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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Helena's Path, by Anthony Hope
+
+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: Helena's Path
+
+Author: Anthony Hope
+
+Release Date: July 27, 2011 [EBook #36876]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HELENA'S PATH ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Cathy Maxam, Juliet Sutherland and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+    Helena's Path
+
+    _By_
+
+    ANTHONY HOPE
+
+    AUTHOR OF DOUBLE HARNESS
+    TRISTRAM OF BLENT
+    ETC.
+
+    [Illustration]
+
+    GARDEN CITY      NEW YORK
+    DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY
+
+    1912
+
+
+    _Copyright, 1907, by Anthony Hope Hawkins_
+
+
+
+
+    CONTENTS
+
+
+    CHAPTER                                    PAGE
+
+        I AMBROSE, LORD LYNBOROUGH                3
+
+       II LARGELY TOPOGRAPHICAL                  15
+
+      III OF LAW AND NATURAL RIGHTS              33
+
+       IV THE MESSAGE OF A PADLOCK               52
+
+        V THE BEGINNING OF WAR                   70
+
+       VI EXERCISE BEFORE BREAKFAST              90
+
+      VII ANOTHER WEDGE!                        110
+
+     VIII THE MARCHESA MOVES                    127
+
+       IX LYNBOROUGH DROPS A CATCH              148
+
+        X IN THE LAST RESORT                    171
+
+       XI AN ARMISTICE                          186
+
+      XII AN EMBASSAGE                          206
+
+     XIII THE FEAST OF ST. JOHN BAPTIST         223
+
+
+
+
+HELENA'S PATH
+
+
+
+
+_Chapter One_
+
+AMBROSE, LORD LYNBOROUGH
+
+
+Common opinion said that Lord Lynborough ought never to have had a
+peerage and forty thousand a year; he ought to have had a pound a week
+and a back bedroom in Bloomsbury. Then he would have become an eminent
+man; as it was, he turned out only a singularly erratic individual.
+
+So much for common opinion. Let no more be heard of its dull utilitarian
+judgements! There are plenty of eminent men--at the moment, it is
+believed, no less than seventy Cabinet and ex-Cabinet Ministers (or
+thereabouts)--to say nothing of Bishops, Judges, and the British
+Academy,--and all this in a nook of the world! (And the world too is a
+point!) Lynborough was something much more uncommon; it is not, however,
+quite easy to say what. Let the question be postponed; perhaps the story
+itself will answer it.
+
+He started life--or was started in it--in a series of surroundings of
+unimpeachable orthodoxy--Eton, Christ Church, the Grenadier Guards. He
+left each of these schools of mental culture and bodily discipline, not
+under a cloud--that metaphor would be ludicrously inept--but in an
+explosion. That, having been thus shot out of the first, he managed to
+enter the second--that, having been shot out of the second, he walked
+placidly into the third--that, having been shot out of the third, he
+suffered no apparent damage from his repeated propulsions--these are
+matters explicable only by a secret knowledge of British institutions.
+His father was strong, his mother came of stock even stronger; he
+himself--Ambrose Caverly as he then was--was very popular, and
+extraordinarily handsome in his unusual outlandish style.
+
+His father being still alive--and, though devoted to him, by now
+apprehensive of his doings--his means were for the next few years
+limited. Yet he contrived to employ himself. He took a soup-kitchen and
+ran it; he took a yacht and sank it; he took a public-house, ruined it,
+and got himself severely fined for watering the beer in the Temperance
+interest. This injustice rankled in him deeply, and seems to have
+permanently influenced his development. For a time he forsook
+the world and joined a sect of persons who called themselves
+"Theo-philanthropists"--and surely no man could call himself much more
+than that? Returning to mundane affairs, he refused to pay his rates,
+stood for Parliament in the Socialist interest, and, being defeated,
+declared himself a practical follower of Count Tolstoi. His father
+advising a short holiday, he went off and narrowly escaped being shot
+somewhere in the Balkans, owing to his having taken too keen an interest
+in local politics. (He ought to have been shot; he was clear--and even
+vehement--on that point in a letter which he wrote to _The Times_.) Then
+he sent for Leonard Stabb, disappeared in company with that gentleman,
+and was no more seen for some years.
+
+He could always send for Stabb, so faithful was that learned student's
+affection for him. A few years Ambrose Caverly's senior, Stabb had
+emerged late and painfully from a humble origin and a local grammar
+school, had gone up to Oxford as a non-collegiate man, had gained a
+first-class and a fellowship, and had settled down to a life of
+research. Early in his career he became known by the sobriquet of
+"Cromlech Stabb"--even his unlearned friends would call him "Cromlech"
+oftener than by any other name. His elaborate monograph on cromlechs had
+earned him the title; subsequently he extended his researches to other
+relics of ancient religions--or ancient forms of religion, as he always
+preferred to put it; "there being," he would add, with the simplicity of
+erudition beaming through his spectacles on any auditor, orthodox or
+other, "of course, only one religion." He was a very large stout man;
+his spectacles were large too. He was very strong, but by no means
+mobile. Ambrose's father regarded Stabb's companionship as a certain
+safeguard to his heir. The validity of this idea is doubtful. Students
+have so much curiosity--and so many diverse scenes and various types of
+humanity can minister to that appetite of the mind.
+
+Occasional rumors about Ambrose Caverly reached his native shores; he
+was heard of in Morocco, located in Spain, familiar in North and in
+South America. Once he was not heard of for a year; his father and
+friends concluded that he must be dead--or in prison. Happily the latter
+explanation proved correct. Once more he and the law had come to
+loggerheads; when he emerged from confinement he swore never to employ
+on his own account an instrument so hateful.
+
+"A gentleman should fight his own battles, Cromlech," he cried to his
+friend. "I did no more than put a bullet in his arm--in a fair
+encounter--and he let me go to prison!"
+
+"Monstrous!" Stabb agreed with a smile. He had passed the year in a
+dirty little inn by the prison gate--among scoundrels, but fortunately
+in the vicinity of some mounds distinctly prehistoric.
+
+Old Lord Lynborough's death occurred suddenly and unexpectedly, at a
+moment when Ambrose and his companion could not be found. They were
+somewhere in Peru--Stabb among the Incas, Ambrose probably in less
+ancient company. It was six months before the news reached them.
+
+"I must go home and take up my responsibilities, Cromlech," said the new
+Lord Lynborough.
+
+"You really think you'd better?" queried Stabb doubtfully.
+
+"It was my father's wish."
+
+"Oh, well--! But you'll be thought odd over there, Ambrose."
+
+"Odd? I odd? What the deuce is there odd about me, Cromlech?"
+
+"Everything." The investigator stuck his cheroot back in his mouth.
+
+Lynborough considered dispassionately--as he fain would hope. "I don't
+see it."
+
+That was the difficulty. Stabb was well aware of it. A man who is odd,
+and knows it, may be proud, but he will be careful; he may swagger, but
+he will take precautions. Lynborough had no idea that he was odd; he
+followed his nature--in all its impulses and in all its whims--with
+equal fidelity and simplicity. This is not to say that he was never
+amused at himself; every intelligent observer is amused at himself
+pretty often; but he did not doubt merely because he was amused. He took
+his entertainment over his own doings as a bonus life offered. A great
+sincerity of action and of feeling was his predominant characteristic.
+
+"Besides, if I'm odd," he went on with a laugh, "it won't be noticed.
+I'm going to bury myself at Scarsmoor for a couple of years at least.
+I'm thinking of writing an autobiography. You'll come with me,
+Cromlech?"
+
+"I must be totally undisturbed," Stabb stipulated. "I've a great deal of
+material to get into shape."
+
+"There'll be nobody there but myself--and a secretary, I daresay."
+
+"A secretary? What's that for?"
+
+"To write the book, of course."
+
+"Oh, I see," said Stabb, smiling in a slow fat fashion. "You won't write
+your autobiography yourself?"
+
+"Not unless I find it very engrossing."
+
+"Well, I'll come," said Stabb.
+
+So home they came--an unusual-looking pair--Stabb with his towering
+bulky frame, his big goggles, his huge head with its scanty black locks
+encircling a face like a harvest moon--Lynborough, tall, too, but lean
+as a lath, with tiny feet and hands, a rare elegance of carriage, a
+crown of chestnut hair, a long straight nose, a waving mustache, a chin
+pointed like a needle and scarcely thickened to the eye by the
+close-cropped, short, pointed beard he wore. His bright hazel eyes
+gleamed out from his face with an attractive restlessness that caught
+away a stranger's first attention even from the rare beauty of the lines
+of his head and face; it was regularity over-refined, sharpened almost
+to an outline of itself. But his appearance tempted him to no excesses
+of costume; he had always despised that facile path to a barren
+eccentricity. On every occasion he wore what all men of breeding were
+wearing, yet invested the prescribed costume with the individuality of
+his character: this, it seems, is as near as the secret of dressing well
+can be tracked.
+
+His manner was not always deemed so free from affectation; it was,
+perhaps, a little more self-conscious; it was touched with a foreign
+courtliness, and he employed, on occasions of any ceremony or in
+intercourse with ladies, a certain formality of speech; it was said of
+him by an observant woman that he seemed to be thinking in a language
+more ornate and picturesque than his tongue employed. He was content to
+say the apt thing, not striving after wit; he was more prone to hide a
+joke than to tell it; he would ignore a victory and laugh at a defeat;
+yet he followed up the one and never sat down under the other, unless it
+were inflicted by one he loved. He liked to puzzle, but took no
+conscious pains to amuse.
+
+Thus he returned to his "responsibilities." Cromlech Stabb was wondering
+what that dignified word would prove to describe.
+
+
+
+
+_Chapter Two_
+
+LARGELY TOPOGRAPHICAL
+
+
+Miss Gilletson had been studying the local paper, which appeared every
+Saturday and reached Nab Grange on the following morning. She uttered an
+exclamation, looked up from her small breakfast-table, and called over
+to the Marchesa's small breakfast-table.
+
+"Helena, I see that Lord Lynborough arrived at the Castle on Friday!"
+
+"Did he, Jennie?" returned the Marchesa, with no show of interest. "Have
+an egg, Colonel?" The latter words were addressed to her companion at
+table, Colonel Wenman, a handsome but bald-headed man of about forty.
+
+"'Lord Lynborough, accompanied by his friend Mr. Leonard Stabb, the
+well-known authority on prehistoric remains, and Mr. Roger Wilbraham,
+his private secretary. His lordship's household had preceded him to the
+Castle.'"
+
+Lady Norah Mountliffey--who sat with Miss Gilletson--was in the habit of
+saying what she thought. What she said now was: "Thank goodness!" and
+she said it rather loudly.
+
+"You gentlemen haven't been amusing Norah," observed the Marchesa to the
+Colonel.
+
+"I hoped that I, at least, was engaged on another task--though, alas, a
+harder one!" he answered in a low tone and with a glance of respectful
+homage.
+
+"If you refer to me, you've been admirably successful," the Marchesa
+assured him graciously--only with the graciousness there mingled that
+touch of mockery which always made the Colonel rather ill at ease.
+"Amuse" is, moreover, a word rich in shades of meaning.
+
+Miss Gilletson was frowning thoughtfully. "Helena can't call on him--and
+I don't suppose he'll call on her," she said to Norah.
+
+"He'll get to know her if he wants to."
+
+"I might call on him," suggested the Colonel. "He was in the service,
+you know, and that--er--makes a bond. Queer fellow he was, by Jove!"
+
+Captain Irons and Mr. Stillford came in from riding, late for breakfast.
+They completed the party at table, for Violet Dufaure always took the
+first meal of the day in bed. Irons was a fine young man, still in the
+twenties, very fair and very bronzed. He had seen fighting and was
+great at polo. Stillford, though a man of peace (if a solicitor may so
+be called), was by no means inferior in physique. A cadet of a good
+county family, he was noted in the hunting field and as a long-distance
+swimmer. He had come to Nab Grange to confer with the Marchesa on her
+affairs, but, proving himself an acquisition to the party, had been
+pressed to stay on as a guest.
+
+The men began to bandy stories of Lynborough from one table to the
+other. Wenman knew the London gossip, Stillford the local traditions:
+but neither had seen the hero of their tales for many years. The
+anecdotes delighted Norah Mountliffey, and caused Miss Gilletson's hands
+to fly up in horror. Nevertheless it was Miss Gilletson who said,
+"Perhaps we shall see him at church to-day."
+
+"Not likely!" Stillford opined. "And--er--is anybody going?"
+
+The pause which habitually follows this question ensued upon it now.
+Neither the Marchesa nor Lady Norah would go--they were both of the Old
+Church. Miss Dufaure was unlikely to go, by reason of fatigue. Miss
+Gilletson would, of course, go, so would Colonel Wenman--but that was so
+well known that they didn't speak.
+
+"Any ladies with Lynborough's party, I wonder!" Captain Irons hazarded.
+"I think I'll go! Stillford, you ought to go to church--family solicitor
+and all that, eh?"
+
+A message suddenly arrived from Miss Dufaure, to say that she felt
+better and proposed to attend church--could she be sent?
+
+"The carriage is going anyhow," said Miss Gilletson a trifle stiffly.
+
+"Yes, I suppose I ought," Stillford agreed. "We'll drive there and walk
+back?"
+
+"Right you are!" said the Captain.
+
+By following the party from Nab Grange to Fillby parish church, a
+partial idea of the locality would be gained; but perhaps it is better
+to face the complete task at once. Idle tales suit idle readers; a
+history such as this may legitimately demand from those who study it
+some degree of mental application.
+
+If, then, the traveler lands from the North Sea (which is the only sea
+he can land from) he will find himself on a sandy beach, dipping rapidly
+to deep water and well adapted for bathing. As he stands facing inland,
+the sands stretch in a long line southerly on his left; on his right
+rises the bold bluff of Sandy Nab with its swelling outline, its
+grass-covered dunes, and its sparse firs; directly in front of him,
+abutting on the beach, is the high wall inclosing the Grange property; a
+gate in the middle gives access to the grounds. The Grange faces south,
+and lies in the shelter of Sandy Nab. In front of it are
+pleasure-grounds, then a sunk fence, then spacious meadow-lands. The
+property is about a mile and a half (rather more than less) in length,
+to half-a-mile in breadth. Besides the Grange there is a small
+farmhouse, or bailiff's house, in the southwest corner of the estate. On
+the north the boundary consists of moorlands, to the east (as has been
+seen) of the beach, to the west and south of a public road. At the end
+of the Grange walls this road turns to the right, inland, and passes by
+Fillby village; it then develops into the highroad to Easthorpe with its
+market, shops, and station, ten miles away. Instead, however, of
+pursuing this longer route, the traveler from the Grange grounds may
+reach Fillby and Easthorpe sooner by crossing the road on the west, and
+traversing the Scarsmoor Castle property, across which runs a broad
+carriage road, open to the public. He will first--after entering Lord
+Lynborough's gates--pass over a bridge which spans a little river, often
+nearly dry, but liable to be suddenly flooded by a rainfall in the
+hills. Thus he enters a beautiful demesne, rich in wood and undergrowth,
+in hill and valley, in pleasant rides and winding drives. The Castle
+itself--an ancient gray building, square and massive, stands on an
+eminence in the northwest extremity of the property; the ground drops
+rapidly in front of it, and it commands a view of Nab Grange and the sea
+beyond, being in its turn easily visible from either of these points.
+The road above mentioned, on leaving Lynborough's park, runs across the
+moors in a southwesterly line to Fillby, a little village of some three
+hundred souls. All around and behind this, stretching to Easthorpe, are
+great rolling moors, rich in beauty as in opportunities for sport, yet
+cutting off the little settlement of village, Castle, and Grange from
+the outer world by an isolation more complete than the mere distance
+would in these days seem to entail. The church, two or three little
+shops, and one policeman, sum up Fillby's resources: anything more, for
+soul's comfort, for body's supply or protection, must come across the
+moors from Easthorpe.
+
+One point remains--reserved to the end by reason of its importance. A
+gate has been mentioned as opening on to the beach from the grounds of
+Nab Grange. He who enters at that gate and makes for the Grange follows
+the path for about two hundred yards in a straight line, and then takes
+a curving turn to the right, which in time brings him to the front door
+of the house. But the path goes on--growing indeed narrower, ultimately
+becoming a mere grass-grown track, yet persisting quite plain to
+see--straight across the meadows, about a hundred yards beyond the sunk
+fence which bounds the Grange gardens, and in full view from the Grange
+windows; and it desists not from its course till it reaches the rough
+stone wall which divides the Grange estate from the highroad on the
+west. This wall it reaches at a point directly opposite to the Scarsmoor
+lodge; in the wall there is a gate, through which the traveler must pass
+to gain the road.
+
+There is a gate--and there had always been a gate; that much at least is
+undisputed. It will, of course, be obvious that if the residents at the
+Castle desired to reach the beach for the purpose of bathing or other
+diversions, and proposed to go on their feet, incomparably their best,
+shortest, and most convenient access thereto lay through this gate and
+along the path which crossed the Grange property and issued through the
+Grange gate on to the seashore. To go round by the road would take at
+least three times as long. Now the season was the month of June; Lord
+Lynborough was a man tenacious of his rights--and uncommonly fond of
+bathing.
+
+On the other hand, it might well be that the Marchesa di San
+Servolo--the present owner of Nab Grange--would prefer that strangers
+should not pass across her property, in full view and hail of her
+windows, without her permission and consent. That this, indeed, was the
+lady's attitude might be gathered from the fact that, on this Sunday
+morning in June, Captain Irons and Mr. Stillford, walking back through
+the Scarsmoor grounds from Fillby church as they had proposed, found the
+gate leading from the road into the Grange meadows securely padlocked.
+Having ignored this possibility, they had to climb, incidentally
+displacing, but carefully replacing, a number of prickly furze branches
+which the zeal of the Marchesa's bailiff had arranged along the top rail
+of the gate.
+
+"Boys been coming in?" asked Irons.
+
+"It may be that," said Stillford, smiling as he arranged the prickly
+defenses to the best advantage.
+
+The Grange expedition to church had to confess to having seen nothing of
+the Castle party--and in so far it was dubbed a failure. There was
+indeed a decorous row of servants in the household seat, but the square
+oaken pew in the chancel, with its brass rods and red curtains in front,
+and its fireplace at the back, stood empty. The two men reported having
+met, as they walked home through Scarsmoor, a very large fat man with a
+face which they described variously, one likening it to the sinking sun
+on a misty day, the other to a copper saucepan.
