at George.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't think George is in danger, Dad.” + </p> + <p> + “George is a man of wide experience and strong judgment and + character; but think how fatal it would be for Nollie, my poor Nollie, + whom a little gust can blow into the candle.” + </p> + <p> + “All the same,” said Gratian stubbornly, “I don't think + anyone can be good or worth anything unless they judge for themselves and + take risks.” + </p> + <p> + Pierson went close to her; his face was quivering. + </p> + <p> + “Don't let us differ on this last night; I must go up to Nollie for + a minute, and then to bed. I shan't see you to-morrow; you mustn't get up; + I can bear parting better like this. And my train goes at eight. God bless + you, Gracie; give George my love. I know, I have always known that he's a + good man, though we do fight so. Good-bye, my darling.” + </p> + <p> + He went out with his cheeks wet from Gratian's tears, and stood in the + porch a minute to recover his composure. The shadow of the house stretched + velvet and blunt over the rock-garden. A night-jar was spinning; the + churring sound affected him oddly. The last English night-bird he would + hear. England! What a night-to say good-bye! 'My country!' he thought; 'my + beautiful country!' The dew was lying thick and silvery already on the + little patch of grass-the last dew, the last scent of an English night. + The call of a bugle floated out. “England!” he prayed; “God + be about you!” A little sound answered from across the grass, like + an old man's cough, and the scrape and rattle of a chain. A face emerged + at the edge of the house's shadow; bearded and horned like that of Pan, it + seemed to stare at him. And he saw the dim grey form of the garden goat, + heard it scuttle round the stake to which it was tethered, as though + alarmed at this visitor to its' domain. + </p> + <p> + He went up the half-flight of stairs to Noel's narrow little room, next + the nursery. No voice answered his tap. It was dark, but he could see her + at the window, leaning far out, with her chin on her hands. + </p> + <p> + “Nollie!” + </p> + <p> + She answered without turning: “Such a lovely night, Daddy. Come and + look! I'd like to set the goat free, only he'd eat the rock plants. But it + is his night, isn't it? He ought to be running and skipping in it: it's + such a shame to tie things up. Did you never, feel wild in your heart, + Daddy?” + </p> + <p> + “Always, I think, Nollie; too wild. It's been hard to tame oneself.” + </p> + <p> + Noel slipped her hand through his arm. “Let's go and take the goat + and skip together on the hills. If only we had a penny whistle! Did you + hear the bugle? The bugle and the goat!” + </p> + <p> + Pierson pressed the hand against him. + </p> + <p> + “Nollie, be good while I'm away. You know what I don't want. I told + you in my letter.” He looked at her cheek, and dared say no more. + Her face had its “fey” look again. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you feel,” she said suddenly, “on a night like + this, all the things, all the things—the stars have lives, Daddy, + and the moon has a big life, and the shadows have, and the moths and the + birds and the goats and the trees, and the flowers, and all of us—escaped? + Oh! Daddy, why is there a war? And why are people so bound and so unhappy? + Don't tell me it's God—don't!” + </p> + <p> + Pierson could not answer, for there came into his mind the Greek song he + had been reading aloud that afternoon— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “O for a deep and dewy Spring, + With runlets cold to draw and drink, + And a great meadow blossoming, + Long-grassed, and poplars in a ring, + To rest me by the brink. + O take me to the mountain, O, + Past the great pines and through the wood, + Up where the lean hounds softly go, + A-whine for wild things' blood, + And madly flies the dappled roe, + O God, to shout and speed them there; + An arrow by my chestnut hair + Drawn tight and one keen glimmering spear + Ah! if I could!” + </pre> + <p> + All that in life had been to him unknown, of venture and wild savour; all + the emotion he had stifled; the swift Pan he had denied; the sharp fruits, + the burning suns, the dark pools, the unearthly moonlight, which were not + of God—all came with the breath of that old song, and the look on + the girl's face. And he covered his eyes. + </p> + <p> + Noel's hand tugged at his arm. “Isn't beauty terribly alive,” + she murmured, “like a lovely person? it makes you ache to kiss it.” + </p> + <p> + His lips felt parched. “There is a beauty beyond all that,” he + said stubbornly. + </p> + <p> + “Where?” + </p> + <p> + “Holiness, duty, faith. O Nollie, my love!” But Noel's hand + tightened on his arm. + </p> + <p> + “Shall I tell you what I should like?” she whispered. “To + take God's hand and show Him things. I'm certain He's not seen everything.” + </p> + <p> + A shudder went through Pierson, one of those queer sudden shivers, which + come from a strange note in a voice, or a new sharp scent or sight. + </p> + <p> + “My dear, what things you say!” + </p> + <p> + “But He hasn't, and it's time He did. We'd creep, and peep, and see + it all for once, as He can't in His churches. Daddy, oh! Daddy! I can't + bear it any more; to think of them being killed on a night like this; + killed and killed so that they never see it all again—never see it—never + see it!” She sank down, and covered her face with her arms. + </p> + <p> + “I can't, I can't! Oh! take it all away, the cruelty! Why does it + come—why the stars and the flowers, if God doesn't care any more + than that?” + </p> + <p> + Horribly affected he stood bending over her, stroking her head. Then the + habit of a hundred death-beds helped him. “Come, Nollie! This life + is but a minute. We must all die.” + </p> + <p> + “But not