+
+"Not Lord Lynborough, I do trust!" shuddered little Violet Dufaure. She
+and Miss Gilletson had driven home by the road, regaining the Grange by
+the south gate and the main drive.
+
+Stillford was by the Marchesa. He spoke to her softly, covered by the
+general conversation. "You might have told us to take a key!" he said
+reproachfully. "That gorse is very dangerous to a man's Sunday
+clothes."
+
+"It looks--businesslike, doesn't it?" she smiled.
+
+"Oh, uncommon! When did you have it done?"
+
+"The day before yesterday. I wanted there to be no mistake from the very
+first. That's the best way to prevent any unpleasantness."
+
+"Possibly." Stillford sounded doubtful. "Going to have a notice-board,
+Marchesa?"
+
+"He will hardly make that necessary, will he?"
+
+"Well, I told you that in my judgment your right to shut it against him
+is very doubtful."
+
+"You told me a lot of things I didn't understand," she retorted rather
+pettishly.
+
+He shrugged his shoulders with a laugh. No good lay in anticipating
+trouble. Lord Lynborough might take no notice.
+
+In the afternoon the Marchesa's guests played golf on a rather makeshift
+nine-hole course laid out in the meadows. Miss Gilletson slept. The
+Marchesa herself mounted the top of Sandy Nab, and reviewed her
+situation. The Colonel would doubtless have liked to accompany her, but
+he was not thereto invited.
+
+Helena Vittoria Maria Antonia, Marchesa di San Servolo, was now in her
+twenty-fourth year. Born of an Italian father and an English mother, she
+had bestowed her hand on her paternal country, but her heart remained in
+her mother's. The Marchese took her as his second wife and his last
+pecuniary resource; in both capacities she soothed his declining years.
+Happily for her--and not unhappily for the world at large--these were
+few. He had not time to absorb her youth or to spend more than a small
+portion of her inheritance. She was left a widow--stepmother of adult
+Italian offspring--owner for life of an Apennine fortress. She liked the
+fortress much, but disliked the stepchildren (the youngest was of her
+own age) more. England--her mother's home--presented itself in the light
+of a refuge. In short, she had grave doubts about ever returning to
+Italy.
+
+Nab Grange was in the market. Ancestrally a possession of the Caverlys
+(for centuries a noble but unennobled family in those parts), it had
+served for the family's dower-house, till a bad race-meeting had induced
+the squire of the day to sell it to a Mr. Cross of Leeds. The Crosses
+held it for seventy years. Then the executors of the last Cross sold it
+to the Marchesa. This final transaction happened a year before
+Lynborough came home. The "Beach Path" had, as above recorded, been
+closed only for two days.
+
+The path was not just now in the Marchesa's thoughts. Nothing very
+definite was. Rather, as her eyes ranged from moor to sea, from the
+splendid uniformity of the unclouded sky to the ravishing variety of
+many-tinted earth, from the green of the Grange meadows (the one spot of
+rich emerald on the near coast-line, owing its hues to Sandy Nab's
+kindly shelter) to the gray mass of Scarsmoor Castle--there was in her
+heart that great mixture of content and longing that youth and--(what
+put bluntly amounts to)--a fine day are apt to raise. And youth allied
+with beauty becomes self-assertive, a claimant against the world, a
+plaintiff against facts before High Heaven's tribunal. The Marchesa was
+infinitely delighted with Nab Grange--graciously content with
+Nature--not ill-pleased with herself--but, in fine, somewhat
+discontented with her company. That was herself? Not precisely, though,
+at the moment, objectively. She was wondering whether her house-party
+was all that her youth and her beauty--to say nothing of her past
+endurance of the Marchese--entitled her to claim and to enjoy.
+
+Then suddenly across her vision, cutting the sky-line, seeming to divide
+for a moment heaven above from earth beneath, passed a tall meager
+figure, and a head of lines clean as if etched by a master's needle. The
+profile stood as carved in fine ivory; glints of color flashed from hair
+and beard. The man softly sang a love song as he walked--but he never
+looked toward the Marchesa.
+
+She sat up suddenly. "Could that be Lord Lynborough?" she thought--and
+smiled.
+
+
+
+
+_Chapter Three_
+
+OF LAW AND NATURAL RIGHTS
+
+
+Lynborough sat on the terrace which ran along the front of the Castle
+and looked down, over Nab Grange, to the sea. With him were Leonard
+Stabb and Roger Wilbraham. The latter was a rather short, slight man of
+dark complexion; although a light-weight he was very wiry and a fine
+boxer. His intellectual gifts corresponded well with his physical
+equipment; an acute ready mind was apt to deal with every-day problems
+and pressing necessities; it had little turn either for speculation or
+for fancy. He had dreams neither about the past, like Stabb, nor about
+present things, like Lynborough. His was, in a word, the practical
+spirit, and Lynborough could not have chosen a better right-hand man.
+
+They were all smoking; a silence had rested long over the party. At last
+Lynborough spoke.
+
+"There's always," he said, "something seductive in looking at a house
+when you know nothing about the people who live in it."
+
+"But I know a good deal about them," Wilbraham interposed with a laugh.
+"Coltson's been pumping all the village, and I've had the benefit of
+it." Coltson was Lynborough's own man, an old soldier who had been with
+him nearly fifteen years and had accompanied him on all his travels and
+excursions.
+
+Lynborough paid no heed; he was not the man to be put off his
+reflections by intrusive facts.
+
+"The blank wall of a strange house is like the old green curtain at the
+theater. It may rise for you any moment and show you--what? Now what is
+there at Nab Grange?"
+
+"A lot of country bumpkins, I expect," growled Stabb.
+
+"No, no," Wilbraham protested. "I'll tell you, if you like----"
+
+"What's there?" Lynborough pursued. "I don't know. You don't know--no,
+you don't, Roger, and you probably wouldn't even if you were inside. But
+I like not knowing--I don't want to know. We won't visit at the Grange,
+I think. We will just idealize it, Cromlech." He cast his queer elusive
+smile at his friend.
+
+"Bosh!" said Stabb. "There's sure to be a woman there--and I'll be bound
+she'll call on you!"
+
+"She'll call on me? Why?"
+
+"Because you're a lord," said Stabb, scorning any more personal form of
+flattery.
+
+"That fortuitous circumstance should, in my judgment, rather afford me
+protection."
+
+"If you come to that, she's somebody herself." Wilbraham's knowledge
+would bubble out, for all the want of encouragement.
+
+"Everybody's somebody," murmured Lynborough--"and it is a very odd
+arrangement. Can't be regarded as permanent, eh, Cromlech? Immortality
+by merit seems a better idea. And by merit I mean originality. Well--I
+sha'n't know the Grange, but I like to look at it. The way I picture
+her----"
+
+"Picture whom?" asked Stabb.
+
+"Why, the Lady of the Grange, to be sure----"
+
+"Tut, tut, who's thinking of the woman?--if there is a woman at all."
+
+"I am thinking of the woman, Cromlech, and I've a perfect right to think
+of her. At least, if not of that woman, of a woman--whose like I've
+never met."
+
+"She must be of an unusual type," opined Stabb with a reflective smile.
+
+"She is, Cromlech. Shall I describe her?"
+
+"I expect you must."
+
+"Yes, at this moment--with the evening just this color--and the Grange
+down there--and the sea, Cromlech, so remarkably large, I'm afraid I
+must. She is, of course, tall and slender; she has, of course, a
+rippling laugh; her eyes are, of course, deep and dreamy, yet lighting
+to a sparkle when one challenges. All this may be presupposed. It's her
+tint, Cromlech, her color--that's what's in my mind to-night; that, you
+will find, is her most distinguishing, her most wonderful
+characteristic."
+
+"That's just what the Vicar told Coltson! At least he said that the
+Marchesa had a most extraordinary complexion." Wilbraham had got
+something out at last.
+
+"Roger, you bring me back to earth. You substitute the Vicar's
+impression for my imagination. Is that kind?"
+
+"It seems such a funny coincidence."
+
+"Supposing it to be a mere coincidence--no doubt! But I've always known
+that I had to meet that complexion somewhere. If here--so much the
+better!"
+
+"I have a great doubt about that," said Leonard Stabb.
+
+"I can get over it, Cromlech! At least consider that."
+
+"But you're not going to know her!" laughed Wilbraham.
+
+"I shall probably see her as we walk down to bathe by Beach Path."
+
+A deferential voice spoke from behind his chair. "I beg your pardon, my
+lord, but Beach Path is closed." Coltson had brought Lynborough his
+cigar-case and laid it down on a table by him as he communicated this
+intelligence.
+
+"Closed, Coltson?"
+
+"Yes, my lord. There's a padlock on the gate, and a--er--barricade of
+furze. And the gardeners tell me they were warned off yesterday."
+
+"My gardeners warned off Beach Path?"
+
+"Yes, my lord."
+
+"By whose orders?"
+
+"Her Excellency's, my lord."
+
+"That's the Marchesa--Marchesa di San Servolo," Wilbraham supplied.
+
+"Yes, that's the name, sir," said Coltson respectfully.
+
+"What about her complexion now, Ambrose?" chuckled Stabb.
+
+"The Marchesa di San Servolo? Is that right, Coltson?"
+
+"Perfectly correct, my lord. Italian, I understand, my lord."
+
+"Excellent, excellent! She has closed my Beach Path? I think I have
+reflected enough for to-night. I'll go in and write a letter." He rose,
+smiled upon Stabb, who himself was grinning broadly, and walked through
+an open window into the house.
+
+"Now you may see something happen," said Leonard Stabb.
+
+"What's the matter? Is it a public path?" asked Wilbraham.
+
+With a shrug Stabb denied all knowledge--and, probably, all interest.
+Coltson, who had lingered behind his master, undertook to reply.
+
+"Not exactly public, as I understand, sir. But the Castle has always
+used it. Green--that's the head-gardener--tells me so, at least."
+
+"By legal right, do you mean?" Wilbraham had been called to the Bar,
+although he had never practised. No situation gives rise to greater
+confidence on legal problems.
+
+"I don't think you'll find that his lordship will trouble much about
+that, sir," was Coltson's answer, as he picked up the cigar-case again
+and hurried into the library with it.
+
+"What does the man mean by that?" asked Wilbraham scornfully. "It's a
+purely legal question--Lynborough must trouble about it." He rose and
+addressed Stabb somewhat as though that gentleman were the Court. "Not a
+public right of way? We don't argue that? Then it's a case of dominant
+and servient tenement--a right of way by user as of right, or by a lost
+grant. That--or nothing!"
+
+"I daresay," muttered Stabb very absently.
+
+"Then what does Coltson mean----?"
+
+"Coltson knows Ambrose--you don't. Ambrose will never go to law--but
+he'll go to bathe."
+
+"But she'll go to law if he goes to bathe!" cried the lawyer.
+
+Stabb blinked lazily, and seemed to loom enormous over his cigar. "I
+daresay--if she's got a good case," said he. "Do you know, Wilbraham, I
+don't much care whether she does or not? But in regard to her
+complexion----"
+
+"What the devil does her complexion matter?" shouted Wilbraham.
+
+"The human side of a thing always matters," observed Leonard Stabb.
+"For instance--pray sit down, Wilbraham--standing up and talking loud
+prove nothing, if people would only believe it--the permanence of
+hierarchical systems may be historically observed to bear a direct
+relation to the emoluments."
+
+"Would you mind telling me your opinion on two points, Stabb? We can go
+on with that argument of yours afterward."
+
+"Say on, Wilbraham."
+
+"Is Lynborough in his right senses?"
+
+"The point is doubtful."
+
+"Are you in yours?"
+
+Stabb reflected. "I am sane--but very highly specialized," was his
+conclusion.
+
+Wilbraham wrinkled his brow. "All the same, right of way or no right of
+way is purely a legal question," he persisted.
+
+"I think you're highly specialized too," said Stabb. "But you'd better
+keep quiet and see it through, you know. There may be some fun--it will
+serve to amuse the Archdeacon when you write." Wilbraham's father was a
+highly esteemed dignitary of the order mentioned.
+
+Lynborough came out again, smoking a cigar. His manner was noticeably
+more alert: his brow was unclouded, his whole mien tranquil and placid.
+
+"I've put it all right," he observed. "I've written her a civil letter.
+Will you men bathe to-morrow?"
+
+They both assented to the proposition.
+
+"Very well. We'll start at eight. We may as well walk. By Beach Path
+it's only about half-a-mile."
+
+"But the path's stopped, Ambrose," Stabb objected.
+
+"I've asked her to have the obstruction removed before eight o'clock,"
+Lynborough explained.
+
+"If it isn't?" asked Roger Wilbraham.
+
+"We have hands," answered Lynborough, looking at his own very small
+ones.
+
+"Wilbraham wants to know why you don't go to law, Ambrose."
+
+Lord Lynborough never shrank from explaining his views and convictions.
+
+"The law disgusts me. So does my experience of it. You remember the
+beer, Cromlech? Nobody ever acted more wisely or from better motives.
+And if I made money--as I did, till the customers left off coming--why
+not? I was unobtrusively doing good. Then Juanita's affair! I acted as a
+gentleman is bound to act. Result--a year's imprisonment! I lay stress
+on these personal experiences, but not too great stress. The law, Roger,
+always considers what you have had and what you now have--never what
+you ought to have. Take that path! It happens to be a fact that my
+grandfather, and my father, and I have always used that path. That's
+important by law, I daresay----"
+
+"Certainly, Lord Lynborough."
+
+"Just what would be important by law!" commented Lynborough. "And I have
+made use of the fact in my letter to the Marchesa. But in my own mind I
+stand on reason and natural right. Is it reasonable that I, living
+half-a-mile from my bathing, should have to walk two miles to get to it?
+Plainly not. Isn't it the natural right of the owner of Scarsmoor to
+have that path open through Nab Grange? Plainly yes. That, Roger,
+although, as I say, not the shape in which I have put the matter before
+the Marchesa--because she, being a woman, would be unappreciative of
+pure reason--is really the way in which the question presents itself to
+my mind--and, I'm sure, to Cromlech's?"
+
+"Not the least in the world to mine," said Stabb. "However, Ambrose, the
+young man thinks us both mad."
+
+"You do, Roger?" His smile persuaded to an affirmative reply.
+
+"I'm afraid so, Lord Lynborough."
+
+"No 'Lord,' if you love me! Why do you think me mad? Cromlech, of
+course, is mad, so we needn't bother about him."
+
+"You're not--not practical," stammered Roger.
+
+"Oh, I don't know, really I don't know. You'll see that I shall get that
+path open. And in the end I did get that public-house closed. And
+Juanita's husband had to leave the country, owing to the heat of local
+feeling--aroused entirely by me. Juanita stayed behind and, after due
+formalities, married again most happily. I'm not altogether inclined to
+call myself unpractical. Roger!" He turned quickly to his secretary.
+"Your father's what they call a High Churchman, isn't he?"
+
+"Yes--and so am I," said Roger.
+
+"He has his Church. He puts that above the State, doesn't he? He
+wouldn't obey the State against the Church? He wouldn't do what the
+Church said was wrong because the State said it was right?"
+
+"How could he? Of course he wouldn't," answered Roger.
+
+"Well, I have my Church--inside here." He touched his breast. "I stand
+where your father does. Why am I more mad than the Archdeacon, Roger?"
+
+"But there's all the difference!"
+
+"Of course there is," said Stabb. "All the difference that there is
+between being able to do it and not being able to do it--and I know of
+none so profound."
+
+"There's no difference at all," declared Lynborough. "Therefore--as a
+good son, no less than as a good friend--you will come and bathe with me
+to-morrow?"
+
+"Oh, I'll come and bathe, by all means, Lynborough."
+
+"By all means! Well said, young man. By all means, that is, which are
+becoming in opposing a lady. What precisely those may be we well
+consider when we see the strength of her opposition."
+
+"That doesn't sound so very unpractical, after all," Stabb suggested to
+Roger.
+
+Lynborough took his stand before Stabb, hands in pockets, smiling down
+at the bulk of his friend.
+
+"O Cromlech, Haunter of Tombs," he said, "Cromlech, Lover of Men long
+Dead, there is a possible--indeed a probable--chance--there is a divine
+hope--that Life may breathe here on this coast, that the blood may run
+quick, that the world may move, that our old friend Fortune may smile,
+and trick, and juggle, and favor us once more. This, Cromlech, to a man
+who had determined to reform, who came home to assume--what was it? Oh
+yes--responsibilities!--this is most extraordinary luck. Never shall it
+be said that Ambrose Caverly, being harnessed and carrying a bow, turned
+himself back in the day of battle!"
+
+He swayed himself to and fro on his heels, and broke into merry
+laughter.
+
+"She'll get the letter to-night, Cromlech. I've sent Coltson down with
+it--he proceeds decorously by the highroad and the main approach. But
+she'll get it. Cromlech, will she read it with a beating heart? Will she
+read it with a flushing cheek? And if so, Cromlech, what, I ask you,
+will be the particular shade of that particular flush?"
+
+"Oh, the sweetness of the game!" said he.
+
+Over Nab Grange the stars seemed to twinkle roguishly.
+
+
+
+
+_Chapter Four_
+
+THE MESSAGE OF A PADLOCK
+
+
+     Lord Lynborough presents his compliments to her Excellency the
+     Marchesa di San Servolo. Lord Lynborough has learnt, with
+     surprise and regret, that his servants have within the last two
+     days been warned off Beach Path, and that a padlock and other
+     obstacles have been placed on the gate leading to the path, by
+     her Excellency's orders. Lord Lynborough and his predecessors
+     have enjoyed the use of this path by themselves, their agents
+     and servants, for many years back--certainly for fifty, as Lord
+     Lynborough knows from his father and from old servants, and
+     Lord Lynborough is not disposed to acquiesce in any obstruction
+     being raised to his continued use of it. He must therefore
+     request her Excellency to have the kindness to order that the
+     padlock and other obstacles shall be removed, and he will be
+     obliged by this being done before eight o'clock to-morrow
+     morning--at which time Lord Lynborough intends to proceed by
+     Beach Path to the sea in order to bathe. Scarsmoor Castle; 13th
+     June.
+
+The reception of this letter proved an agreeable incident of an
+otherwise rather dull Sunday evening at Nab Grange. The Marchesa had
+been bored; the Colonel was sulky. Miss Gilletson had forbidden cards;
+her conscience would not allow herself, nor her feelings of envy permit
+other people, to play on the Sabbath. Lady Norah and Violet Dufaure were
+somewhat at cross-purposes, each preferring to talk to Stillford and
+endeavoring, under a false show of amity, to foist Captain Irons on to
+the other.
+
+"Listen to this!" cried the Marchesa vivaciously. She read it out. "He
+doesn't beat about the bush, does he? I'm to surrender before eight
+o'clock to-morrow morning!"
+
+"Sounds rather a peremptory sort of a chap!" observed Colonel Wenman.
+
+"I," remarked Lady Norah, "shouldn't so much as answer him, Helena."
+
+"I shall certainly answer him and tell him that he'll trespass on my
+property at his peril," said the Marchesa haughtily. "Isn't that the
+right way to put it, Mr. Stillford?"
+
+"If it would be a trespass, that might be one way to put it," was
+Stillford's professionally cautious advice. "But as I ventured to tell
+you when you determined to put on the padlock, the rights in the matter
+are not quite as clear as we could wish."
+
+"When I bought this place, I bought a private estate--a private estate,
+Mr. Stillford--for myself--not a short cut for Lord Lynborough! Am I to
+put up a notice for him, 'This Way to the Bathing-Machines'?"
+
+"I wouldn't stand it for a moment." Captain Irons sounded bellicose.
+
+Violet Dufaure was amicably inclined.
+
+"You might give him leave to walk through. It would be a bore for him to
+go round by the road every time."
+
+"Certainly I might give him leave if he asked for it," retorted the
+Marchesa rather sharply. "But he doesn't. He orders me to open my
+gate--and tells me he means to bathe! As if I cared whether he bathed or
+not! What is it to me, I ask you, Violet, whether the man bathes or
+not?"
+
+"I beg your pardon, Marchesa, but aren't you getting a little off the
+point?" Stillford intervened deferentially.
+
+"No, I'm not. I never get off the point, Mr. Stillford. Do I, Colonel
+Wenman?"
+
+"I've never known you to do it in my life, Marchesa." There was, in
+fact, as Lynborough had ventured to anticipate, a flush on the
+Marchesa's cheek, and the Colonel knew his place.
+
+"There, Mr. Stillford!" she cried triumphantly. Then she swept--the
+expression is really applicable--across the room to her writing-table.
+"I shall be courteous, but quite decisive," she announced over her
+shoulder as she sat down.
+
+Stillford stood by the fire, smiling doubtfully. Evidently it was no use
+trying to stop the Marchesa; she had insisted on locking the gate, and
+she would persist in keeping it locked till she was forced, by process
+of law or otherwise, to open it again. But if the Lords of Scarsmoor
+Castle really had used it without interruption for fifty years (as Lord
+Lynborough asserted)--well, the Marchesa's rights were at least in a
+precarious position.
+
+The Marchesa came back with her letter in her hand.
+
+"'The Marchesa di San Servolo,'" she read out to an admiring audience,
+"'presents her compliments to Lord Lynborough. The Marchesa has no
+intention of removing the padlock and other obstacles which have been
+placed on the gate to prevent trespassing--either by Lord Lynborough or
+by anybody else. The Marchesa is not concerned to know Lord Lynborough's
+plans in regard to bathing or otherwise. Nab Grange; 13th June.'"
+
+The Marchesa looked round on her friends with a satisfied air.
+
+"I call that good," she remarked. "Don't you, Norah?"
+
+"I don't like the last sentence."
+
+"Oh yes! Why, that'll make him angrier than anything else! Please ring
+the bell for me, Mr. Stillford; it's just behind you."
+
+The butler came back.
+
+"Who brought Lord Lynborough's letter?" asked the Marchesa.
+
+"I don't know who it is, your Excellency--one of the upper servants at
+the Castle, I think."
+
+"How did he come to the house?"
+
+"By the drive--from the south gate--I believe, your Excellency."
+
+"I'm glad of that," she declared, looking positively dangerous. "Tell
+him to go back the same way, and not by the--by what Lord Lynborough
+chooses to call 'Beach Path.' Here's a letter for him to take."
+
+"Very good, your Excellency." The butler received the letter and
+withdrew.
+
+"Yes," said Lady Norah, "rather funny he should call it Beach Path,
+isn't it?"
+
+"I don't know whether it's funny or not, Norah, but I do know that I
+don't care what he calls it. He may call it Piccadilly if he likes, but
+it's my path all the same." As she spoke she looked, somewhat defiantly,
+at Mr. Stillford.
+
+Violet Dufaure, whose delicate frame held an indomitable and indeed
+pugnacious spirit, appealed to Stillford; "Can't Helena have him taken
+up if he trespasses?"
+
+"Well, hardly, Miss Dufaure. The remedy would lie in the civil courts."
+
+"Shall I bring an action against him? Is that it? Is that right?" cried
+the Marchesa.
+
+"That's the ticket, eh, Stillford?" asked the Colonel.
+
+Stillford's position was difficult; he had the greatest doubt about his
+client's case.
+
+"Suppose you leave him to bring the action?" he suggested. "When he
+does, we can fully consider our position."
+
+"But if he insists on using the path to-morrow?"
+
+"He'll hardly do that," Stillford persuaded her. "You'll probably get a
+letter from him, asking for the name of your solicitor. You will give
+him my name; I shall obtain the name of his solicitor, and we shall
+settle it between us--amicably, I hope, but in any case without further
+personal trouble to you, Marchesa."
+
+"Oh!" said the Marchesa blankly. "That's how it will be, will it?"
+
+"That's the usual course--the proper way of doing the thing."
+
+"It may be proper; it sounds very dull, Mr. Stillford. What if he does
+try to use the path to-morrow--'in order to bathe' as he's good enough
+to tell me?"
+
+"If you're right about the path, then you've the right to stop him,"
+Stillford answered rather reluctantly. "If you do stop him, that, of
+course, raises the question in a concrete form. You will offer a formal
+resistance. He will make a formal protest. Then the lawyers step in."
+
+"We always end with the lawyers--and my lawyer doesn't seem sure I'm
+right!"
+
+"Well, I'm not sure," said Stillford bluntly. "It's impossible to be
+sure at this stage of the case."
+
+"For all I see, he may use my path to-morrow!" The Marchesa was
+justifying her boast that she could stick to a point.
+
+"Now that you've lodged your objection, that won't matter much legally."
+
+"It will annoy me intensely," the Marchesa complained.
+
+"Then we'll stop him," declared Colonel Wenman valorously.
+
+"Politely--but firmly," added Captain Irons.
+
+"And what do you say, Mr. Stillford?"
+
+"I'll go with these fellows anyhow--and see that they don't overstep the
+law. No more than the strictly necessary force, Colonel!"
+
+"I begin to think that the law is rather stupid," said the Marchesa. She
+thought it stupid; Lynborough held it iniquitous; the law was at a
+discount, and its majesty little reverenced, that night.
+
+Ultimately, however, Stillford persuaded the angry lady to--as he
+tactfully put it--give Lynborough a chance. "See what he does first. If
+he crosses the path now, after warning, your case is clear. Write to him
+again then, and tell him that, if he persists in trespassing, your
+servants have orders to interfere."
+
+"That lets him bathe to-morrow!" Once more the Marchesa returned to her
+point--a very sore one.
+
+"Just for once, it really doesn't matter!" Stillford urged.
+
+Reluctantly she acquiesced; the others were rather relieved--not because
+they objected to a fight, but because eight in the morning was rather
+early to start one. Breakfast at the Grange was at nine-thirty, and,
+though the men generally went down for a dip, they went much later than
+Lord Lynborough proposed to go.
+
+"He shall have one chance of withdrawing gracefully," the Marchesa
+finally decided.
+
+Stillford was unfeignedly glad to hear her say so; he had, from a
+professional point of view, no desire for a conflict. Inquiries which he
+had made in Fillby--both from men in Scarsmoor Castle employ and from
+independent persons--had convinced him that Lynborough's case was
+strong. For many years--through the time of two Lynboroughs before the
+present at Scarsmoor, and through the time of three Crosses (the
+predecessors of the Marchesa) at Nab Grange, Scarsmoor Castle had
+without doubt asserted this dominant right over Nab Grange. It had been
+claimed and exercised openly--and, so far as he could discover, without
+protest or opposition. The period, as he reckoned it, would prove to be
+long enough to satisfy the law as to prescription; it was very unlikely
+that any document existed--or anyhow could be found--which would serve
+to explain away the presumption which uses such as this gave. In fine,
+the Marchesa's legal adviser was of opinion that in a legal fight the
+Marchesa would be beaten. His own hope lay in compromise; if friendly
+relations could be established, there would be a chance of a
+compromise. He was sure that the Marchesa would readily grant as a
+favor--and would possibly give in return for a nominal payment--all that
+Lynborough asked. That would be the best way out of the difficulty. "Let
+us temporize, and be conciliatory," thought the man of law.
+
+Alas, neither conciliation nor dilatoriness was in Lord Lynborough's
+line! He read the Marchesa's letter with appreciation and pleasure. He
+admired the curtness of its intimation, and the lofty haughtiness with
+which the writer dismissed the subject of his bathing. But he treated
+the document--it cannot be said that he did wrong--as a plain defiance.
+It appeared to him that no further declaration of war was necessary; he
+was not concerned to consider evidence nor to weigh his case, as
+Stillford wanted to weigh her case. This for two reasons: first,
+because he was entirely sure that he was right; secondly because he had
+no intention of bringing the question to trial. Lynborough knew but one
+tribunal; he had pointed out its local habitation to Roger Wilbraham.
+
+Accordingly it fell out that conciliatory counsels and Fabian tactics at
+Nab Grange received a very severe--perhaps indeed a fatal--shock the
+next morning.
+
+At about nine o'clock the Marchesa was sitting in her dressing-gown by
+the open window, reading her correspondence and sipping an early cup of
+tea--she had become quite English in her habits. Her maid reëntered the
+room, carrying in her hand a small parcel. "For your Excellency," she
+said. "A man has just left it at the door." She put the parcel down on
+the marble top of the dressing-table.
+
+"What is it?" asked the Marchesa indolently.
+
+"I don't know, your Excellency. It's hard, and very heavy for its size."
+
+Laying down the letter which she had been perusing, the Marchesa took up
+the parcel and cut the string which bound it. With a metallic clink
+there fell on her dressing-table--a padlock! To it was fastened a piece
+of paper, bearing these words: "Padlock found attached to gate leading
+to Beach Path. Detached by order of Lord Lynborough. With Lord
+Lynborough's compliments."
+
+Now, too, Lynborough might have got his flush--if he could have been
+there to see it!
+
+"Bring me my field-glasses!" she cried.
+
+The window commanded a view of the gardens, of the meadows beyond the
+sunk fence, of the path--Beach Path as that man was pleased to call
+it!--and of the gate. At the last-named object the enraged Marchesa
+directed her gaze. The barricade of furze branches was gone! The gate
+hung open upon its hinges!
+
+While she still looked, three figures came across the lens. A very large
+stout shape--a short spare form--a tall, lithe, very lean figure. They
+were just reaching the gate, coming from the direction of the sea. The
+two first were strangers to her; the third she had seen for a moment the
+afternoon before on Sandy Nab. It was Lynborough himself, beyond a
+doubt. The others must be friends--she cared not about them. But to sit
+here with the padlock before her, and see Lynborough pass through the
+gate--a meeker woman than she had surely been moved to wrath! He had
+bathed--as he had said he would. And he had sent her the padlock. That
+was what came of listening to conciliatory counsels, of letting herself
+give ear to dilatory persuasions!
+
+"War!" declared the Marchesa. "War--war--war! And if he's not careful, I
+won't confine it to the path either!" She seemed to dream of conquests,
+perhaps to reckon resources, whereof Mr. Stillford, her legal adviser,
+had taken no account.
+
+She carried the padlock down to breakfast with her; it was to her as a
+Fiery Cross; it summoned her and her array to battle. She exhibited it
+to her guests.
+
+"Now, gentlemen, I'm in your hands!" said she. "Is that man to walk over
+my property for his miserable bathing to-morrow?"
+
+He would have been a bold man who, at that moment, would have answered
+her with a "Yes."
+
+
+
+
+_Chapter Five_
+
+THE BEGINNING OF WAR
+
+
+An enviable characteristic of Lord Lynborough's was that, when he had
+laid the fuse, he could wait patiently for the explosion. (That last
+word tends to recur in connection with him.) Provided he knew that his
+adventure and his joke were coming, he occupied the interval
+profitably--which is to say, as agreeably as he could. Having launched
+the padlock--his symbolical ultimatum--and asserted his right, he spent
+the morning in dictating to Roger Wilbraham a full, particular, and
+veracious account of his early differences with the Dean of Christ
+Church. Roger found his task entertaining, for Lynborough's mimicry of
+his distinguished opponent was excellent. Stabb meanwhile was among the
+tombs in an adjacent apartment.
+
+This studious tranquillity was disturbed by the announcement of a call
+from Mr. Stillford. Not without difficulty he had persuaded the Marchesa
+to let him reconnoiter the ground--to try, if it seemed desirable, the
+effect of a bit of "bluff"--at any rate to discover, if he could,
+something of the enemy's plan of campaign. Stillford was, in truth, not
+a little afraid of a lawsuit!
+
+Lynborough denied himself to no man, and received with courtesy every
+man who came. But his face grew grim and his manner distant when
+Stillford discounted the favorable effect produced by his appearance and
+manner--also by his name, well known in the county--by confessing that
+he called in the capacity of the Marchesa's solicitor.
+
+"A solicitor?" said Lynborough, slightly raising his brows.
+
+"Yes. The Marchesa does me the honor to place her confidence in me; and
+it occurs to me that, before this unfortunate dispute----"
+
+"Why unfortunate?" interrupted Lynborough with an air of some surprise.
+
+"Surely it is--between neighbors? The Castle and the Grange should be
+friends." His cunning suggestion elicited no response. "It occurred to
+me," he continued, somewhat less glibly, "that, before further annoyance
+or expense was caused, it might be well if I talked matters over with
+your lordship's solicitor."
+
+"Sir," said Lynborough, "saving your presence--which, I must beg you to
+remember, was not invited by me--I don't like solicitors. I have no
+solicitor. I shall never have a solicitor. You can't talk with a
+non-existent person."
+
+"But proceedings are the natural--the almost inevitable--result of such
+a situation as your action has created, Lord Lynborough. My client can't
+be flouted, she can't have her indubitable rights outraged----"
+
+"Do you think they're indubitable?" Lynborough put in, with a sudden
+quick flash of his eyes.
+
+For an instant Stillford hesitated. Then he made his orthodox reply. "As
+I am instructed, they certainly are."
+
+"Ah!" said Lynborough dryly.
+
+"No professional man could say more than that, Lord Lynborough."
+
+"And they all say just as much! If I say anything you don't like, again
+remember that this interview is not of my seeking, Mr. Stillford."
+
+Stillford waxed a trifle sarcastic. "You'll conduct your case in
+person?" he asked.
+
+"If you hale me to court, I shall. Otherwise there's no question of a
+case."
+
+This time Stillford's eyes brightened; yet still he doubted Lynborough's
+meaning.
+
+"We shouldn't hesitate to take our case into court."
+
+"Since you're wrong, you'd probably win," said Lynborough, with a smile.
+"But I'd make it cost you the devil of a lot of money. That, at least,
+the law can do--I'm not aware that it can do much else. But as far as
+I'm concerned, I should as soon appeal to the Pope of Rome in this
+matter as to a law-court--sooner in fact."
+
+Stillford grew more confidently happy--and more amazed at Lynborough.
+
+"But you've no right to--er--assert rights if you don't intend to
+support them."
+
+"I do intend to support them, Mr. Stillford. That you'll very soon find
+out."
+
+"By force?" Stillford himself was gratified by the shocked solemnity
+which he achieved in this question.
+
+"If so, your side has no prejudice against legal proceedings. Prisons
+are not strange to me----"
+
+"What?" Stillford was a little startled. He had not heard all the
+stories about Lord Lynborough.
+
+"I say, prisons are not strange to me. If necessary, I can do a month. I
+am, however, not altogether a novice in the somewhat degrading art of
+getting the other man to hit first. Then he goes to prison, doesn't he?
+Just like the law! As if that had anything to do with the merits!"
+
+Stillford kept his eye on the point valuable to him. "By supporting your
+claim I intended to convey supporting it by legal action."
+
+"Oh, the cunning of this world, the cunning of this world, Roger!" He
+flung himself into an arm-chair, laughing. Stillford was already seated.
+"Take a cigarette, Mr. Stillford. You want to know whether I'm going to
+law or not, don't you? Well, I'm not. Is there anything else you want to
+know? Oh, by the way, we don't abstain from the law because we don't
+know the law. Permit me--Mr. Stillford, solicitor--Mr. Roger Wilbraham,
+of the Middle Temple, Esquire, barrister-at-law. Had I known you were
+coming, Roger should have worn his wig. No, no, we know the law--but we
+hate it."
+
+Stillford was jubilant at a substantial gain--the appeal to law lay
+within the Marchesa's choice now; and that was in his view a great
+advantage. But he was legitimately irritated by Lynborough's sneers at
+his profession.
+
+"So do most of the people who belong to--the people to whom prisons are
+not strange, Lord Lynborough."
+
+"Apostles--and so on?" asked Lynborough airily.
+
+"I hardly recognize your lordship as belonging to
+that--er--er--category."
+
+"That's the worst of it--nobody will," Lynborough admitted candidly. A
+note of sincere, if whimsical, regret sounded in his voice. "I've been
+trying for fifteen years. Yet some day I may be known as St. Ambrose!"
+His tones fell to despondency again. "St. Ambrose the Less, though--yes,
+I'm afraid the Less. Apostles--even Saints--are much handicapped in
+these days, Mr. Stillford."
+
+Stillford rose to his feet. "You've no more to say to me, Lord
+Lynborough?"
+
+"I don't know that I ever had anything to say to you, Mr. Stillford. You
+must have gathered before now that I intend to use Beach Path."
+
+"My client intends to prevent you."
+
+"Yes?--Well, you're three able-bodied men down there--so my man tells
+me--you, and the Colonel, and the Captain. And we're three up here. It
+seems to me fair enough."
+
+"You don't really contemplate settling the matter by personal conflict?"
+He was half amused, yet genuinely stricken in his habits of thought.
+
+"Entirely a question for your side. We shall use the path." Lynborough
+cocked his head on one side, looking up at the sturdy lawyer with a
+mischievous amusement. "I shall harry you, Mr. Stillford--day and night
+I shall harry you. If you mean to keep me off that path, vigils will be
+your portion. And you won't succeed."
+
+"I make a last appeal to your lordship. The matter could, I believe, be
+adjusted on an amicable basis. The Marchesa could be prevailed upon to
+grant permission----"
+
+"I'd just as soon ask her permission to breathe," interrupted
+Lynborough.