they—not so young!” She clung to his knees, and + looked up. “Daddy, I don't want you to go; promise me to come back!” + </p> + <p> + The childishness of those words brought back his balance. + </p> + <p> + “My dear sweetheart, of course! Come, Nollie, get up. The sun's been + too much for you.” + </p> + <p> + Noel got up, and put her hands on her father's shoulders. “Forgive + me for all my badness, and all my badness to come, especially all my + badness to come!” + </p> + <p> + Pierson smiled. “I shall always forgive you, Nollie; but there won't + be—there mustn't be any badness to come. I pray God to keep you, and + make you like your mother.” + </p> + <p> + “Mother never had a devil, like you and me.” + </p> + <p> + He was silent from surprise. How did this child know the devil of wild + feeling he had fought against year after year; until with the many years + he had felt it weakening within him! She whispered on: “I don't hate + my devil. + </p> + <p> + “Why should I?—it's part of me. Every day when the sun sets, + I'll think of you, Daddy; and you might do the same—that'll keep me + good. I shan't come to the station tomorrow, I should only cry. And I + shan't say good-bye now. It's unlucky.” + </p> + <p> + She flung her arms round him; and half smothered by that fervent embrace, + he kissed her cheeks and hair. Freed of each other at last, he stood for a + moment looking at her by the moonlight. + </p> + <p> + “There never was anyone more loving than you; Nollie!” he said + quietly. “Remember my letter. And good night, my love!” Then, + afraid to stay another second, he went quickly out of the dark little + room.... + </p> + <p> + George Laird, returning half an hour later, heard a voice saying softly: + “George, George!” + </p> + <p> + Looking up, he saw a little white blur at the window, and Noel's face just + visible. + </p> + <p> + “George, let the goat loose, just for to-night, to please me.” + </p> + <p> + Something in that voice, and in the gesture of her stretched-out arm moved + George in a queer way, although, as Pierson had once said, he had no music + in his soul. He loosed the goat. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0042" id="link2H_4_0042"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IV + </h2> + <h3> + 1 + </h3> + <p> + In the weeks which succeeded Pierson's departure, Gratian and George often + discussed Noel's conduct and position by the light of the Pragmatic + theory. George held a suitably scientific view. Just as he would point out + to his wife—in the physical world, creatures who diverged from the + normal had to justify their divergence in competition with their + environments, or else go under, so in the ethical world it was all a + question of whether Nollie could make good her vagary. If she could, and + grew in strength of character thereby, it was ipso facto all right, her + vagary would be proved an advantage, and the world enriched. If not, the + world by her failure to make good would be impoverished, and her vagary + proved wrong. The orthodox and academies—he insisted—were + always forgetting the adaptability of living organisms; how every action + which was out of the ordinary, unconsciously modified all the other + actions together with the outlook, and philosophy of the doer. “Of + course Nollie was crazy,” he said, “but when she did what she + did, she at once began to think differently about life and morals. The + deepest instinct we all have is the instinct that we must do what we must, + and think that what we've done is really all right; in fact the—instinct + of self-preservation. We're all fighting animals; and we feel in our bones + that if we admit we're beaten—we are beaten; but that every fight we + win, especially against odds, hardens those bones. But personally I don't + think she can make good on her own.” + </p> + <p> + Gratian, whose Pragmatism was not yet fully baked, responded doubtfully: + </p> + <p> + “No, I don't think she can. And if she could I'm not sure. But isn't + Pragmatism a perfectly beastly word, George? It has no sense of humour in + it at all.” + </p> + <p> + “It is a bit thick, and in the hands of the young, deuced likely to + become Prigmatism; but not with Nollie.” + </p> + <p> + They watched the victim of their discussions with real anxiety. The + knowledge that she would never be more sheltered than she was with them, + at all events until she married, gravely impeded the formation of any + judgment as to whether or no she could make good. Now and again there + would come to Gratian who after all knew her sister better than George—the + disquieting thought that whatever conclusion Noel led them to form, she + would almost certainly force them to abandon sooner or later. + </p> + <p> + Three days after her father's departure Noel had declared that she wanted + to work on the land. This George had promptly vetoed. + </p> + <p> + “You aren't strong enough yet, my dear: Wait till the harvest + begins. Then you can go and help on the farm here. If you can stand that + without damage, we'll think about it.” + </p> + <p> + But the weather was wet and harvest late, and Noel had nothing much to do + but attend to her baby, already well attended to by Nurse, and dream and + brood, and now and then cook an omelette or do some housework for the sake + of a gnawing conscience. Since Gratian and George were away in hospital + all day, she was very much alone. Several times in the evenings Gratian + tried to come at the core of her thoughts, Twice she flew the kite of + Leila. The first time Noel only answered: “Yes, she's a brick.” + The second time, she said: “I don't want to think about her.” + </p> + <p> + But, hardening her heart, Gratian went on: “Don't you think it's + queer we've never heard from Captain Fort since he came down?” + </p> + <p> + In her calmest voice Noel answered: “Why should we, after