+
+"Then my mission is at an end."
+
+"I congratulate you."
+
+"I beg your pardon?"
+
+"Well, you've found out the chief thing you wanted to know, haven't you?
+If you'd asked it point-blank, we should have saved a lot of time.
+Good-by, Mr. Stillford. Roger, the bell's in reach of your hand."
+
+"You're pleased to be amused at my expense?" Stillford had grown huffy.
+
+"No--only don't think you've been clever at mine," Lynborough retorted
+placidly.
+
+So they parted. Lynborough went back to his Dean, Stillford to the
+Marchesa. Still ruffled in his plumes, feeling that he had been chaffed
+and had made no adequate reply, yet still happy in the solid, the
+important fact which he had ascertained, he made his report to his
+client. He refrained from openly congratulating her on not being
+challenged to a legal fight; he contented himself with observing that it
+was convenient to be able to choose her own time to take proceedings.
+
+Lady Norah was with the Marchesa. They both listened attentively and
+questioned closely. Not the substantial points alone attracted their
+interest; Stillford was constantly asked--"How did he look when he said
+that?" He had no other answer than "Oh--well--er--rather queer." He left
+them, having received directions to rebarricade the gate as solidly and
+as offensively as possible; a board warning off trespassers was also to
+be erected.
+
+Although not apt at a description of his interlocutor, yet Stillford
+seemed to have conveyed an impression.
+
+"I think he must be delightful," said Norah thoughtfully, when the two
+ladies were left together. "I'm sure he's just the sort of a man I
+should fall in love with, Helena."
+
+As a rule the Marchesa admired and applauded Norah's candor, praising it
+for a certain patrician flavor--Norah spoke her mind, let the crowd
+think what it would! On this occasion she was somehow less pleased; she
+was even a little startled. She was conscious that any man with whom
+Norah was gracious enough to fall in love would be subjected to no
+ordinary assault; the Irish coloring is bad to beat, and Norah had it to
+perfection; moreover, the aforesaid candor makes matters move ahead.
+
+"After all, it's my path he's trespassing on, Norah," the Marchesa
+remonstrated.
+
+They both began to laugh. "The wretch is as handsome as--as a god,"
+sighed Helena.
+
+"You've seen him?" eagerly questioned Norah; and the glimpse--that
+tantalizing glimpse--on Sandy Nab was confessed to.
+
+The Marchesa sprang up, clenching her fist. "Norah, I should like to
+have that man at my feet, and then to trample on him! Oh, it's not only
+the path! I believe he's laughing at me all the time!"
+
+"He's never seen you. Perhaps if he did he wouldn't laugh. And perhaps
+you wouldn't trample on him either."
+
+"Ah, but I would!" She tossed her head impatiently. "Well, if you want
+to meet him. I expect you can do it--on my path to-morrow!"
+
+This talk left the Marchesa vaguely vexed. Her feeling could not be
+called jealousy; nothing can hardly be jealous of nothing, and even as
+her acquaintance with Lynborough amounted to nothing, Lady Norah's also
+was represented by a cipher. But why should Norah want to know him? It
+was the Marchesa's path--by consequence it was the Marchesa's quarrel.
+Where did Norah stand in the matter? The Marchesa had perhaps been
+constructing a little drama. Norah took leave to introduce a new
+character!
+
+And not Norah alone, as it appeared at dinner. Little Violet Dufaure,
+whose appealing ways were notoriously successful with the emotionally
+weaker sex, took her seat at table with a demurely triumphant air.
+Captain Irons reproached her, with polite gallantry, for having deserted
+the croquet lawn after tea.
+
+"Oh, I went for a walk to Fillby--through Scarsmoor, you know."
+
+"Through Scarsmoor, Violet?" The Marchesa sounded rather startled again.
+
+"It's a public road, you know, Helena. Isn't it, Mr. Stillford?"
+
+Stillford admitted that it was. "All the same, perhaps the less we go
+there at the present moment----"
+
+"Oh, but Lord Lynborough asked me to come again and to go wherever I
+liked--not to keep to the stupid road."
+
+Absolute silence reigned. Violet looked round with a smile which
+conveyed a general appeal for sympathy; there was, perhaps, special
+reference to Miss Gilletson as the guardian of propriety, and to the
+Marchesa as the owner of the disputed path.
+
+"You see, I took Nellie, and the dear always does run away. She ran
+after a rabbit. I ran after her, of course. The rabbit ran into a hole,
+and I ran into Lord Lynborough. Helena, he's charming!"
+
+"I'm thoroughly tired of Lord Lynborough," said the Marchesa icily.
+
+"He must have known I was staying with you, I think; but he never so
+much as mentioned you. He just ignored you--the whole thing, I mean.
+Wasn't it tactful?"
+
+Tactful it might have been; it did not appear to gratify the Marchesa.
+
+"What a wonderful air there is about a--a _grand seigneio_!" pursued
+Violet reflectively. "Such a difference it makes!"
+
+That remark did not gratify any of the gentlemen present; it implied a
+contrast, although it might not definitely assert one.
+
+"It is such a pity that you've quarreled about that silly path!"
+
+"Oh! oh! Miss Dufaure!"--"I say come, Miss Dufaure!"--"Er--really, Miss
+Dufaure!"--these three remonstrances may be distributed indifferently
+among the three men. They felt that there was a risk of treason in the
+camp.
+
+The Marchesa assumed her grandest manner; it was medieval--it was
+Titianesque.
+
+"Fortunately, as it seems, Violet, I do not rely on your help to
+maintain my fights in regard to the path. Pray meet Lord Lynborough as
+often as you please, but spare me any unnecessary mention of his name."
+
+"I didn't mean any harm. It was all Nellie's fault."
+
+The Marchesa's reply--if such it can be called--was delivered _sotto
+voce_, yet was distinctly audible. It was also brief. She said
+"_Nellie_!" Nellie was, of course, Miss Dufaure's dog.
+
+Night fell upon an apparently peaceful land. Yet Violet was an absentee
+from the Marchesa's dressing-room that night, and even between Norah and
+her hostess the conversation showed a tendency to flag. Norah, for all
+her courage, dared not mention the name of Lynborough, and Helena most
+plainly would not. Yet what else was there to talk about? It had come to
+that point even so early in the war!
+
+Meanwhile, up at Scarsmoor Castle, Lynborough, in exceedingly high
+spirits, talked to Leonard Stabb.
+
+"Yes, Cromlech," he said, "a pretty girl, a very pretty girl if you like
+that _petite_ insinuating style. For myself I prefer something a shade
+more--what shall we call it?"
+
+"Don't care a hang," muttered Stabb.
+
+"A trifle more in the grand manner, perhaps, Cromlech. And she hadn't
+anything like the complexion. I knew at once that it couldn't be the
+Marchesa. Do you bathe to-morrow morning?"
+
+"And get my head broken?"
+
+"Just stand still, and let them throw themselves against you, Cromlech.
+Roger!--Oh, he's gone to bed; stupid thing to do--that! Cromlech, old
+chap, I'm enjoying myself immensely."
+
+He just touched his old friend's shoulder as he passed by: the caress
+was almost imperceptible. Stabb turned his broad red face round to him
+and laughed ponderously.
+
+"Oh, and you understand!" cried Lynborough.
+
+"I have never myself objected to a bit of fun with the girls," said
+Stabb.
+
+Lynborough sank into a chair murmuring delightedly, "You're priceless,
+Cromlech!"
+
+
+
+
+_Chapter Six_
+
+EXERCISE BEFORE BREAKFAST
+
+
+"Life--" (The extract is from Lynborough's diary, dated this same 14th
+of June)--"may be considered as a process (Cromlech's view, conducting
+to the tomb)--a program (as, I am persuaded, Roger conceives it, marking
+off each stage thereof with a duly guaranteed stamp of performance)--or
+as a progress--in which light I myself prefer to envisage it.
+Process--program--progress; the words, with my above-avowed preference,
+sound unimpeachably orthodox. Once I had a Bishop ancestor. He crops
+out.
+
+"Yet I don't mean what he does. I don't believe in growing better in
+the common sense--that is, in an increasing power to resist what tempts
+you, to refrain from doing what you want. That ideal seems to me, more
+and more, to start from the wrong end. No man refrains from doing what
+he wants to do. In the end the contradiction--the illogicality--is
+complete. You learn to want more wisely--that's all. Train desire, for
+you can never chain it.
+
+"I'm engaged here and now on what is to all appearance the most trivial
+of businesses. I play the spiteful boy--she is an obstinate peevish
+girl. There are other girls too--one an insinuating tiny minx, who would
+wheedle a backward glance out of Simon Stylites as he remounted his
+pillar--and, by the sun in heaven, will get little more from this child
+of Mother Earth! There's another, I hear--Irish!--And Irish is near my
+heart. But behind her--set in the uncertain radiance of my
+imagination--lies her Excellency. Heaven knows why! Save that it is
+gloriously paradoxical to meet a foreign Excellency in this spot, and to
+get to most justifiable, most delightful, loggerheads with her
+immediately. I have conceived Machiavellian devices. I will lure away
+her friends. I will isolate her, humiliate her, beat her in the fight.
+There may be some black eyes--some bruised hearts--but I shall do it.
+Why? I have always been gentle before. But so I feel toward her. And
+therefore I am afraid. This is the foeman for my steel, I think--I have
+my doubts but that she'll beat me in the end.
+
+"When I talk like this, Cromlech chuckles, loves me as a show, despises
+me as a mind. Roger--young Roger Fitz-Archdeacon--is all an incredulous
+amazement. I don't wonder. There is nothing so small and nothing so
+great--nothing so primitive and not a thing so complex--nothing so
+unimportant and so engrossing as this 'duel of the sexes.' A proves it a
+trifle, and is held great. B reckons it all-supreme, and becomes
+popular. C (a woman) describes the Hunter Man. D (a man) descants of the
+Pursuit by Woman. The oldest thing is the most canvassed and the least
+comprehended. But there's a reputation--and I suppose money--in it for
+anybody who can string phrases. There's blood-red excitement for
+everybody who can feel. Yet I've played my part in other affairs--not so
+much in dull old England, where you work five years to become a Member
+of Parliament, and five years more in order to get kicked out again--but
+in places where in a night you rise or fall--in five minutes order the
+shooting-squad or face it--boil the cook or are stuffed into the pot
+yourself. (Cromlech, this is not exact scientific statement!) Yet
+always--everywhere--the woman! And why? On my honor, I don't know. What
+in the end is she?
+
+"I adjourn the question--and put a broader one. What am I? The human
+being as such? If I'm a vegetable, am I not a mistake? If I'm an animal,
+am I not a cruelty? If I'm a soul, am I not misplaced? I'd say 'Yes' to
+all this, save that I enjoy myself so much. Because I have forty
+thousand a year? Hardly. I've had nothing, and been as completely out of
+reach of getting anything as the veriest pauper that ever existed--and
+yet I've had the deuce of a fine existence the while. I think there's
+only one solid blunder been made about man--he oughtn't to have been
+able to think. It wastes time. It makes many people unhappy. That's not
+my case. I like it. It just wastes time.
+
+"That insinuating minx, possessed of a convenient dog and an
+ingratiating manner, insinuated to-day that I was handsome. Well, she's
+pretty, and I suppose we're both better off for it. It is an
+introduction. But to myself I don't seem very handsome. I have my
+pride--I look a gentleman. But I look a queer foreign fish. I found
+myself envying the British robustness of that fine young chap who is so
+misguided as to be a lawyer.
+
+"Ah, why do I object to lawyers? Tolstoi!--I used to say--or, at the
+risk of advanced intellects not recognizing one's allusions, one could
+go further back. But that is, in the end, all gammon. Every real
+conviction springs from personal experience. I hate the law because it
+interfered with me. I'm not aware of any better reason. So I'm going on
+without it--unless somebody tries to steal my forty thousand, of course.
+Ambrose, thou art a humbug--or, more precisely, thou canst not avoid
+being a human individual!"
+
+Lord Lynborough completed the entry in his diary--he was tolerably well
+aware that he might just as well not have written it--and cast his eyes
+toward the window of the library. The stars were bright; a crescent moon
+decorated, without illuminating, the sky. The regular recurrent beat of
+the sea on the shore, traversing the interval in night's silence, struck
+on his ear. "If God knew Time, that might be His clock," said he.
+"Listen to its inexorable, peaceable, gentle, formidable stroke!"
+
+His sleep that night was short and broken. A fitful excitement was on
+his spirit: the glory of the summer morning wooed his restlessness. He
+would take his swim alone, and early. At six o'clock he slipped out of
+the house and made for Beach Path. The fortified gate was too strong for
+his unaided efforts. Roger Wilbraham had told him that, if the way were
+impeded, he had a right to "deviate." He deviated now, lightly vaulting
+over the four-foot-high stone wall. None was there to hinder him, and,
+with emotions appropriate to the occasion, he passed Nab Grange and
+gained the beach. When once he was in the water, the emotions went away.
+
+They were to return--or, at any rate, to be succeeded by their brethren.
+After he had dressed, he sat down and smoked a cigarette as he regarded
+the smiling sea. This situation was so agreeable that he prolonged it
+for full half-an-hour; then a sudden longing for Coltson's coffee came
+over him. He jumped up briskly and made for the Grange gate.
+
+He had left it open--it was shut now. None had been nigh when he passed
+through. Now a young woman in a white frock leant her elbows comfortably
+on its top rail and rested her pretty chin upon her hands. Lady Norah's
+blue eyes looked at him serenely from beneath black lashes of noticeable
+length--at any rate Lynborough noticed their length.
+
+Lynborough walked up to the gate. With one hand he removed his hat, with
+the other he laid a tentative hand on the latch. Norah did not move or
+even smile.
+
+"I beg your pardon, madam," said Lynborough, "but if it does not
+incommode you, would you have the great kindness to permit me to open
+the gate?"
+
+"Oh, I'm sorry; but this is a private path leading to Nab Grange. I
+suppose you're a stranger in these parts?"
+
+"My name is Lynborough. I live at Scarsmoor there."
+
+"Are you Lord Lynborough?" Norah sounded exceedingly interested. "_The_
+Lord Lynborough?"
+
+"There's only one, so far as I'm aware," the owner of the title
+answered.
+
+"I mean the one who has done all those--those--well, those funny
+things?"
+
+"I rejoice if the recital of them has caused you any amusement. And now,
+if you will permit me----"
+
+"Oh, but I can't! Helena would never forgive me. I'm a friend of hers,
+you know--of the Marchesa di San Servolo. Really you can't come through
+here."
+
+"Do you think you can stop me?"
+
+"There isn't room for you to get over as long as I stand here--and the
+wall's too high to climb, isn't it?"
+
+Lynborough studied the wall; it was twice the height of the wall on the
+other side; it might be possible to scale, but difficult and laborious;
+nor would he look imposing while struggling at the feat.
+
+"You'll have to go round by the road," remarked Norah, breaking into a
+smile.
+
+Lynborough was enjoying the conversation just as much as she was--but he
+wanted two things; one was victory, the other coffee.
+
+"Can't I persuade you to move?" he said imploringly. "I really don't
+want to have to resort to more startling measures."
+
+"You surely wouldn't use force against a girl, Lord Lynborough!"
+
+"I said startling measures--not violent ones," he reminded her. "Are
+your nerves good?"
+
+"Excellent, thank you."
+
+"You mean to stand where you are?"
+
+"Yes--till you've gone away." Now she laughed openly at him. Lynborough
+delighted in the merry sound and the flash of her white teeth.
+
+"It's a splendid morning, isn't it?" he asked. "I should think you stand
+about five feet five, don't you? By the way, whom have I the pleasure of
+conversing with?"
+
+"My name is Norah Mountliffey."
+
+"Ah, I knew your father very well." He drew back a few steps. "So you
+must excuse an old family friend for telling you that you make a
+charming picture at that gate. If I had a camera--Just as you are,
+please!" He held up his hand, as though to pose her.
+
+"Am I quite right?" she asked, humoring the joke, with her merry
+mischievous eyes set on Lynborough's face as she leaned over the top of
+the gate.
+
+"Quite right. Now, please! Don't move!"
+
+"Oh, I've no intention of moving," laughed Norah mockingly.
+
+She kept her word; perhaps she was too surprised to do anything else.
+For Lynborough, clapping his hat on firmly, with a dart and a spring
+flew over her head.
+
+Then she wheeled round--to see him standing two yards from her, his hat
+in his hand again, bowing apologetically.
+
+"Forgive me for getting between you and the sunshine for a moment," he
+said. "But I thought I could still do five feet five; and you weren't
+standing upright either. I've done within an inch of six feet, you know.
+And now I'm afraid I must reluctantly ask you to excuse me. I thank you
+for the pleasure of this conversation." He bowed, put on his hat,
+turned, and began to walk away along Beach Path.
+
+"You got the better of me that time, but you've not done with me yet,"
+she cried, starting after him.
+
+He turned and looked over his shoulder: save for his eyes his face was
+quite grave. He quickened his pace to a very rapid walk. Norah found
+that she must run, or fall behind. She began to run. Again that gravely
+derisory face turned upon her. She blushed, and fell suddenly to
+wondering whether in running she looked absurd. She fell to a walk.
+Lynborough seemed to know. Without looking round again, he abated his
+pace.
+
+"Oh, I can't catch you if you won't stop!" she cried.
+
+"My friend and secretary, Roger Wilbraham, tells me that I have no right
+to stop," Lynborough explained, looking round again, but not standing
+still. "I have only the right to pass and repass. I'm repassing now.
+He's a barrister, and he says that's the law. I daresay it is--but I
+regret that it prevents me from obliging you, Lady Norah."
+
+"Well, I'm not going to make a fool of myself by running after you,"
+said Norah crossly.
+
+Lynborough walked slowly on; Norah followed; they reached the turn of
+the path towards the Grange hall door. They reached it--and passed
+it--both of them. Lynborough turned once more--with a surprised lift of
+his brows.
+
+"At least I can see you safe off the premises!" laughed Norah, and with
+a quick dart forward she reduced the distance between them to
+half-a-yard. Lynborough seemed to have no objection; proximity made
+conversation easier; he moved slowly on.
+
+Norah seemed defeated--but suddenly she saw her chance, and hailed it
+with a cry. The Marchesa's bailiff--John Goodenough--was approaching the
+path from the house situated at the southwest corner of the meadow. Her
+cry of his name caught his attention--as well as Lynborough's. The
+latter walked a little quicker. John Goodenough hurried up. Lynborough
+walked steadily on.