being told + that he wasn't liked?” + </p> + <p> + “Who told him that?” + </p> + <p> + “I told him, that Daddy didn't; but I expect Daddy said much worse + things.” She gave a little laugh, then softly added: “Daddy's + wonderful, isn't he?” + </p> + <p> + “How?” + </p> + <p> + “The way he drives one to do the other thing. If he hadn't opposed + my marriage to Cyril, you know, that wouldn't have happened, it just made + all the difference. It stirred me up so fearfully.” Gratian stared + at her, astonished that she could see herself so clearly. Towards the end + of August she had a letter from Fort. + </p> + <p> + “DEAR MRS. LAIRD, + </p> + <p> + “You know all about things, of course, except the one thing which to + me is all important. I can't go on without knowing whether I have a chance + with your sister. It is against your father's expressed wish that she + should have anything to do with me, but I told him that I could not and + would not promise not to ask her. I get my holiday at the end of this + month, and am coming down to put it to the touch. It means more to me than + you can possibly imagine. + </p> + <p> + “I am, dear Mrs. Laird, + </p> + <p> + “Your very faithful servant, + </p> + <p> + “JAMES FORT.” + </p> + <p> + She discussed the letter with George, whose advice was: “Answer it + politely, but say nothing; and nothing to Nollie. I think it would be a + very good thing. Of course it's a bit of a make-shift—twice her age; + but he's a genuine man, if not exactly brilliant.” + </p> + <p> + Gratian answered almost sullenly: “I've always wanted the very best + for Nollie.” + </p> + <p> + George screwed up his steel-coloured eyes, as he might have looked at one + on whom he had to operate. “Quite so,” he said. “But you + must remember, Gracie, that out of the swan she was, Nollie has made + herself into a lame duck. Fifty per cent at least is off her value, + socially. We must look at things as they are.” + </p> + <p> + “Father is dead against it.” + </p> + <p> + George smiled, on the point of saying: 'That makes me feel it must be a + good thing!' But he subdued the impulse. + </p> + <p> + “I agree that we're bound by his absence not to further it actively. + Still Nollie knows his wishes, and it's up to her and no one else. After + all, she's no longer a child.” + </p> + <p> + His advice was followed. But to write that polite letter, which said + nothing, cost Gratian a sleepless night, and two or three hours' + penmanship. She was very conscientious. Knowledge of this impending visit + increased the anxiety with which she watched her sister, but the only + inkling she obtained of Noel's state of mind was when the girl showed her + a letter she had received from Thirza, asking her to come back to Kestrel. + A postscript, in Uncle Bob's handwriting, added these words: + </p> + <p> + “We're getting quite fossilised down here; Eve's gone and left us + again. We miss you and the youngster awfully. Come along down, Nollie + there's a dear!” + </p> + <p> + “They're darlings,” Noel said, “but I shan't go. I'm too + restless, ever since Daddy went; you don't know how restless. This rain + simply makes me want to die.” + </p> + <p> + 2 + </p> + <p> + The weather improved next day, and at the end of that week harvest began. + By what seemed to Noel a stroke of luck the farmer's binder was broken; he + could not get it repaired, and wanted all the human binders he could get. + That first day in the fields blistered her hands, burnt her face and neck, + made every nerve and bone in her body ache; but was the happiest day she + had spent for weeks, the happiest perhaps since Cyril Morland left her, + over a year ago. She had a bath and went to bed the moment she got in. + </p> + <p> + Lying there nibbling chocolate and smoking a cigarette, she luxuriated in + the weariness which had stilled her dreadful restlessness. Watching the + smoke of her cigarette curl up against the sunset glow which filled her + window, she mused: If only she could be tired out like this every day! She + would be all right then, would lose the feeling of not knowing what she + wanted, of being in a sort o of large box, with the lid slammed down, + roaming round it like a dazed and homesick bee in an overturned tumbler; + the feeling of being only half alive, of having a wing maimed so that she + could only fly a little way, and must then drop. + </p> + <p> + She slept like a top that night. But the next day's work was real torture, + and the third not much better. By the end of the week, however, she was no + longer stiff. + </p> + <p> + Saturday was cloudless; a perfect day. The field she was working in lay on + a slope. It was the last field to be cut, and the best wheat yet, with a + glorious burnt shade in its gold and the ears blunt and full. She had got + used now to the feel of the great sheaves in her arms, and the binding + wisps drawn through her hand till she held them level, below the ears, + ready for the twist. There was no new sensation in it now; just steady, + rather dreamy work, to keep her place in the row, to the swish-swish of + the cutter and the call of the driver to his horses at the turns; with + continual little pauses, to straighten and rest her back a moment, and + shake her head free from the flies, or suck her finger, sore from the + constant pushing of the straw ends under. So the hours went on, rather hot + and wearisome, yet with a feeling of something good being done, of a job + getting surely to its end. And gradually the centre patch narrowed, and + the sun slowly slanted down. + </p> + <p> + When they stopped for tea, instead of running home as usual, she drank it + cold out of a flask she had brought, ate a bun and some chocolate, and lay + down on her back against the hedge. She always avoided that group of her + fellow workers round the tea-cans which the farmer's wife brought out. To + avoid people, if she could, had become habitual to her now. They must know + about her, or would soon if she gave them the chance. She had never lost + consciousness of her ring-finger, expecting every eye to fall on it as a + matter of course. Lying on her face, she puffed her cigarette into the + grass, and watched a beetle, till one of the sheep-dogs, scouting for + scraps, came up, and she fed him with her second bun. Having finished the + bun, he tried to eat the beetle, and, when she rescued it, convinced that + she had nothing more to give him, sneezed at her, and went away. Pressing + the end of her cigarette out against the bank, she turned over. Already + the driver was perched on his tiny seat, and his companion, whose business + it was to free the falling corn, was getting up alongside. Swish-swish! It + had begun again. She rose, stretched herself, and went back to her place + in the row. The field would be finished to-night; she would have a lovely + rest-all Sunday I Towards seven o'clock a narrow strip, not twenty yards + broad, alone was left. This last half hour was what Noel dreaded. To-day + it was worse, for the farmer had no cartridges left, and the rabbits were + dealt with by hullabaloo and sticks and chasing dogs. Rabbits were vermin, + of course, and ate the crops, and must be killed; besides, they were good + food, and fetched two shillings apiece; all this she knew but to see the + poor frightened things stealing out, pounced on, turned, shouted at, + chased, rolled over by great swift dogs, fallen on by the boys and killed + and carried with their limp grey bodies upside down, so dead and soft and + helpless, always made her feel quite sick. She stood very still, trying + not to see or hear, and in the corn opposite to her a rabbit stole along, + crouched, and peeped. 'Oh!' she thought, 'come out here, bunny. I'll let + you away—can't you see I will? It's your only chance. Come out!' But + the rabbit crouched, and gazed, with its little cowed head poked forward, + and its ears laid flat; it seemed trying to understand whether this still + thing in front of it was the same as those others. With the thought, 'Of + course it won't while I look at it,' Noel turned her head away. Out of the + corner of her eye she could see a man standing a few yards off. The rabbit + bolted out. Now the man would shout and turn it. But he did not, and the + rabbit scuttled past him and away to the hedge. She heard a shout from the + end of the row, saw a dog galloping. Too late! Hurrah! And clasping her + hands, she looked at the man. It was Fort! With the queerest feeling—amazement, + pleasure, the thrill of conspiracy, she saw him coming up to her. + </p> + <p> + “I did want that rabbit to get off,” she sighed out; “I've + been watching it. Thank you!” + </p> + <p> + He looked at her. “My goodness!” was all he said. + </p> + <p> + Noel's hands flew up to her cheeks. “Yes, I know; is my nose very + red?” + </p> + <p> + “No; you're as lovely as Ruth, if she was lovely.” + </p> + <p> + Swish-swish! The cutter came by; Noel started forward to her place in the + row; but catching her arm, he said: “No, let me do this little bit. + I haven't had a day in the fields since the war began. Talk to me while + I'm binding.” + </p> + <p> + She stood watching him. He made a different, stronger twist from hers, and + took larger sheaves, so that she felt a sort of jealousy. + </p> + <p> + “I didn't know you knew about this sort of thing.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Lord, yes! I had a farm once out West. Nothing like field-work, + to make you feel good. I've been watching you; you bind jolly well.” + </p> + <p> + Noel gave a sigh of pleasure. + </p> + <p> + “Where have you come from?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Straight from the station. I'm on my holiday.” He looked up + at her, and they both fell silent. + </p> + <p> + Swish-swish! The cutter was coming again. Noel went to the beginning of + her portion of the falling corn, he to the end of it. They worked towards + each other, and met before the cutter was on them a third time. + </p> + <p> + “Will you come in to supper?” + </p> + <p> + “I'd love to.” + </p> + <p> + “Then let's go now, please. I don't want to see any more rabbits + killed.” + </p> + <p> + They spoke very little on the way to the bungalow, but she felt his eyes + on her all the time. She left him with George and Gratian who had just + come in, and went up for her bath. + </p> + <p> + Supper had been laid out in the verandah, and it was nearly dark before + they had finished. In rhyme with the failing of the light Noel became more + and more silent. When they went in, she ran up to her baby. She did not go + down again, but as on the night before her father went away, stood at her + window, leaning out. A dark night, no moon; in the starlight she could + only just see the dim garden, where no goat was grazing. Now that her + first excitement had worn off, this sudden reappearance of Fort filled her + with nervous melancholy: She knew perfectly well what he had come for, she + had always known. She had no certain knowledge of her own mind; but she + knew that all these weeks she had been between his influence and her + father's, listening to them, as it were, pleading with her. And, + curiously, the pleading of each, instead of drawing her towards the + pleader, had seemed dragging her away from him, driving her into the arms + of the other. To the protection of one or the other she felt she must go; + and it humiliated her to think that in all the world there was no other + place for her. The wildness of that one night in the old Abbey seemed to + have power to govern all her life to come. Why should that one night, that + one act, have this uncanny power to drive her this way or that, to those + arms or these? Must she, because of it, always need protection? Standing + there in the dark it was almost as if they had come up behind her, with + their pleadings; and a shiver ran down her back. She longed to turn on + them, and cry out: “Go away; oh; go away! I don't want either of + you; I just want to be left alone!” Then something, a moth perhaps, + touched her neck. She gasped and shook herself. How silly! + </p> + <p> + She heard the back door round the corner of the house opening; a man's low + voice down in the dark said: + </p> + <p> + “Who's the young lady that comes out in the fields?” + </p> + <p> + Another voice—one of the maids—answered: + </p> + <p> + “The Missis's sister.” + </p> + <p> + “They say she's got a baby.” + </p> + <p> + “Never you mind what she's got.” + </p> + <p> + Noel heard the man's laugh. It seemed to her the most odious laugh she had + ever heard. She thought swiftly and absurdly: 'I'll get away from all + this.' The window was only a few feet up. She got out on to the ledge, let + herself down, and dropped. There was a flower-bed below, quite soft, with + a scent of geranium-leaves and earth. She brushed herself, and went + tiptoeing across the gravel and the little front lawn, to the gate. The + house was quite dark, quite silent. She walked on, down the road. 'Jolly!' + she thought. 'Night after night we sleep, and never see the nights: sleep + until we're called, and never see anything. If they want to catch me + they'll have to run.' And she began running down the road in her evening + frock and shoes, with nothing on her head. She stopped after going perhaps + three hundred yards, by the edge of the wood. It was splendidly dark in + there, and she groped her way from trunk to trunk, with a delicious, + half-scared sense of adventure and novelty. She stopped at last by a thin + trunk whose bark glimmered faintly. She felt it with her cheek, quite + smooth—a birch tree; and, with her arms round it, she stood + perfectly still. Wonderfully, magically silent, fresh and sweet-scented + and dark! The little tree trembled suddenly within her arms, and she heard + the low distant rumble, to which she had grown so accustomed—the + guns, always at work, killing—killing men and killing trees, little + trees perhaps like this within her arms, little trembling trees! Out + there, in this dark night, there would not be a single unscarred tree like + this smooth quivering thing, no fields of corn, not even a bush or a blade + of grass, no leaves to rustle and smell sweet, not a bird, no little + soft-footed night beasts, except the rats; and she shuddered, thinking of + the Belgian soldier-painter. Holding the tree tight, she squeezed its + smooth body against her. A rush of the same helpless, hopeless revolt and + sorrow overtook her, which had wrung from her that passionate little + outburst to her father, the night before he went away. Killed, torn, and + bruised; burned, and killed, like Cyril! All the young things, like this + little tree. + </p> + <p> + Rumble! Rumble! Quiver! Quiver! And all else so still, so sweet and still, + and starry, up there through the leaves.... 'I can't bear it!' she + thought. She pressed her lips, which the sun had warmed all day, against + the satiny smooth bark. But the little tree stood within her arms + insentient, quivering only to the long rumbles. With each of those dull + mutterings, life and love were going out, like the flames of candles on a + Christmas-tree, blown, one by one. To her eyes, accustomed by now to the + darkness in there, the wood seemed slowly to be gathering a sort of life, + as though it were a great thing watching her; a great thing with hundreds + of limbs and eyes, and the power of breathing. The little tree, which had + seemed so individual and friendly, ceased to be a comfort and became a + part of the whole living wood, absorbed in itself, and coldly watching + her, this intruder of the mischievous breed, the fatal breed which loosed + those rumblings on the earth. Noel unlocked her arms, and recoiled. A + bough scraped her neck, some leaves flew against her eyes; she stepped + aside, tripped over a root, and fell. A bough had hit her too, and she lay + a little dazed, quivering at such dark unfriendliness. She held her hands + up to her face for the mere pleasure of seeing something a little less + dark; it was childish, and absurd, but she was frightened. The wood seemed + to have so many eyes, so many arms, and all unfriendly; it seemed waiting + to give her other blows, other falls, and to guard her within its darkness + until—! She got up, moved a few steps, and stood still, she had + forgotten from where she had come in. And afraid of moving deeper into the + unfriendly wood, she turned slowly round, trying to tell which way to go. + It was all just one dark watching thing, of limbs on the ground and in the + air. 'Any way,' she thought; 'any way of course will take me out!' And she + groped forward, keeping her hands up to guard her face. It was silly, but + she could not help the sinking, scattered feeling which comes to one + bushed, or lost in a fog. If the wood had not been so dark, so,—alive! + And for a second she had the senseless, terrifying thought of a child: + 'What if I never get out!' Then she laughed at it, and stood still again, + listening. There was no sound to guide her, no sound at all except that + faint dull rumble, which seemed to come from every side, now. And the + trees watched her. 'Ugh!' she thought; 'I hate this wood!' She saw it now, + its snaky branches, its darkness, and great forms, as an abode of giants + and witches. She groped and scrambled on again, tripped once more, and + fell, hitting her forehead against a trunk. The blow dazed and sobered + her. 