+
+"Stop him, John!" cried Norah, her eyes sparkling with new excitement.
+"You know her Excellency's orders? This is Lord Lynborough!"
+
+"His lordship! Aye, it is. I beg your pardon, my lord, but--I'm very
+sorry to interfere with your lordship, but----"
+
+"You're in my way, Goodenough." For John had got across his path, and
+barred progress. "Of course I must stand still if you impede my steps,
+but I do it under protest. I only want to repass."
+
+"You can't come this way, my lord. I'm sorry, but it's her Excellency's
+strict orders. You must go back, my lord."
+
+"I am going back--or I was till you stopped me."
+
+"Back to where you came from, my lord."
+
+"I came from Scarsmoor and I'm going back there, Goodenough."
+
+"Where you came from last, my lord."
+
+"No, no, Goodenough. At all events, her Excellency has no right to drive
+me into the sea." Lynborough's tone was plaintively expostulatory.
+
+"Then if you won't go back, my lord, here we stay!" said John,
+bewildered but faithfully obstinate.
+
+"Just your tactics!" Lynborough observed to Norah, a keen spectator of
+the scene. "But I'm not so patient of them from Goodenough."
+
+"I don't know that you were very patient with me."
+
+"Goodenough, if you use sufficient force I shall, of course, be
+prevented from continuing on my way. Nothing short of that, however,
+will stop me. And pray take care that the force is sufficient--neither
+more nor less than sufficient, Goodenough."
+
+"I don't want to use no violence to your lordship. Well now, if I lay my
+hand on your lordship's shoulder, will that do to satisfy your
+lordship?"
+
+"I don't know until you try it."
+
+John's face brightened. "I reckon that's the way out. I reckon that's
+law, my lord. I puts my hand on your lordship's shoulder like that----"
+
+He suited the action to the word. In an instant Lynborough's long lithe
+arms were round him, Lynborough's supple lean leg twisted about his.
+Gently, as though he had been a little baby, Lynborough laid the sturdy
+fellow on the grass.
+
+For all she could do, Norah Mountliffey cried "Bravo!" and clapped her
+hands. Goodenough sat up, scratched his head, and laughed feebly.
+
+"Force not quite sufficient, Goodenough," cried Lynborough gaily. "Now I
+repass!"
+
+He lifted his hat to Norah, then waved his hand. In her open impulsive
+way she kissed hers back to him as he turned away.
+
+By one of those accidents peculiar to tragedy, the Marchesa's maid,
+performing her toilet at an upper window, saw this nefarious and
+traitorous deed!
+
+"Swimming--jumping--wrestling! A good morning's exercise! And all
+before those lazy chaps, Roger and Cromlech, are out of bed!"
+
+So saying, Lord Lynborough vaulted the wall again in high good humor.
+
+
+
+
+_Chapter Seven_
+
+ANOTHER WEDGE!
+
+
+Deprived of their leader's inspiration, the other two representatives of
+Scarsmoor did not brave the Passage Perilous to the sea that morning.
+Lynborough was well content to forego further aggression for the moment.
+His words declared his satisfaction----
+
+"I have driven a wedge--another wedge--into the Marchesa's phalanx. Yes,
+I think I may say a second wedge. Disaffection has made its entry into
+Nab Grange, Cromlech. The process of isolation has begun. Perhaps after
+lunch we will resume operations."
+
+But fortune was to give him an opportunity even before lunch. It
+appeared that Stabb had sniffed out the existence of two old brasses in
+Fillby Church; he was determined to inspect them at the earliest
+possible moment. Lynborough courteously offered to accompany him, and
+they set out together about eleven o'clock.
+
+No incident marked their way. Lynborough rang up the parish clerk at his
+house, presented Stabb to that important functionary, and bespoke for
+him every consideration. Then he leaned against the outside of the
+churchyard wall, peacefully smoking a cigarette.
+
+On the opposite side of the village street stood the Lynborough Arms.
+The inn was kept by a very superior man, who had retired to this
+comparative leisure after some years of service as butler with
+Lynborough's father. This excellent person, perceiving Lynborough,
+crossed the road and invited him to partake of a glass of ale in memory
+of old days. Readily acquiescing, Lynborough crossed the road, sat down
+with the landlord on a bench by the porch, and began to discuss local
+affairs over the beer.
+
+"I suppose you haven't kept up your cricket since you've been in foreign
+parts, my lord?" asked Dawson, the landlord, after some conversation
+which need not occupy this narrative. "We're playing a team from
+Easthorpe to-morrow, and we're very short."
+
+"Haven't played for nearly fifteen years, Dawson. But I tell you what--I
+daresay my friend Mr. Wilbraham will play. Mr. Stabb's no use."
+
+"Every one helps," said Dawson. "We've got two of the gentlemen from the
+Grange--Mr. Stillford, a good bat, and Captain Irons, who can bowl a
+bit--or so John Goodenough tells me."
+
+Lynborough's eyes had grown alert. "Well, I used to bowl a bit, too. If
+you're really hard up for a man, Dawson--really at a loss, you
+know--I'll play. It'll be better than going into the field short, won't
+it?"
+
+Dawson was profuse in his thanks. Lynborough listened patiently.
+
+"I tell you what I should like to do, Dawson," he said. "I should like
+to stand the lunch."
+
+It was the turn of Dawson's eyes to grow alert. They did. Dawson
+supplied the lunch. The club's finances were slender, and its ideas
+correspondingly modest. But if Lord Lynborough "stood" the lunch----!
+
+"And to do it really well," added that nobleman. "A sort of little feast
+to celebrate my homecoming. The two teams--and perhaps a dozen places
+for friends--ladies, the Vicar, and so on, eh, Dawson? Do you see the
+idea?"
+
+Dawson saw the idea much more clearly than he saw most ideas. Almost
+corporeally he beheld the groaning board.
+
+"On such an occasion, Dawson, we shouldn't quarrel about figures."
+
+"Your lordship's always most liberal," Dawson acknowledged in tones
+which showed some trace of emotion.
+
+"Put the matter in hand at once. But look here, I don't want it talked
+about. Just tell the secretary of the club--that's enough. Keep the tent
+empty till the moment comes. Then display your triumph! It'll be a
+pleasant little surprise for everybody, won't it?"
+
+Dawson thought it would; at any rate it was one for him.
+
+At this instant an elderly lady of demure appearance was observed, to
+walk up to the lych-gate and enter the churchyard. Lynborough inquired
+of his companion who she was.
+
+"That's Miss Gilletson from the Grange, my lord--the Marchesa's
+companion."
+
+"Is it?" said Lynborough softly. "Oh, is it indeed?" He rose from his
+seat. "Good-by, Dawson. Mind--a dead secret, and a rattling good lunch!"
+
+"I'll attend to it, my lord," Dawson assured him with the utmost
+cheerfulness. Never had Dawson invested a glass of beer to better
+profit!
+
+Lynborough threw away his cigar and entered the sacred precincts. His
+brain was very busy. "Another wedge!" he was saying to himself. "Another
+wedge!"
+
+The lady had gone into the church. Lynborough went in too. He came
+first on Stabb--on his hands and knees, examining one of the old brasses
+and making copious notes in a pocket-book.
+
+"Have you seen a lady come in, Cromlech?" asked Lord Lynborough.
+
+"No, I haven't," said Cromlech, now producing a yard measure and
+proceeding to ascertain the dimensions of the brass.
+
+"You wouldn't, if it were Venus herself," replied Lynborough pleasantly.
+"Well, I must look for her on my own account."
+
+He found her in the neighborhood of his family monuments which, with his
+family pew, crowded the little chancel of the church. She was not
+employed in devotions, but was arranging some flowers in a
+vase--doubtless a pious offering. Somewhat at a loss how to open the
+conversation, Lynborough dropped his hat--or rather gave it a dexterous
+jerk, so that it fell at the lady's feet. Miss Gilletson started
+violently, and Lord Lynborough humbly apologized. Thence he glided into
+conversation, first about the flowers, then about the tombs. On the
+latter subject he was exceedingly interesting and informing.
+
+"Dear, dear! Married the Duke of Dexminster's daughter, did he?" said
+Miss Gilletson, considerably thrilled. "She's not buried here, is she?"
+
+"No, she's not," said Lynborough, suppressing the fact that the lady had
+run away after six months of married life. "And my own father's not
+buried here, either; he chose my mother's family place in Devonshire. I
+thought it rather a pity."
+
+"Your own father?" Miss Gilletson gasped.
+
+"Oh, I forgot you didn't know me," he said, laughing. "I'm Lord
+Lynborough, you know. That's how I come to be so well up in all this.
+And I tell you what--I should like to show you some of our Scarsmoor
+roses on your way home."
+
+"Oh, but if you're Lord Lynborough, I--I really couldn't----"
+
+"Who's to know anything about it, unless you choose, Miss Gilletson?" he
+asked with his ingratiating smile and his merry twinkle. "There's
+nothing so pleasant as a secret shared with a lady!"
+
+It was a long time since a handsome man had shared a secret with Miss
+Gilletson. Who knows, indeed, whether such a thing had ever happened? Or
+whether Miss Gilletson had once just dreamed that some day it might--and
+had gone on dreaming for long, long days, till even the dream had slowly
+and sadly faded away? For sometimes it does happen like that.
+Lynborough meant nothing--but no possible effort (supposing he made it)
+could enable him to look as if he meant nothing. One thing at least he
+did mean--to make himself very pleasant to Miss Gilletson.
+
+Interested knave! It is impossible to avoid that reflection. Yet let
+ladies in their turn ask themselves if they are over-scrupulous in their
+treatment of one man when their affections are set upon another.
+
+He showed Miss Gilletson all the family tombs. He escorted her from the
+church. Under renewed vows of secrecy he induced her to enter Scarsmoor.
+Once in the gardens, the good lady was lost. They had no such roses at
+Nab Grange! Lynborough insisted on sending an enormous bouquet to the
+Vicar's wife in Miss Gilletson's name--and Miss Gilletson grew merry as
+she pictured the mystification of the Vicar's wife. For Miss Gilletson
+herself he superintended the selection of a nosegay of the choicest
+blooms; they laughed again together when she hid them in a large bag she
+carried--destined for the tea and tobacco which represented her little
+charities. Then--after pausing for one private word in his gardener's
+ear, which caused a boy to be sent off post-haste to the stables--he led
+her to the road, and in vain implored her to honor his house by setting
+foot in it. There the fear of the Marchesa or (it is pleasanter to
+think) some revival of the sense of youth, bred by Lynborough's
+deferential courtliness, prevailed. They came together through his lodge
+gates; and Miss Gilletson's face suddenly fell.
+
+"That wretched gate!" she cried. "It's locked--and I haven't got the
+key."
+
+"No more have I, I'm sorry to say," said Lynborough. He, on his part,
+had forgotten nothing.
+
+"It's nearly two miles round by the road--and so hot and dusty!--Really
+Helena does cut off her nose to spite her face!" Though, in truth, it
+appeared rather to be Miss Gilletson's nose the Marchesa had cut off.
+
+A commiserating gravity sat on Lord Lynborough's attentive countenance.
+
+"If I were younger, I'd climb that wall," declared Miss Gilletson. "As
+it is--well, but for your lovely flowers, I'd better have gone the other
+way after all."
+
+"I don't want you to feel that," said he, almost tenderly.
+
+"I must walk!"
+
+"Oh no, you needn't," said Lynborough.
+
+As he spoke, there issued from the gates behind them a luxurious
+victoria, drawn by two admirable horses. It came to a stand by
+Lynborough, the coachman touching his hat, the footman leaping to the
+ground.
+
+"Just take Miss Gilletson to the Grange, Williams. Stop a little way
+short of the house. She wants to walk through the garden."
+
+"Very good, my lord."
+
+"Put up the hood, Charles. The sun's very hot for Miss Gilletson."
+
+"Yes, my lord."
+
+"Nobody'll see you if you get out a hundred yards from the door--and
+it's really better than tramping the road on a day like this. Of course,
+if Beach Path were open--!" He shrugged his shoulders ever so slightly.
+
+Fear of the Marchesa struggled in Miss Gilletson's heart with the horror
+of the hot and tiring walk--with the seduction of the shady, softly
+rolling, speedy carriage.
+
+"If I met Helena!" she whispered; and the whisper was an admission of
+reciprocal confidence.
+
+"It's the chance of that against the certainty of the tramp!"
+
+"She didn't come down to breakfast this morning----"
+
+"Ah, didn't she?" Lynborough made a note for his Intelligence
+Department.
+
+"Perhaps she isn't up yet! I--I think I'll take the risk."
+
+Lynborough assisted her into the carriage.
+
+"I hope we shall meet again," he said, with no small _empressement_.
+
+"I'm afraid not," answered Miss Gilletson dolefully. "You see,
+Helena----"
+
+"Yes, yes; but ladies have their moods. Anyhow you won't think too
+hardly of me, will you? I'm not altogether an ogre."
+
+There was a pretty faint blush on Miss Gilletson's cheek as she gave him
+her hand. "An ogre! No, dear Lord Lynborough," she murmured.
+
+"A wedge!" said Lynborough, as he watched her drive away.
+
+He was triumphant with what he had achieved--he was full of hope for
+what he had planned. If he reckoned right, the loyalty of the ladies at
+Nab Grange to the mistress thereof was tottering, if it had not fallen.
+His relations with the men awaited the result of the cricket match. Yet
+neither his triumph nor his hope could in the nature of the case exist
+without an intermixture of remorse. He hurt--or tried to hurt--what he
+would please--and hoped to please. His mood was mixed, and his smile not
+altogether mirthful as he stood looking at the fast-receding carriage.
+
+Then suddenly, for the first time, he saw his enemy. Distantly--afar
+off! Yet without a doubt it was she. As he turned and cast his eyes over
+the forbidden path--the path whose seclusion he had violated, bold in
+his right--a white figure came to the sunk fence and stood there,
+looking not toward where he stood, but up to his castle on the hill.
+Lynborough edged near to the barricaded gate--a new padlock and new
+_chevaux-de-frise_ of prickly branches guarded it. The latter, high as
+his head, screened him completely; he peered through the interstices in
+absolute security.
+
+The white figure stood on the little bridge which led over the sunk
+fence into the meadow. He could see neither feature nor color; only the
+slender shape caught and chained his eye. Tall she was, and slender, as
+his mocking forecast had prophesied. More than that he could not see.
+
+Well, he did see one more thing. This beautiful shape, after a few
+minutes of what must be presumed to be meditation, raised its arm and
+shook its fist with decision at Scarsmoor Castle; then it turned and
+walked straight back to the Grange.
+
+There was no sort of possibility of mistaking the nature or the meaning
+of the gesture.
+
+It had the result of stifling Lynborough's softer mood, of reviving his
+pugnacity. "She must do more than that, if she's to win!" said he.
+
+
+
+
+_Chapter Eight_
+
+THE MARCHESA MOVES
+
+
+After her demonstration against Scarsmoor Castle, the Marchesa went in
+to lunch. But there were objects of her wrath nearer home also. She
+received Norah's salute--they had not met before, that morning--with icy
+coldness.
+
+"I'm better, thank you," she said, "but you must be feeling
+tired--having been up so very early in the morning! And
+you--Violet--have you been over to Scarsmoor again?"
+
+Violet had heard from Norah all about the latter's morning adventure.
+They exchanged uneasy glances. Yet they were prepared to back one
+another up. The men looked more frightened; men are frightened when
+women quarrel.
+
+"One of you," continued the Marchesa accusingly, "pursues Lord
+Lynborough to his own threshold--the other flirts with him in my own
+meadow! Rather peculiar signs of friendship for me under the present
+circumstances--don't you think so, Colonel Wenman?"
+
+The Colonel thought so--though he would have greatly preferred to be at
+liberty to entertain--or at least to express--no opinion on so thorny a
+point.
+
+"Flirt with him? What do you mean?" But Norah's protest lacked the ring
+of honest indignation.
+
+"Kissing one's hand to a mere stranger----"
+
+"How do you know that? You were in bed."
+
+"Carlotta saw you from her window. You don't deny it?"
+
+"No, I don't," said Norah, perceiving the uselessness of such a course.
+"In fact, I glory in it. I had a splendid time with Lord Lynborough. Oh,
+I did try to keep him out for you--but he jumped over my head."
+
+Sensation among the gentlemen! Increased scorn on the Marchesa's face!
+
+"And when I got John Goodenough to help me, he just laid John down on
+the grass as--as I lay that spoon on the table! He's splendid, Helena!"
+
+"He seems a good sort of chap," said Irons thoughtfully.
+
+The Marchesa looked at Wenman.
+
+"Nothing to be said for the fellow, nothing at all," declared the
+Colonel hastily.
+
+"Thank you, Colonel Wenman. I'm glad I have one friend left anyhow. Oh,
+besides you, Mr. Stillford, of course. Oh, and you, dear old Jennie, of
+course. You wouldn't forsake me, would you?"
+
+The tone of affection was calculated to gratify Miss Gilletson. But
+against it had to be set the curious and amused gaze of Norah and
+Violet. Seen by these two ladies in the act of descending from a stylish
+(and coroneted) victoria in the drive of Nab Grange, Miss Gilletson had,
+pardonably perhaps, broken down rather severely in cross-examination.
+She had been so very proud of the roses--so very full of Lord
+Lynborough's graces! She was conscious now that the pair held her in
+their hands and were demanding courage from her.
+
+"Forsake you, dearest Helena? Of course not! There's no question of that
+with any of us."
+
+"Yes--there is--with those of you who make friends with that wretch at
+Scarsmoor!"
+
+"Really, Helena, you shouldn't be so--so vehement. I'm not sure it's
+ladylike. It's absurd to call Lord Lynborough a wretch." The pale faint
+flush again adorned her fading cheeks. "I never met a man more
+thoroughly a gentleman."
+
+"You never met--" began the Marchesa in petrified tones. "Then you have
+met--?" Again her words died away.
+
+Miss Gilletson took her courage in both hands.
+
+"Circumstances threw us together. I behaved as a lady does under such
+circumstances, Helena. And Lord Lynborough was, under the circumstances,
+most charming, courteous, and considerate." She gathered more courage as
+she proceeded. "And really it's highly inconvenient having that gate
+locked, Helena. I had to come all the way round by the road."
+
+"I'm sorry if you find yourself fatigued," said the Marchesa with formal
+civility.
+
+"I'm not fatigued, thank you, Helena. I should have been terribly--but
+for Lord Lynborough's kindness in sending me home in his carriage."