'It's idiotic,' she thought; 'I'm a baby! I'll Just walk very slowly + till I reach the edge. I know it isn't a large wood!' She turned + deliberately to face each direction; solemnly selected that from which the + muttering of the guns seemed to come, and started again, moving very + slowly with her hands stretched out. Something rustled in the undergrowth, + quite close; she saw a pair of green eyes shining. Her heart jumped into + her mouth. The thing sprang—there was a swish of ferns and twigs, + and silence. Noel clasped her breast. A poaching cat! And again she moved + forward. But she had lost direction. 'I'm going round and round,' she + thought. 'They always do.' And the sinking scattered feeling of the + “bushed” clutched at her again. 'Shall I call?' she thought. + 'I must be near the road. But it's so babyish.' She moved on again. Her + foot struck something soft. A voice muttered a thick oath; a hand seized + her ankle. She leaped, and dragged and wrenched it free; and, utterly + unnerved, she screamed, and ran forward blindly. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0043" id="link2H_4_0043"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + V + </h2> + <p> + No one could have so convinced a feeling as Jimmy Fort that he would be a + 'bit of a makeshift' for Noel. He had spent the weeks after his interview + with her father obsessed by her image, often saying to himself “It + won't do. It's playing it too low down to try and get that child, when I + know that, but for her trouble, I shouldn't have a chance.” He had + never had much opinion of his looks, but now he seemed to himself absurdly + old and dried-up in this desert of a London. He loathed the Office job to + which they had put him, and the whole atmosphere of officialdom. Another + year of it, and he would shrivel like an old apple! He began to look at + himself anxiously, taking stock of his physical assets now that he had + this dream of young beauty. He would be forty next month, and she was + nineteen! But there would be times too when he would feel that, with her, + he could be as much of a “three-year-old” as the youngster she + had loved. Having little hope of winning her, he took her “past” + but lightly. Was it not that past which gave him what chance he had? On + two things he was determined: He would not trade on her past. And if by + any chance she took him, he would never show her that he remembered that + she had one. + </p> + <p> + After writing to Gratian he had spent the week before his holiday began, + in an attempt to renew the youthfulness of his appearance, which made him + feel older, leaner, bonier and browner than ever. He got up early, rode in + the rain, took Turkish baths, and did all manner of exercises; neither + smoked nor drank, and went to bed early, exactly as if he had been going + to ride a steeplechase. On the afternoon, when at last he left on that + terrific pilgrimage, he gazed at his face with a sort of despair, it was + so lean, and leather-coloured, and he counted almost a dozen grey hairs. + </p> + <p> + When he reached the bungalow, and was told that she was working in the + corn-fields, he had for the first time a feeling that Fate was on his + side. Such a meeting would be easier than any other! He had been watching + her for several minutes before she saw him, with his heart beating more + violently than it had ever beaten in the trenches; and that new feeling of + hope stayed with him—all through the greeting, throughout supper, + and even after she had left them and gone upstairs. Then, with the + suddenness of a blind drawn down, it vanished, and he sat on, trying to + talk, and slowly getting more and more silent and restless. + </p> + <p> + “Nollie gets so tired, working,” Gratian said: He knew she + meant it kindly but that she should say it at all was ominous. He got up + at last, having lost hope of seeing Noel again, conscious too that he had + answered the last three questions at random. + </p> + <p> + In the porch George said: “You'll come in to lunch tomorrow, won't + you?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, thanks, I'm afraid it'll bore you all.” + </p> + <p> + “Not a bit. Nollie won't be so tired.” + </p> + <p> + Again—so well meant. They were very kind. He looked up from the + gate, trying to make out which her window might be; but all was dark. A + little way down the road he stopped to light a cigarette; and, leaning + against a gate, drew the smoke of it deep into his lungs, trying to + assuage the ache in his heart. So it was hopeless! She had taken the + first, the very first chance, to get away from him! She knew that he loved + her, could not help knowing, for he had never been able to keep it out of + his eyes and voice. If she had felt ever so little for him, she would not + have avoided him this first evening. 'I'll go back to that desert,' he + thought; 'I'm not going to whine and crawl. I'll go back, and bite on it; + one must have some pride. Oh, why the hell am I crocked-up like this? If + only I could get out to France again!' And then Noel's figure bent over + the falling corn formed before him. 'I'll have one more try,' he thought; + 'one more—tomorrow somewhere, I'll get to know for certain. And if I + get what Leila's got I shall deserve it, I suppose. Poor Leila! Where is + she? Back at High Constantia?' What was that? A cry—of terror—in + that wood! Crossing to the edge, he called “Coo-ee!” and stood + peering into its darkness. He heard the sound of bushes being brushed + aside, and whistled. A figure came bursting out, almost into his arms. + </p> + <p> + “Hallo!” he said; “what's up?” + </p> + <p> + A voice gasped: “Oh! It's—it's nothing!” + </p> + <p> + He saw Noel. She had swayed back, and stood about a yard away. He could + dimly see her covering her face with her arms. Feeling instinctively that + she wanted to hide her fright, he said quietly: + </p> + <p> + “What luck! I was just passing. It's awfully dark.” + </p> + <p> + “I—I got lost; and a man—caught my foot, in