+
+A pause followed. Then Norah and Violet began to giggle.
+
+"It was so funny this morning!" said Norah--and boldly launched on a
+full story of her adventure. She held the attention of the table. The
+Marchesa sat in gloomy silence. Violet chimed in with more reminiscences
+of her visit to Scarsmoor; Miss Gilletson contributed new items,
+including that matter of the roses. Norah ended triumphantly with a
+eulogy on Lynborough's extraordinary physical powers. Captain Irons
+listened with concealed interest. Even Colonel Wenman ventured to opine
+that the enemy was worth fighting. Stillford imitated his hostess's
+silence, but he was watching her closely. Would her courage--or her
+obstinacy--break down under these assaults, this lukewarmness, these
+desertions? In his heart, fearful of that lawsuit, he hoped so.
+
+"I shall prosecute him for assaulting Goodenough," the Marchesa
+announced.
+
+"Goodenough touched him first!" cried Norah.
+
+"That doesn't matter, since I'm in the right. He had no business to be
+there. That's the law, isn't it, Mr. Stillford? Will he be sent to
+prison or only heavily fined?"
+
+"Well--er--I'm rather afraid--neither, Marchesa. You see, he'll plead
+his right, and the Bench would refer us to our civil remedy and dismiss
+the summons. At least that's my opinion."
+
+"Of course that's right," pronounced Norah in an authoritative tone.
+
+"If that's the English law," observed the Marchesa, rising from the
+table, "I greatly regret that I ever settled in England."
+
+"What are you going to do this afternoon, Helena? Going to play
+tennis--or croquet?"
+
+"I'm going for a walk, thank you, Violet." She paused for a moment and
+then added, "By myself."
+
+"Oh, mayn't I have the privilege--?" began the Colonel.
+
+"Not to-day, thank you, Colonel Wenman. I--I have a great deal to think
+about. We shall meet again at tea--unless you're all going to tea at
+Scarsmoor Castle!" With this Parthian shot she left them.
+
+She had indeed much to think of--and her reflections were not cast in a
+cheerful mold. She had underrated her enemy. It had seemed sufficient to
+lock the gate and to forbid Lynborough's entry. These easy measures had
+appeared to leave him no resource save blank violence: in that
+confidence she had sat still and done nothing. He had been at work--not
+by blank violence, but by cunning devices and subtle machinations. He
+had made a base use of his personal fascinations, of his athletic gifts,
+even of his lordly domain, his garden of roses, and his carriage. She
+perceived his strategy; she saw now how he had driven in his wedges. Her
+ladies had already gone over to his side; even her men were shaken.
+Stillford had always been lukewarm; Irons was fluttering round
+Lynborough's flame; Wenman might still be hers--but an isolation
+mitigated only by Colonel Wenman seemed an isolation not mitigated in
+the least. When she had looked forward to a fight, it had not been to
+such a fight as this. An enthusiastic, hilarious, united Nab Grange was
+to have hurled laughing defiance at Scarsmoor Castle. Now more than half
+Nab Grange laughed--but its laughter was not at the Castle; its
+laughter, its pitying amusement, was directed at her; Lynborough's
+triumphant campaign drew all admiration. He had told Stillford that he
+would harry her; he was harrying her to his heart's content--and to a
+very soreness in hers.
+
+For the path--hateful Beach Path which her feet at this moment
+trod--became now no more than an occasion for battle, a symbol of
+strife. The greater issue stood out. It was that this man had
+peremptorily challenged her to a fight--and was beating her! And he won
+his victory, not by male violence in spite of male stupidity, but by
+just the arts and the cunning which should have been her own weapons. To
+her he left the blunt, the inept, the stupid and violent methods. He
+chose the more refined, and wielded them like a master. It was a
+position to which the Marchesa's experience had not accustomed her--one
+to which her spirit was by no means attuned.
+
+What was his end--that end whose approach seemed even now clearly
+indicated? It was to convict her at once of cowardice and of
+pig-headedness, to exhibit her as afraid to bring him to book by law,
+and yet too churlish to cede him his rights. He would get all her
+friends to think that about her. Then she would be left alone--to fight
+a lost battle all alone.
+
+Was he right in his charge? Did it truly describe her conduct? For any
+truth there might be in it, she declared that he was himself to blame.
+He had forced the fight on her by his audacious demand for instant
+surrender; he had given her no fair time for consideration, no
+opportunity for a dignified retreat. He had offered her no choice save
+between ignominy and defiance. If she chose defiance, his rather than
+hers was the blame.
+
+Suddenly--across these dismal broodings--there shot a new idea. _Fas est
+et ab hoste doceri_; she did not put it in Latin, but it came to the
+same thing--Couldn't she pay Lynborough back in his own coin? She had
+her resources--perhaps she had been letting them lie idle! Lord
+Lynborough did not live alone at Scarsmoor. If there were women open to
+his wiles at the Grange, were there no men open to hers at Scarsmoor?
+The idea was illuminating; she accorded it place in her thoughts.
+
+She was just by the gate. She took out her key, opened the padlock,
+closed the gate behind her, but did not lock it, walked on to the road,
+and surveyed the territory of Scarsmoor.
+
+Fate helps those who help themselves: her new courage of brain and heart
+had its reward. She had not been there above a minute when Roger
+Wilbraham came out from the Scarsmoor gates.
+
+Lynborough had, he considered, done enough for one day. He was awaiting
+the results of to-morrow's manoeuvers anent the cricket match. But he
+amused himself after lunch by proffering to Roger a wager that he would
+not succeed in traversing Beach Path from end to end, and back again,
+alone, by his own unassisted efforts, and without being driven to
+ignominious flight. Without a moment's hesitation Roger accepted. "I
+shall just wait till the coast's clear," he said.
+
+"Ah, but they'll see you from the windows! They will be on the lookout,"
+Lynborough retorted.
+
+The Marchesa had strolled a little way down the road. She was walking
+back toward the gate when Roger first came in sight. He did not see her
+until after he had reached the gate. There he stood a moment,
+considering at what point to attack it--for the barricade was
+formidable. He came to the same conclusion as Lynborough had reached
+earlier in the day. "Oh, I'll jump the wall," he said.
+
+"The gate isn't locked," remarked a charming voice just behind him.
+
+He turned round with a start and saw--he had no doubt whom she was. The
+Marchesa's tall slender figure stood before him--all in white, crowned
+by a large, yet simple, white hat; her pale olive cheeks were tinged
+with underlying red (the flush of which Lynborough had dreamed!); her
+dark eyes rested on the young man with a kindly languid interest; her
+very red lips showed no smile, yet seemed to have one in ready ambush.
+Roger was overcome; he blushed and stood silent before the vision.
+
+"I expect you're going to bathe? Of course this is the shortest way, and
+I shall be so glad if you'll use it. I'm going to the Grange myself, so
+I can put you on your way."
+
+Roger was honest. "I--I'm staying at the Castle."
+
+"I'll tell somebody to be on the lookout and open the gate for you when
+you come back," said she.
+
+If Norah was no match for Lynborough, Roger was none for the Marchesa's
+practised art.
+
+"You're--you're awfully kind. I--I shall be delighted, of course."
+
+The Marchesa passed through the gate. Roger followed. She handed him the
+key.
+
+"Will you please lock the padlock? It's not--safe--to leave the gate
+open."
+
+Her smile had come into the open--it was on the red lips now! For all
+his agitation Roger was not blind to its meaning. His hand was to lock
+the gate against his friend and chief! But the smile and the eyes
+commanded. He obeyed.
+
+It was the first really satisfactory moment which the contest had
+brought to the Marchesa--some small instalment of consolation for the
+treason of her friends.
+
+Roger had been honestly in love once with a guileless maiden--who had
+promptly and quite unguilefully refused him; his experience did not at
+all fit him to cope with the Marchesa. She, of course, was merciless:
+was he not of the hated house? As an individual, however, he appeared to
+be comely and agreeable.
+
+They walked on side by side--not very quickly. The Marchesa's eyes were
+now downcast. Roger was able to steal a glance at her profile; he could
+compare it to nothing less than a Roman Empress on an ancient silver
+coin.
+
+"I suppose you've been taught to think me a very rude and unneighborly
+person, haven't you, Mr. Wilbraham? At least I suppose you're Mr.
+Wilbraham? You don't look old enough to be that learned Mr. Stabb the
+Vicar told me about. Though he said Mr. Stabb was absolutely
+delightful--how I should love to know him, if only--!" She broke off,
+sighing deeply.
+
+"Yes, my name's Wilbraham. I'm Lynborough's secretary. But--er--I don't
+think anything of that sort about you. And--and I've never heard
+Lynborough say anything--er--unkind."
+
+"Oh, Lord Lynborough!" She gave a charming little shrug, accompanied
+with what Roger, from his novel-reading, conceived to be a _moue_.
+
+"Of course I--I know that you--you think you're right," he stammered.
+
+She stopped on the path. "Yes, I do think I'm right, Mr. Wilbraham. But
+that's not it. If it were merely a question of right, it would be
+unneighborly to insist. I'm not hurt by Lord Lynborough's using this
+path. But I'm hurt by Lord Lynborough's discourtesy. In my country women
+are treated with respect--even sometimes (she gave a bitter little
+laugh) with deference. That doesn't seem to occur to Lord Lynborough."
+
+"Well, you know----"
+
+"Oh, I can't let you say a word against him, whatever you may be obliged
+to think. In your position--as his friend--that would be disloyal; and
+the one thing I dislike is disloyalty. Only I was anxious"--she turned
+and faced him--"that you should understand my position--and that Mr.
+Stabb should too. I shall be very glad if you and Mr. Stabb will use the
+path whenever you like. If the gate's locked you can manage the wall!"
+
+"I'm--I'm most awfully obliged to you--er--Marchesa--but you see----"
+
+"No more need be said about that, Mr. Wilbraham. You're heartily
+welcome. Lord Lynborough would have been heartily welcome too, if he
+would have approached me properly. I was open to discussion. I received
+orders. I don't take orders--not even from Lord Lynborough."
+
+She looked splendid--so Roger thought. The underlying red dyed the olive
+to a brighter hue; her eyes were very proud; the red lips shut
+decisively. Just like a Roman Empress! Then her face underwent a rapid
+transformation; the lips parted, the eyes laughed, the cheeks faded to
+hues less stormy, yet not less beautiful. (These are recorded as Mr.
+Wilbraham's impressions.) Lightly she laid the tips of her fingers on
+his arm for just a moment.
+
+"There--don't let's talk any more about disagreeable things," she said.
+"It's too beautiful an afternoon. Can you spare just five minutes? The
+strawberries are splendid! I want some--and it's so hot to pick them for
+one's self!"
+
+Roger paused, twisting the towel round his neck.
+
+"Only five minutes!" pleaded--yes, pleaded--the beautiful Marchesa.
+"Then you can go and have your swim in peace."
+
+It was a question whether poor Roger was to do anything more in peace
+that day--but he went and picked the strawberries.
+
+
+
+
+_Chapter Nine_
+
+LYNBOROUGH DROPS A CATCH
+
+
+"Something has happened!" (So Lynborough records the same evening.) "I
+don't know precisely what--but I think that the enemy is at last in
+motion. I'm glad. I was being too successful. I had begun to laugh at
+her--and that only. I prefer the admixture of another element of
+emotion. All that ostensibly appears is that I have lost five shillings
+to Roger. 'You did it?' I asked. 'Certainly,' said Roger. 'I went at my
+ease and came back at my ease, and--' I interrupted, 'Nobody stopped
+you?' 'Nobody made any objection,' said Roger. 'You took your time,'
+says I. 'You were away three hours!' 'The water was very pleasant this
+afternoon,' says Roger. Hum! I hand over my two half-crowns, which Roger
+pockets with a most peculiar sort of smile. There that incident appears
+to end--with a comment from me that the Marchesa's garrison is not very
+alert. Another smile--not less peculiar--from Roger! _Hum!_
+
+"Then Cromlech! I trust Cromlech as myself--that is, as far as I can see
+him. He has no secrets from me--that I know of; I have none from
+him--which would be at all likely to interest him. Yet, soon after
+Roger's return, Cromlech goes out! And they had been alone together for
+some minutes, as I happen to have observed. Cromlech is away an hour and
+a half! If I were not a man of honor, I would have trained the telescope
+on to him. I refrained. Where was Cromlech? At the church, he told me.
+I accept his word--but the church has had a curious effect upon him.
+Sometimes he is silent, sulky, reflective, embarrassed--constantly
+rubbing the place where his hair ought to be--not altogether too civil
+to me either. Anon, sits with a fat happy smile on his face! Has he
+found a new tomb? No; he'd tell me about a new tomb. What has happened
+to Cromlech?
+
+"At first sight Violet--the insinuating one--would account for the
+phenomena. Or Norah's eyes and lashes? Yet I hesitate. Woman, of course,
+it is, with both of them. Violet might make men pleased with themselves;
+Norah could make them merry and happy. Yet these two are not so much
+pleased with themselves--rather they are pleased with events; they are
+not merry--they are thoughtful. And I think they are resentful. I
+believe the hostile squadron has weighed anchor. In these great results,
+achieved so quickly, demanding on my part such an effort in reply, I see
+the Marchesa's touch! I have my own opinion as to what has happened to
+Roger and to Cromlech. Well, we shall see--to-morrow is the cricket
+match!"
+
+"_Later._ I had closed this record; I was preparing to go to bed
+(wishing to bathe early to-morrow) when I found that I had forgotten to
+bring up my book. Coltson had gone to bed--or out--anyhow, away. I went
+down myself. The library door stood ajar; I had on my slippers; a light
+burned still; Cromlech and Roger were up. As I approached--with an
+involuntary noiselessness (I really couldn't be expected to think of
+coughing, in my own house and with no ladies about)--I overheard this
+remarkable, most significant, most important conversation:
+
+"_Cromlech_: 'On my soul, there were tears in her eyes!'
+
+"_Roger_: 'Stabb, can we as gentlemen--?'
+
+"Then, as I presume, the shuffle of my slippers became audible. I went
+in; both drank whisky-and-soda in a hurried fashion. I took my book from
+the table. Naught said I. Their confusion was obvious. I cast on them
+one of my looks; Roger blushed, Stabb shuffled his feet. I left them.
+
+"'Tears in her eyes!' 'Can we as gentlemen?'
+
+"The Marchesa moves slowly, but she moves in force!"
+
+It is unnecessary to pursue the diary further; for his
+lordship--forgetful apparently of the borne of bed, to which he had
+originally destined himself--launches into a variety of speculations as
+to the Nature of Love. Among other questions, he puts to himself the
+following concerning Love: (1) Is it Inevitable? (2) Is it Agreeable?
+(3) Is it Universal? (4) Is it Wise? (5) Is it Remunerative? (6) Is it
+Momentary? (7) Is it Sempiternal? (8) Is it Voluntary? (9) Is it
+Conditioned? (10) Is it Remediable? (11) Is it Religious? (There's a
+note here--"Consult Cromlech")--(12) May it be expected to survive the
+Advance of Civilization? (13) Why does it exist at all? (14) Is it
+Ridiculous?
+
+It is not to be inferred that Lord Lynborough answers these questions.
+He is, like a wise man, content to propound them. If, however, he had
+answered them, it might have been worth while to transcribe the diary.
+
+"Can we as gentlemen--?"--Roger had put the question. It waited
+unanswered till Lynborough had taken his book and returned to record
+its utterance--together with the speculations to which that utterance
+gave rise. Stabb weighed it carefully, rubbing his bald head, according
+to the habit which his friend had animadverted upon.
+
+"If such a glorious creature--" cried Roger.
+
+"If a thoroughly intelligent and most sympathetic woman--" said Stabb.
+
+"Thinks that she has a right, why, she probably has one!"
+
+"At any rate her view is entitled to respect--to a courteous hearing."
+
+"Lynborough does appear to have been a shade--er----"
+
+"Ambrose is a spoiled child, bless him! She took a wonderful interest in
+my brasses. I don't know what brought her to the church."
+
+"She waited herself to let me through that beastly gate again!"
+
+"She drove me round herself to our gates. Wouldn't come through
+Scarsmoor!"
+
+They both sighed. They both thought of telling the other something--but
+on second thoughts refrained.
+
+"I suppose we'd better go to bed. Shall you bathe to-morrow morning?"
+
+"With Ambrose? No, I sha'n't, Wilbraham."
+
+"No more shall I. Good-night, Stabb. You'll--think it over?"
+
+Stabb grunted inarticulately. Roger drew the blind aside for a moment,
+looked down on Nab Grange, saw a light in one window--and went to bed.
+The window was, in objective fact (if there be such a thing), Colonel
+Wenman's. No matter. There nothing is but thinking makes it so. The
+Colonel was sitting up, writing a persuasive letter to his tailor. He
+served emotions that he did not feel; it is a not uncommon lot.
+
+Lynborough's passing and repassing to and from his bathing were
+uninterrupted next morning. Nab Grange seemed wrapped in slumber; only
+Goodenough saw him, and Goodenough did not think it advisable to
+interrupt his ordinary avocations. But an air of constraint--even of
+mystery--marked both Stabb and Roger at breakfast. The cricket match was
+naturally the topic--though Stabb declared that he took little interest
+in it and should probably not be there.
+
+"There'll be some lunch, I suppose," said Lynborough carelessly. "You'd
+better have lunch there--it'd be dull for you all by yourself here,
+Cromlech."
+
+After apparent consideration Stabb conceded that he might take luncheon
+on the cricket ground; Roger, as a member of the Fillby team, would, of
+course, do likewise.
+
+The game was played in a large field, pleasantly surrounded by a belt of
+trees, and lying behind the Lynborough Arms. Besides Roger and
+Lynborough, Stillford and Irons represented Fillby. Easthorpe
+Polytechnic came in full force, save for an umpire. Colonel Wenman, who
+had walked up with his friends, was pressed into this honorable and
+responsible service, landlord Dawson officiating at the other end.
+Lynborough's second gardener, a noted fast bowler, was Fillby's captain;
+Easthorpe was under the command of a curate who had played several times
+for his University, although he had not actually achieved his "blue."
+Easthorpe won the toss and took first innings.