there!” + </p> + <p> + Moved beyond control by the little gulps and gasps of her breathing, he + stepped forward and put his hands on her shoulders. He held her lightly, + without speaking, terrified lest he should wound her pride. + </p> + <p> + “I-I got in there,” she gasped, “and the trees—and + I stumbled over a roan asleep, and he—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Yes, I know,” he murmured, as if to a child. She had + dropped her arms now, and he could see her face, with eyes unnaturally + dilated, and lips quivering. Then moved again beyond control, he drew her + so close that he could feel the throbbing of her heart, and put his lips + to her forehead all wet with heat. She closed her eyes, gave a little + choke, and buried her face against his coat. + </p> + <p> + “There, there, my darling!” he kept on saying. “There, + there, my darling!” He could feel the snuggling of her cheek against + his shoulder. He had got her—had got her! He was somehow certain + that she would not draw back now. And in the wonder and ecstasy of that + thought, all the world above her head, the stars in their courses, the + wood which had frightened her, seemed miracles of beauty and fitness. By + such fortune as had never come to man, he had got her! And he murmured + over and over again: + </p> + <p> + “I love you!” She was resting perfectly quiet against him, + while her heart ceased gradually to beat so fast. He could feel her cheek + rubbing against his coat of Harris tweed. Suddenly she sniffed at it, and + whispered: + </p> + <p> + “It smells good.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0044" id="link2H_4_0044"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VI + </h2> + <p> + When summer sun has burned all Egypt, the white man looks eagerly each day + for evening, whose rose-coloured veil melts opalescent into the dun drift, + of the hills, and iridescent above, into the slowly deepening blue. + Pierson stood gazing at the mystery of the desert from under the little + group of palms and bougainvillea which formed the garden of the hospital. + Even-song was in full voice: From the far wing a gramophone was grinding + out a music-hall ditty; two aeroplanes, wheeling exactly like the buzzards + of the desert, were letting drip the faint whir of their flight; metallic + voices drifted from the Arab village; the wheels of the water-wells + creaked; and every now and then a dry rustle was stirred from the + palm-leaves by puffs of desert wind. On either hand an old road ran out, + whose line could be marked by the little old watch-towers of another age. + For how many hundred years had human life passed along it to East and + West; the brown men and their camels, threading that immemorial track over + the desert, which ever filled him with wonder, so still it was, so wide, + so desolate, and every evening so beautiful! He sometimes felt that he + could sit for ever looking at it; as though its cruel mysterious + loveliness were—home; and yet he never looked at it without a spasm + of homesickness. + </p> + <p> + So far his new work had brought him no nearer to the hearts of men. Or at + least he did not feel it had. Both at the regimental base, and now in this + hospital—an intermediate stage—waiting for the draft with + which he would be going into Palestine, all had been very nice to him, + friendly, and as it were indulgent; so might schoolboys have treated some + well-intentioned dreamy master, or business men a harmless idealistic + inventor who came visiting their offices. He had even the feeling that + they were glad to have him about, just as they were glad to have their + mascots and their regimental colours; but of heart-to-heart simple + comradeship—it seemed they neither wanted it of him nor expected him + to give it, so that he had a feeling that he would be forward and + impertinent to offer it. Moreover, he no longer knew how. He was very + lonely. 'When I come face to face with death,' he would think, 'it will be + different. Death makes us all brothers. I may be of real use to them + then.' + </p> + <p> + They brought him a letter while he stood there listening to that + even-song, gazing at the old desert road. + </p> + <p> + “DARLING DAD, + </p> + <p> + “I do hope this will reach you before you move on to Palestine. You + said in your last—at the end of September, so I hope you'll just get + it. There is one great piece of news, which I'm afraid will hurt and + trouble you; Nollie is married to Jimmy Fort. They were married down here + this afternoon, and have just gone up to Town. They have to find a house + of course. She has been very restless, lonely, and unhappy ever since you + went, and I'm sure it is really for the best: She is quite another + creature, and simply devoted, headlong. It's just like Nollie. She says + she didn't know what she wanted, up to the last minute. But now she seems + as if she could never want anything else. + </p> + <p> + “Dad dear, Nollie could never have made good by herself. It isn't + her nature, and it's much better like this, I feel sure, and so does + George. Of course it isn't ideal—and one wanted that for her; but + she did break her wing, and he is so awfully good and devoted to her, + though you didn't believe it, and perhaps won't, even now. The great thing + is to feel her happy again, and know she's safe. Nollie is capable of + great devotion; only she must be anchored. She was drifting all about; and + one doesn't know what she might have done, in one of her moods. I do hope + you won't grieve about it. She's dreadfully anxious about how you'll feel. + I know it will be wretched for you, so far off; but do try and believe + it's for the best.... She's out of danger; and she was really in a + horrible position. It's so good for the baby, too, and only fair to him. I + do think one must take things as they are, Dad dear. It was impossible to + mend Nollie's wing. If she were a fighter, and gloried in it, or if she + were the sort who would 'take the veil'—but she isn't either. So it + is all right, Dad. She's writing to you herself. I'm sure Leila didn't + want Jimmy Fort to be unhappy because he couldn't love her; or she would + never have gone away. George sends you his love; we are both very well. + And Nollie is looking splendid still, after her harvest work. All, all my + love, Dad dear. Is there anything we can get, and send you? Do take care + of your blessed self, and don't grieve about Nollie. + </p> + <p> + “GRATIAN.” + </p> + <p> + A half-sheet of paper fluttered down; he picked it up from among the + parched fibre of dead palm-leaves. + </p> + <p> + “DADDY DARLING, + </p> + <p> + “I've done it. Forgive me—I'm so happy. + </p> + <p> + “Your NOLLIE.” + </p> + <p> + The desert shimmered, the palm-leaves rustled, and Pierson stood trying to + master the emotion roused in him by those two letters. He felt no anger, + not even vexation; he felt no sorrow, but a loneliness so utter and + complete that he did not know how to bear it. It seemed as if some last + link with life had' snapped. 'My girls are happy,' he thought. 'If I am + not—what does it matter? If my faith and my convictions mean nothing + to them—why should they follow? I must and will not feel lonely. I + ought to have the sense of God present, to feel His hand in mine. If I + cannot, what use am I—what use to the poor fellows in there, what + use in all the world?' + </p> + <p> + An old native on a donkey went by, piping a Soudanese melody on a little + wooden Arab flute. Pierson turned back into the hospital humming it. A + nurse met him there. + </p> + <p> + “The poor boy at the end of A ward is sinking fast, sir; I expect + he'd like to see you.” + </p> + <p> + He went into A ward, and walked down between the beds to the west window + end, where two screens had been put, to block off the cot. Another nurse, + who was sitting beside it, rose at once. + </p> + <p> + “He's quite conscious,” she whispered; “he can still + speak a little. He's such a dear.” A tear rolled down her cheek, and + she passed out behind the screens. Pierson looked down at the boy; perhaps + he was twenty, but the unshaven down on his cheeks was soft and almost + colourless. His eyes were closed. He breathed regularly, and did not seem + in pain; but there was about him that which told he was going; something + resigned, already of the grave. The window was wide open, covered by + mosquito-netting, and a tiny line of sunlight, slanting through across the + foot of the cot, crept slowly backwards over the sheets and the boy's + body, shortening as it crept. In the grey whiteness of the walls; the bed, + the boy's face, just that pale yellow bar of sunlight, and one splash of + red and blue from a little flag on the wall glowed out. At this cooler + hour, the ward behind the screens was almost empty, and few sounds broke + the stillness; but from without came that intermittent rustle of dry + palm-leaves. Pierson waited in silence, watching the sun sink. If the boy + might pass like this, it would be God's mercy. Then he saw the boy's eyes + open, wonderfully clear eyes of the lighted grey which has dark rims; his + lips moved, and Pierson bent down to hear. + </p> + <p> + “I'm goin' West, zurr.” The whisper had a little soft burr; + the lips quivered; a pucker as of a child formed on his face, and passed. + </p> + <p> + Through Pierson's mind there flashed the thought: 'O God! Let me be some + help to him!' + </p> + <p> + “To God, my dear son!” he said. + </p> + <p> + A flicker of humour, of ironic question, passed over the boy's lips. + </p> + <p> + Terribly moved, Pierson knelt down, and began softly, fervently praying. + His whispering mingled with the rustle of the palm-leaves, while the bar + of sunlight crept up the body. In the boy's smile had been the whole of + stoic doubt, of stoic acquiescence. It had met him with an unconscious + challenge; had seemed to know so much. Pierson took his hand, which lay + outside the sheet. The boy's lips moved, as though in thanks; he drew a + long feeble breath, as if to suck in the thread of sunlight; and his eyes + closed. Pierson bent over the hand. When he looked up the boy was dead. He + kissed his forehead and went quietly out. + </p> + <p> + The sun had set, and he walked away from the hospital to a hillock beyond + the track on the desert's edge, and stood looking at the afterglow. The + sun and the boy—together they had gone West, into that wide glowing + nothingness. + </p> + <p> + The muezzin call to sunset prayer in the Arab village came to him clear + and sharp, while he sat there, unutterably lonely. Why had that smile so + moved him? Other death smiles had been like this evening smile on the + desert hills—a glowing peace, a promise of heaven. But the boy's + smile had said: 'Waste no breath on me—you cannot help. Who knows—who + knows? I have no hope, no faith; but I am adventuring. Good-bye!' Poor + boy! He had braved all things, and moved out uncertain, yet undaunted! Was + that, then, the uttermost truth, was faith a smaller thing? But from that + strange notion he recoiled with horror. 'In faith I have lived, in faith I + will die!' he thought, 'God helping me!' And the breeze, ruffling the + desert sand, blew the grains against the palms of his hands, outstretched + above the warm earth. + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Saint's Progress, by John Galsworthy + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SAINT'S PROGRESS *** + +***** This file should be named 2683-h.htm or 2683-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/6/8/2683/ + +Produced by David Widger + +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. 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