+
+The second gardener, aware of his employer's turn of speed, sent Lord
+Lynborough to field "in the country." That gentleman was well content;
+few balls came his way and he was at leisure to contemplate the exterior
+of the luncheon tent--he had already inspected the interior thereof with
+sedulous care and high contentment--and to speculate on the probable
+happenings of the luncheon hour. So engrossed was he that only a
+rapturous cheer, which rang out from the field and the spectators,
+apprised him of the fact that the second gardener had yorked the
+redoubtable curate with the first ball of his second over! Young
+Woodwell came in; he was known as a mighty hitter; Lynborough was
+signaled to take his position yet deeper in the field. Young Woodwell
+immediately got to business--but he kept the ball low. Lynborough had,
+however, the satisfaction of saving several "boundaries." Roger, keeping
+wicket, observed his chief's exertions with some satisfaction. Other
+wickets fell rapidly--but young Woodwell's score rapidly mounted up. If
+he could stay in, they would make a hundred--and Fillby looked with just
+apprehension on a score like that. The second gardener, who had given
+himself a brief rest, took the ball again with an air of determination.
+
+"Peters doesn't seem to remember that I also bowl," reflected Lord
+Lynborough.
+
+The next moment he was glad of this omission. Young Woodwell was playing
+for safety now--his fifty loomed ahead! Lynborough had time for a glance
+round. He saw Stabb saunter on to the field; then--just behind where he
+stood when the second gardener was bowling from the Lynborough Arms end
+of the field--a wagonette drove up. Four ladies descended. A bench was
+placed at their disposal, and the two menservants at once began to make
+preparations for lunch, aided therein by the ostler from the Lynborough
+Arms, who rigged up a table on trestles under a spreading tree.
+
+Lord Lynborough's reputation as a sportsman inevitably suffers from this
+portion of the narrative. Yet extenuating circumstances may fairly be
+pleaded. He was deeply interested in the four ladies who sat behind him
+on the bench; he was vitally concerned in the question of the lunch. As
+he walked back, between the overs, to his position, he could see that
+places were being set for some half-dozen people. Would there be
+half-a-dozen there? As he stood, watching, or trying to watch, young
+Woodwell's dangerous bat, he overheard fragments of conversation wafted
+from the bench. The ladies were too far from him to allow of their faces
+being clearly seen, but it was not hard to recognize their figures.
+
+The last man in had joined young Woodwell. That hero's score was
+forty-eight, the total ninety-three. The second gardener was tempting
+the Easthorpe champion with an occasional slow ball; up to now young
+Woodwell had declined to hit at these deceivers.
+
+Suddenly Lynborough heard the ladies' voices quite plainly. They--or
+some of them--had left the bench and come nearer to the boundary.
+Irresistibly drawn by curiosity, for an instant he turned his head. At
+the same instant the second gardener delivered a slow ball--a specious
+ball. This time young Woodwell fell into the snare. He jumped out and
+opened his shoulders to it. He hit it--but he hit it into the air. It
+soared over the bowler's head and came traveling through high heaven
+toward Lord Lynborough.
+
+"Look out!" cried the second gardener. Lynborough's head spun round
+again--but his nerves were shaken. His eyes seemed rather in the back of
+his head, trying to see the Marchesa's face, than fixed on the ball that
+was coming toward him. He was in no mood for bringing off a safe catch!
+
+Silence reigned, the ball began to drop. Lynborough had an instant to
+wait for it. He tried to think of the ball and the ball only.
+
+It fell--it fell into his hands; he caught it--fumbled it--caught
+it--fumbled it again--and at last dropped it on the grass! "Oh!" went in
+a long-drawn expostulation round the field; and Lynborough heard a voice
+say plainly:
+
+"Who is that stupid clumsy man?" The voice was the Marchesa's.
+
+He wheeled round sharply--but her back was turned. He had not seen her
+face after all!
+
+"Over!" was called. Lynborough apologized abjectly to the second
+gardener.
+
+"The sun was in my eyes, Peters, and dazzled me," he pleaded.
+
+"Looks to _me_ as if the sun was shining the other way, my lord," said
+Peters dryly. And so, in physical fact, it was.
+
+In Peters' next over Lynborough atoned--for young Woodwell had got his
+fifty and grown reckless. A one-handed catch, wide on his left side,
+made the welkin ring with applause. The luncheon bell rang too--for the
+innings was finished. Score 101. Last man out 52. Jim (office-boy at
+Polytechnic) not out 0. Young Woodwell received a merited ovation--and
+Lord Lynborough hurried to the luncheon tent. The Marchesa, with an
+exceedingly dignified mien, repaired to her table under the spreading
+oak.
+
+Mr. Dawson had done himself more than justice; the repast was
+magnificent. When Stillford and Irons saw it, they became more sure than
+ever what their duty was, more convinced still that the Marchesa would
+understand. Colonel Wenman became less sure what his duty
+was--previously it had appeared to him that it was to lunch with the
+Marchesa. But the Marchesa had spoken of a few sandwiches and perhaps a
+bottle of claret. Stillford told him that, as umpire, he ought to lunch
+with the teams. Irons declared it would look "deuced standoffish" if he
+didn't. Lynborough, who appeared to act as deputy-landlord to Mr.
+Dawson, pressed him into a chair with a friendly hand.
+
+"Well, she'll have the ladies with her, won't she?" said the Colonel,
+his last scruple vanishing before a large jug of hock-cup, artfully
+iced. The Nab Grange contingent fell to.
+
+Just then--when they were irrevocably committed to this feast--the flap
+of the tent was drawn back, and Lady Norah's face appeared. Behind her
+stood Violet and Miss Gilletson. Lynborough ran forward to meet them.
+
+"Here we are, Lord Lynborough," said Norah. "The Marchesa was so kind,
+she told us to do just as we liked, and we thought it would be such fun
+to lunch with the cricketers."
+
+"The cricketers are immensely honored. Let me introduce you to our
+captain, Mr. Peters. You must sit by him, you know. And, Miss Dufaure,
+will you sit by Mr. Jeffreys?--he's their captain--Miss Dufaure--Mr.
+Jeffreys. You, Miss Gilletson, must sit between Mr. Dawson and me. Now
+we're right--What, Colonel Wenman?--What's the matter?"
+
+Wenman had risen from his place. "The--the Marchesa!" he said. "We--we
+can't leave her to lunch alone!"
+
+Lady Norah broke in again. "Oh, Helena expressly said that she didn't
+expect the gentlemen. She knows what the custom is, you see."
+
+The Marchesa had, no doubt, made all these speeches. It may, however, be
+doubted whether Norah reproduced exactly the manner, and the spirit, in
+which she made them. But the iced hock-cup settled the Colonel. With a
+relieved sigh he resumed his place. The business of the moment went on
+briskly for a quarter of an hour.
+
+Mr. Dawson rose, glass in hand. "Ladies and gentlemen," said he, "I'm no
+hand at a speech, but I give you the health of our kind neighbor and
+good host to-day--Lord Lynborough. Here's to his lordship!"
+
+"I--I didn't know he was giving the lunch!" whispered Colonel Wenman.
+
+"Is it his lunch?" said Irons, nudging Stillford.
+
+Stillford laughed. "It looks like it. And we can hardly throw him over
+the hedge after this!"
+
+"Well, he seems to be a jolly good chap," said Captain Irons.
+
+Lynborough bowed his acknowledgments, and flirted with Miss Gilletson;
+his face wore a contented smile. Here they all were--and the Marchesa
+lunched alone on the other side of the field! Here indeed was a new
+wedge! Here was the isolation at which his diabolical schemes had aimed.
+He had captured Nab Grange! Bag and baggage they had come over--and left
+their chieftainess deserted.
+
+Then suddenly--in the midst of his triumph--in the midst too of a
+certain not ungenerous commiseration which he felt that he could extend
+to a defeated enemy and to beauty in distress--he became vaguely aware
+of a gap in his company. Stabb was not there! Yet Stabb had come upon
+the ground. He searched the company again. No, Stabb was not there.
+Moreover--a fact the second search revealed--Roger Wilbraham was not
+there. Roger was certainly not there; yet, whatever Stabb might do,
+Roger would never miss lunch!
+
+Lynborough's eyes grew thoughtful; he pursed up his lips. Miss
+Gilletson noticed that he became silent.
+
+He could bear the suspense no longer. On a pretext of looking for more
+bottled beer, he rose and walked to the door of the tent.
+
+Under the spreading tree the Marchesa lunched--not in isolation, not in
+gloom. She had company--and, even as he appeared, a merry peal of
+laughter was wafted by a favoring breeze across the field of battle.
+Stabb's ponderous figure, Roger Wilbraham's highly recognizable
+"blazer," told the truth plainly.
+
+Lord Lynborough was not the only expert in the art of driving wedges!
+
+"Well played, Helena!" he said under his breath.
+
+The rest of the cricket match interested him very little. Successful
+beyond their expectations, Fillby won by five runs (Wilbraham not out
+thirty-seven)--but Lynborough's score did not swell the victorious
+total. In Easthorpe's second innings--which could not affect the
+result--Peters let him bowl, and he got young Woodwell's wicket. That
+was a distinction; yet, looking at the day as a whole, he had scored
+less than he expected.
+
+
+
+
+_Chapter Ten_
+
+IN THE LAST RESORT!
+
+
+It will have been perceived by now that Lord Lynborough delighted in a
+fight. He revelled in being opposed; the man who withstood him to the
+face gave him such pleasure as to beget in his mind certainly gratitude,
+perhaps affection, or at least a predisposition thereto. There was
+nothing he liked so much as an even battle--unless, by chance, it were
+the scales seeming to incline a little against him. Then his spirits
+rose highest, his courage was most buoyant, his kindliness most sunny.
+
+The benefit of this disposition accrued to the Marchesa; for by her
+sudden counterattack she had at least redressed the balance of the
+campaign. He could not be sure that she had not done more. The ladies of
+her party were his--he reckoned confidently on that; but the men he
+could not count as more than neutral at the best; Wenman, anyhow, could
+easily be whistled back to the Marchesa's heel. But in his own house, he
+admitted at once, she had secured for him open hostility, for herself
+the warmest of partisanship. The meaning of her lunch was too plain to
+doubt. No wonder her opposition to her own deserters had been so faint;
+no wonder she had so readily, even if so scornfully, afforded them the
+pretext--the barren verbal permission--that they had required. She had
+not wanted them--no, not even the Colonel himself! She had wanted to be
+alone with Roger and with Stabb--and to complete the work of her
+blandishments on those guileless, tenderhearted, and susceptible
+persons. Lynborough admired, applauded, and promised himself
+considerable entertainment at dinner.
+
+How was the Marchesa, in her turn, bearing her domestic isolation, the
+internal disaffection at Nab Grange? He flattered himself that she would
+not be finding in it such pleasure as his whimsical temper reaped from
+the corresponding position of affairs at Scarsmoor.
+
+There he was right. At Nab Grange the atmosphere was not cheerful. Not
+to want a thing by no means implies an admission that you do not want
+it; that is elementary diplomacy. Rather do you insist that you want it
+very much; if you do not get it, there is a grievance--and a grievance
+is a mighty handy article of barter. The Marchesa knew all that.
+
+The deserters were severely lashed. The Marchesa had said that she did
+not expect Colonel Wenman; ought she to have sent a message to say that
+she was pining for him--must that be wrung from her before he would
+condescend to come? She had said that she knew the custom with regard to
+lunch at cricket matches; was that to say that she expected it to be
+observed to her manifest and public humiliation? She had told Miss
+Gilletson and the girls to please themselves; of course she wished them
+to do that always. Yet it might be a wound to find that their pleasure
+lay in abandoning their friend and hostess, in consorting with her
+arch-enemy, and giving him a triumph.
+
+"Well, what do you say about Wilbraham and Stabb?" cried the trampled
+Colonel.
+
+"I say that they're gentlemen," retorted the Marchesa. "They saw the
+position I was in--and they saved me from humiliation."
+
+That was enough for the men; men are, after all, poor fighters. It was
+not, however, enough for Lady Norah Mountliffey--a woman--and an
+Irishwoman to boot!
+
+"Are you really asking us to believe that you hadn't arranged it with
+them beforehand?" she inquired scornfully.
+
+"Oh, I don't ask you to believe anything I say," returned the Marchesa,
+dexterously avoiding saying anything on the point suggested.
+
+"The truth is, you're being very absurd, Helena," Norah pursued. "If
+you've got a right, go to law with Lord Lynborough and make him respect
+it. If you haven't got a right, why go on making yourself ridiculous and
+all the rest of us very uncomfortable?"
+
+It was obvious that the Marchesa might reply that any guest of hers who
+felt himself or herself uncomfortable at Nab Grange had, in his or her
+own hand, the easy remedy. She did not do that. She did a thing more
+disconcerting still. Though the mutton had only just been put on the
+table, she pushed back her chair, rose to her feet, and fled from the
+room very hastily.
+
+Miss Gilletson sprang up. But Norah was beforehand with her.
+
+"No! I said it. I'm the one to go. Who could think she'd take it like
+that?" Norah's own blue eyes were less bright than usual as she hurried
+after her wounded friend. The rest ate on in dreary conscience-stricken
+silence. At last Stillford spoke.
+
+"Don't urge her to go to law," he said. "I'm pretty sure she'd be
+beaten."
+
+"Then she ought to give in--and apologize to Lord Lynborough," said
+Miss Gilletson decisively. "That would be right--and, I will add,
+Christian."
+
+"Humble Pie ain't very good eating," commented Captain Irons.
+
+Neither the Marchesa nor Norah came back. The meal wended along its slow
+and melancholy course to a mirthless weary conclusion. Colonel Wenman
+began to look on the repose of bachelorhood with a kinder eye, on its
+loneliness with a more tolerant disposition. He went so far as to
+remember that, if the worst came to the worst, he had another invitation
+for the following week.
+
+The Spirit of Discord (The tragic atmosphere now gathering justifies
+these figures of speech--the chronicler must rise to the occasion of a
+heroine in tears), having wrought her fell work at Nab Grange, now
+winged her way to the towers of Scarsmoor Castle.
+
+Dinner had passed off quite as Lynborough anticipated; he had enjoyed
+himself exceedingly. Whenever the temporary absence of the servants
+allowed, he had rallied his friends on their susceptibility to beauty,
+on their readiness to fail him under its lures, on their clumsy attempts
+at concealment of their growing intimacy, and their confidential
+relations, with the fascinating mistress of Nab Grange. He too had been
+told to take his case into the Courts or to drop his claim--and had
+laughed triumphantly at the advice. He had laughed when Stabb said that
+he really could not pursue his work in the midst of such distractions,
+that his mind was too perturbed for scientific thought. He had laughed
+lightly and good-humoredly even when (as they were left alone over
+coffee) Roger Wilbraham, going suddenly a little white, said he thought
+that persecuting a lady was no fit amusement for a gentleman.
+Lynborough did not suppose that the Marchesa--with the battle of the day
+at least drawn, if not decided in her favor--could be regarded as the
+subject of persecution--and he did recognize that young fellows, under
+certain spells, spoke hotly and were not to be held to serious account.
+He was smiling still when, with a forced remark about the heat, the pair
+went out together to smoke on the terrace. He had some letters to read,
+and for the moment dismissed the matter from his mind.
+
+In ten minutes young Roger Wilbraham returned; his manner was quiet now,
+but his face still rather pale. He came up to the table by which
+Lynborough sat.
+
+"Holding the position I do in your house, Lord Lynborough," he said, "I
+had no right to use the words I used this evening at dinner. I
+apologize for them. But, on the other hand, I have no wish to hold a
+position which prevents me from using those words when they represent
+what I think. I beg you to accept my resignation, and I shall be greatly
+obliged if you can arrange to relieve me of my duties as soon as
+possible."
+
+Lynborough heard him without interruption; with grave impassive face,
+with surprise, pity, and a secret amusement. Even if he were right, he
+was so solemn over it!
+
+The young man waited for no answer. With the merest indication of a bow,
+he left Lynborough alone, and passed on into the house.
+
+"Well, now!" said Lord Lynborough, rising and lighting a cigar. "This
+Marchesa! Well, now!"
+
+Stabb's heavy form came lumbering in from the terrace; he seemed to move
+more heavily than ever, as though his bulk were even unusually inert.
+He plumped down into a chair and looked up at Lynborough's graceful
+figure.
+
+"I meant what I said at dinner, Ambrose. I wasn't joking, though I
+suppose you thought I was. All this affair may amuse you--it worries me.
+I can't settle to work. If you'll be so kind as to send me over to
+Easthorpe to-morrow, I'll be off--back to Oxford."
+
+"Cromlech, old boy!"
+
+"Yes, I know. But I--I don't want to stay, Ambrose. I'm
+not--comfortable." His great face set in a heavy, disconsolate, wrinkled
+frown.
+
+Lord Lynborough pursed his lips in a momentary whistle, then put his
+cigar back into his mouth, and walked out on to the terrace.
+
+"This Marchesa!" said he again. "This very remarkable Marchesa! Her
+_riposte_ is admirable. Really I venture to hope that I, in my turn,
+have very seriously disturbed her household!"
+
+He walked to the edge of the terrace, and stood there musing. Sandy Nab
+loomed up, dimly the sea rose and fell, twinkled and sank into darkness.
+It talked too--talked to Lynborough with a soft, low, quiet voice; it
+seemed (to his absurdly whimsical imagination) as though some lovely
+woman gently stroked his brow and whispered to him. He liked to
+encourage such freaks of fancy.
+
+Cromlech couldn't go. That was absurd.
+
+And the young fellow? So much a gentleman! Lynborough had liked the
+terms of his apology no less than the firmness of his protest. "It's the
+first time, I think, that I've been told that I'm no gentleman," he
+reflected with amusement. But Roger had been pale when he said it.
+Imaginatively Lynborough assumed his place. "A brave boy," he said. "And
+that dear old knight-errant of a Cromlech!"
+
+A space--room indeed and room enough--for the softer emotions--so much
+Lynborough was ever inclined to allow. But to acquiesce in this state of
+things as final--that was to admit defeat at the hands of the Marchesa.
+It was to concede that one day had changed the whole complexion of the
+fight.
+
+"Cromlech sha'n't go--the boy sha'n't go--and I'll still use the path,"
+he thought. "Not that I really care about the path, you know." He
+paused. "Well, yes, I do care about it--for bathing in the morning." He
+hardened his heart against the Marchesa. She chose to fight; the fortune
+of war must be hers. He turned his eyes down to Nab Grange. Lights
+burned there--were her guests demanding to be sent to Easthorpe? Why,
+no! As he looked, Lynborough came to the conclusion that she had reduced
+them all to order--that they would be whipped back to heel--that his
+manoeuvers (and his lunch!) had probably been wasted. He was beaten
+then?
+
+He scorned the conclusion. But if he were not--the result was deadlock!
+Then still he was beaten; for unless Helena (he called her that) owned
+his right, his right was to him as nothing.
+
+"I have made myself a champion of my sex," he said. "Shall I be beaten?"
+
+In that moment--with all the pang of forsaking an old conviction--of
+disowning that stronger tie, the loved embrace of an ancient and
+perversely championed prejudice--he declared that any price must be
+paid for victory.
+
+"Heaven forgive me, but, sooner than be beaten, I'll go to law with
+her!" he cried.
+
+A face appeared from between two bushes--a voice spoke from the edge of
+the terrace.
+
+"I thought you might be interested to hear----"
+
+"Lady Norah?"
+
+"Yes, it's me--to hear that you've made her cry--and very bitterly."
+
+
+
+
+_Chapter Eleven_
+
+AN ARMISTICE
+
+
+Lord Lynborough walked down to the edge of the terrace; Lady Norah stood
+half hidden in the shrubbery.
+
+"And that, I suppose, ought to end the matter?" he asked. "I ought at
+once to abandon all my pretensions and to give up my path?"
+
+"I just thought you might like to know it," said Norah.
+
+"Actually I believe I do like to know it--though what Roger would say to
+me about that I really can't imagine. You're mistaking my character,
+Lady Norah. I'm not the hero of this piece. There are several gentlemen
+from among whom you can choose one for that effective part. Lots of
+candidates for it! But I'm the villain. Consequently you must be
+prepared for my receiving your news with devilish glee."
+
+"Well, you haven't seen it--and I have."
+
+"Well put!" he allowed. "How did it happen?"
+
+"Over something I said to her--something horrid."
+
+"Well, then, why am I--?" Lynborough's hands expostulated eloquently.
+
+"But you were the real reason, of course. She thinks you've turned us
+all against her; she says it's so mean to get her own friends to turn
+against her."
+
+"Does she now?" asked Lord Lynborough with a thoughtful smile.
+
+Norah too smiled faintly. "She says she's not angry with us--she's just
+sorry for us--because she understands----"
+
+"What?"
+
+"I mean she says she--she can imagine--" Norah's smile grew a little
+more pronounced. "I'm not sure she'd like me to repeat that," said
+Norah. "And of course she doesn't know I'm here at all--and you must
+never tell her."
+
+"Of course it's all my fault. Still, as a matter of curiosity, what did
+you say to her?"
+
+"I said that, if she had a good case, she ought to go to law; and, if
+she hadn't, she ought to stop making herself ridiculous and the rest of
+us uncomfortable."
+
+"You spoke with the general assent of the company?"
+
+"I said what I thought--yes, I think they all agreed--but she took
+it--well, in the way I've told you, you know."
+
+Lady Norah had, in the course of conversation, insensibly advanced on to
+the terrace. She stood there now beside Lynborough.
+
+"How do you think I'm taking it?" he asked. "Doesn't my fortitude wring
+applause from you?"
+
+"Taking what?"
+
+"Exactly the same thing from my friends. They tell me to go to law if
+I've got a case--and at any rate to stop persecuting a lady. And they've
+both given me warning."
+
+"Mr. Stabb and Mr. Wilbraham? They're going away?"
+
+"So it appears. Carry back those tidings. Won't they dry the Marchesa's
+tears?"
+
+Norah looked at him with a smile. "Well, it is pretty clever of her,
+isn't it?" she said. "I didn't think she'd got along as quickly as
+that!" Norah's voice was full of an honest and undisguised admiration.
+
+"It's a little unreasonable of her to cry under the circumstances. I'm
+not crying, Lady Norah."
+
+"I expect you're rather disgusted, though, aren't you?" she suggested.
+
+"I'm a little vexed at having to surrender--for the moment--a principle
+which I've held dear--at having to give my enemies an occasion for
+mockery. But I must bow to my friends' wishes. I can't lose them under
+such painful circumstances. No, I must yield, Lady Norah."
+
+"You're going to give up the path?" she cried, not sure whether she were
+pleased or not with his determination.
+
+"Dear me, no! I'm going to law about it."
+
+Open dismay was betrayed in her exclamation: "Oh, but what will Mr.
+Stillford say to that?"
+
+Lynborough laughed. Norah saw her mistake--but she made no attempt to
+remedy it. She took up another line of tactics. "It would all come right
+if only you knew one another! She's the most wonderful woman in the
+world, Lord Lynborough. And you----"
+
+"Well, what of me?" he asked in deceitful gravity.
+
+Norah parried, with a hasty little laugh; "Just ask Miss Gilletson
+that!"
+
+Lynborough smiled for a moment, then took a turn along the terrace, and
+came back to her.
+
+"You must tell her that you've seen me----"
+
+"I couldn't do that!"
+
+"You must--or here the matter ends, and I shall be forced to go to
+law--ugh! Tell her you've seen me, and that I'm open to reason----"
+
+"Lord Lynborough! How can I tell her that?"
+
+"That I'm open to reason, and that I propose an armistice. Not
+peace--not yet, anyhow--but an armistice. I undertake not to exercise my
+right over Beach Path for a week from to-day, and before the end of that
+week I will submit a proposal to the Marchesa."
+
+Norah saw a gleam of hope. "Very well. I don't know what she'll say to
+me, but I'll tell her that. Thank you. You'll make it a--a pleasant
+proposal?"
+
+"I haven't had time to consider the proposal yet. She must inform me
+to-morrow morning whether she accepts the armistice."
+
+He suddenly turned to the house, and shouted up to a window above his
+head, "Roger!"
+
+The window was open. Roger Wilbraham put his head out.
+
+"Come down," said Lynborough. "Here's somebody wants to see you."
+
+"I never said I did, Lord Lynborough."
+
+"Let him take you home. He wants cheering up."
+
+"I like him very much. He won't really leave you, will he?"
+
+"I want you to persuade him to stay during the armistice. I'm too proud
+to ask him for myself. I shall think very little of you, however, if he
+doesn't."
+
+Roger appeared. Lynborough told him that Lady Norah required an escort
+back to Nab Grange; for obvious reasons he himself was obliged to
+relinquish the pleasure; Roger, he felt sure, would be charmed to take
+his place. Roger was somewhat puzzled by the turn of events, but
+delighted with his mission.
+
+Lynborough saw them off, went into the library, sat down at his
+writing-table, and laid paper before him. But he sat idle for many
+minutes. Stabb came in, his arms full of books.
+
+"I think I left some of my stuff here," he said, avoiding Lynborough's
+eye. "I'm just getting it together."
+
+"Drop that lot too. You're not going to-morrow, Cromlech, there's an
+armistice."
+
+Stabb put his books down on the table, and came up to him with
+outstretched hand. Lynborough leaned back, his hands clasped behind his
+head.
+
+"Wait for a week," he said. "We may, Cromlech, arrive at an
+accommodation. Meanwhile, for that week, I do not use the path."
+
+"I've been feeling pretty badly, Ambrose."
+
+"Yes, I don't think it's safe to expose you to the charms of beauty." He
+looked at his friend in good-natured mockery. "Return to your tombs in
+peace."
+
+The next morning he received a communication from Nab Grange. It ran as
+follows:
+
+"The Marchesa di San Servolo presents her compliments to Lord
+Lynborough. The Marchesa will be prepared to consider any proposal put
+forward by Lord Lynborough, and will place no hindrance in the way of
+Lord Lynborough's using the path across her property if it suits his
+convenience to do so in the meantime."
+
+"No, no!" said Lynborough, as he took a sheet of paper.
+
+"Lord Lynborough presents his compliments to her Excellency the Marchesa
+di San Servolo. Lord Lynborough will take an early opportunity of
+submitting his proposal to the Marchesa di San Servolo. He is obliged
+for the Marchesa di San Servolo's suggestion that he should in the
+meantime use Beach Path, but cannot consent to do so except in the
+exercise of his right. He will therefore not use Beach Path during the
+ensuing week."
+
+"And now to pave the way for my proposal!" he thought. For the proposal,
+which had assumed a position so important in the relations between the
+Marchesa and himself, was to be of such a nature that a grave question
+arose how best the way should be paved for it.
+
+The obvious course was to set his spies to work--he could command plenty
+of friendly help among the Nab Grange garrison--learn the Marchesa's
+probable movements, throw himself in her way, contrive an acquaintance,
+make himself as pleasant as he could, establish relations of amity, of
+cordiality, even of friendship and of intimacy. That might prepare the
+way, and incline her to accept the proposal--to take the jest--it was
+little more in hard reality--in the spirit in which he put it forward,
+and so to end her resistance.
+
+That seemed the reasonable method--the plain and rational line of
+advance. Accordingly Lynborough disliked and distrusted it. He saw
+another way--more full of risk, more hazardous in its result, making an
+even greater demand on his confidence in himself, perhaps also on the
+qualities with which his imagination credited the Marchesa. But, on the
+other hand, this alternative was far richer in surprise, in dash--as it
+seemed to him, in gallantry and a touch of romance. It was far more
+medieval, more picturesque, more in keeping with the actual proposal
+itself. For the actual proposal was one which, Lynborough flattered
+himself, might well have come from a powerful yet chivalrous baron of
+old days to a beautiful queen who claimed a suzerainty which not her
+power, but only her beauty, could command or enforce.
+
+"It suits my humor, and I'll do it!" he said. "She sha'n't see me, and I
+won't see her. The first she shall hear from me shall be the proposal;
+the first time we meet shall be on the twenty-fourth--or never! A week
+from to-day--the twenty-fourth."
+
+Now the twenty-fourth of June is, as all the world knows (or an almanac
+will inform the heathen), the Feast of St. John Baptist also called
+Midsummer Day.
+
+So he disappeared from the view of Nab Grange and the inhabitants
+thereof. He never left his own grounds; even within them he shunned the
+public road; his beloved sea-bathing he abandoned. Nay, more, he
+strictly charged Roger Wilbraham, who often during this week of
+armistice went to play golf or tennis at the Grange, to say nothing of
+him; the same instructions were laid on Stabb in case on his excursions
+amidst the tombs, he should meet any member of the Marchesa's party. So
+far as the thing could be done, Lord Lynborough obliterated himself.
+
+It was playing a high stake on a risky hand. Plainly it assumed an
+interest in himself on the part of the Marchesa--an interest so strong
+that absence and mystery (if perchance he achieved a flavor of that
+attraction!) would foster and nourish it more than presence and
+friendship could conduce to its increase. She might think nothing about
+him during the week! Impossible surely--with all that had gone before,
+and with his proposal to come at the end! But if it were so--why, so he
+was content. "In that case, she's a woman of no imagination, of no taste
+in the picturesque," he said.
+
+For five days the Marchesa gave no sign, no clue to her feelings which
+the anxious watchers could detect. She did indeed suffer Colonel Wenman
+to depart all forlorn, most unsuccessful and uncomforted--save by the
+company of his brother-in-arms, Captain Irons; and he was not cheerful
+either, having failed notably in certain designs on Miss Dufaure which
+he had been pursuing, but whereunto more pressing matters have not
+allowed of attention being given. But Lord Lynborough she never
+mentioned--not to Miss Gilletson, nor even to Norah. She seemed to have
+regained her tranquillity; her wrath at least was over; she was very
+friendly to all the ladies; she was markedly cordial to Roger Wilbraham
+on his visits. But she asked him nothing of Lord Lynborough--and, if she
+ever looked from the window toward Scarsmoor Castle, none--not even her
+observant maid--saw her do it.
+
+Yet Cupid was in the Grange--and very busy. There were signs, not to be
+misunderstood, that Violet had not for handsome Stillford the scorn she
+had bestowed on unfortunate Irons; and Roger, humbly and distantly
+worshiping the Marchesa, deeming her far as a queen beyond his reach,
+rested his eyes and solaced his spirit with the less awe-inspiring
+charms, the more accessible comradeship, of Norah Mountliffey. Norah, as
+her custom was, flirted hard, yet in her delicate fashion. Though she
+had not begun to ask herself about the end yet, she was well amused, and
+by no means insensible to Roger's attractions. Only she was preoccupied
+with Helena--and Lord Lynborough. Till that riddle was solved, she could
+not turn seriously to her own affairs.
+
+On the night of the twenty-second she walked with the Marchesa in the
+gardens of the Grange after dinner. Helena was very silent; yet to Norah
+the silence did not seem empty. Over against them, on its high hill,
+stood Scarsmoor Castle. Roger had dined with them, but had now gone
+back.
+
+Suddenly--and boldly--Norah spoke. "Do you see those three lighted
+windows on the ground floor at the left end of the house? That's his
+library, Helena. He sits there in the evening. Oh, I do wonder what he's
+been doing all this week!"
+
+"What does it matter?" asked the Marchesa coldly.
+
+"What will he propose, do you think?"
+
+"Mr. Stillford thinks he may offer to pay me some small rent--more or
+less nominal--for a perpetual right--and that, if he does, I'd better
+accept."
+
+"That'll be rather a dull ending to it all."
+
+"Mr. Stillford thinks it would be a favorable one for me."
+
+"I don't believe he means to pay you money. It'll be something"--she
+paused a moment--"something prettier than that."
+
+"What has prettiness to do with it, you child? With a right of way?"
+
+"Prettiness has to do with you, though, Helena. You don't suppose he
+thinks only of that wretched path?"
+
+The flush came on the Marchesa's cheek.
+
+"He can hardly be said to have seen me," she protested.
+
+"Then look your best when he does--for I'm sure he's dreamed of you."
+
+"Why do you say that?"
+
+Norah laughed. "Because he's a man who takes a lot of notice of pretty
+women--and he took so very little notice of me. That's why I think so,
+Helena."
+
+The Marchesa made no comment on the reason given. But now--at last and
+undoubtedly--she looked across at the windows of Scarsmoor.
+
+"We shall come to some business arrangement, I suppose--and then it'll
+all be over," she said.
+
+All over? The trouble and the enmity--the defiance and the fight--the
+excitement and the fun? The duel would be stayed, the combatants and
+their seconds would go their various ways across the diverging tracks of
+this great dissevering world. All would be over!
+
+"Then we shall have time to think of something else!" the Marchesa
+added.
+
+Norah smiled discreetly. Was not that something of an admission?
+
+In the library at Scarsmoor Lynborough was inditing the proposal which
+he intended to submit by his ambassadors on the morrow.
+
+
+
+
+_Chapter Twelve_
+
+AN EMBASSAGE
+
+
+The Marchesa's last words to Lady Norah betrayed the state of her mind.
+While the question of the path was pending, she had been unable to think
+of anything else; until it was settled she could think of nobody except
+of the man in whose hands the settlement lay. Whether Lynborough
+attracted or repelled, he at least occupied and filled her thoughts. She
+had come to recognize where she stood and to face the position.
+Stillford's steady pessimism left her no hope from an invocation of the
+law; Lynborough's dexterity and resource promised her no abiding
+victory--at best only precarious temporary successes--in a private
+continuance of the struggle. Worst of all--whilst she chafed or wept, he
+laughed! Certainly not to her critical friends, hardly even to her proud
+self, would she confess that she lay in her antagonist's mercy; but the
+feeling of that was in her heart. If so, he could humiliate her sorely.
+
+Could he spare her? Or would he? Try how she might, it was hard to
+perceive how he could spare her without abandoning his right. That she
+was sure he would not do; all she heard of him, every sharp intuition of
+him which she had, the mere glimpse of his face as he passed by on Sandy
+Nab, told her that.
+
+But if he consented to pay a small--a nominal--rent, would not her pride
+be spared? No. That would be victory for him; she would be compelled to
+surrender what she had haughtily refused, in return for something which
+she did not want and which was of no value. If that were a cloak for her
+pride, the fabric of it was terribly threadbare. Even such concession as
+lay in such an offer she had wrung from him by setting his friends
+against him; would that incline him to tenderness? The offer might leave
+his friends still unreconciled; what comfort was that to her when once
+the fight and the excitement of countering blow with blow were
+done--when all was over? And it was more likely that what seemed to her
+cruel would seem to Stabb and Roger reasonable--men had a terribly rigid
+sense of reason in business matters. They would return to their
+allegiance; her friends would be ranged on the same side; she would be
+alone--alone in humiliation and defeat. From that fate in the end only
+Lynborough himself could rescue her; only the man who threatened her
+with it could avert it. And how could even he, save by a surrender which
+he would not make? Yet if he found out a way?
+
+The thought of that possibility--though she could devise or imagine no
+means by which it might find accomplishment--carried her toward
+Lynborough in a rush of feeling. The idea--never wholly lost even in her
+moments of anger and dejection--came back--the idea that all the time he
+had been playing a game, that he did not want the wounds to be mortal,
+that in the end he did not hate. If he did not hate, he would not desire
+to hurt. But he desired to win. Could he win without hurting? Then there
+was a reward for him--applause for his cleverness, and gratitude for his
+chivalry.
+
+Stretching out her arms toward Scarsmoor Castle, she vowed that
+according to his deed she could hate or love Lord Lynborough. The next
+day was to decide that weighty question.
+
+The fateful morning arrived--the last day of the armistice--the
+twenty-third. The ladies were sitting on the lawn after breakfast when
+Stillford came out of the house with a quick step and an excited air.
+
+"Marchesa," he said, "the Embassy has arrived! Stabb and Wilbraham are
+at the front door, asking an audience of you. They bring the proposal!"
+
+The Marchesa laid down her book; Miss Gilletson made no effort to
+conceal her agitation.
+
+"Why didn't they come by the path?" cried Norah.
+
+"They couldn't very well; Lynborough's sent them in a carriage--with
+postilions and four horses," Stillford answered gravely. "The
+postilions appear to be amused, but the Ambassadors are exceedingly
+solemn."
+
+The Marchesa's spirits rose. If the piece were to be a comedy, she could
+play her part! The same idea was in Stillford's mind. "He can't mean to
+be very unpleasant if he plays the fool like this," he said, looking
+round on the company with a smile.
+
+"Admit the Ambassadors!" cried the Marchesa gaily.
+
+The Ambassadors were ushered on to the lawn. They advanced with a
+gravity befitting the occasion, and bowed low to the Marchesa. Roger
+carried a roll of paper of impressive dimensions. Stillford placed
+chairs for the Ambassadors and, at a sign from the Marchesa, they seated
+themselves.
+
+"What is your message?" asked the Marchesa. Suddenly nervousness and
+fear laid hold of her again; her voice shook a little.
+
+"We don't know," answered Stabb. "Give me the document, Roger."
+
+Roger Wilbraham handed him the scroll.
+
+"We are charged to deliver this to your Excellency's adviser, and to beg
+him to read it to you in our presence." He rose, delivered the scroll
+into Stillford's hands, and returned, majestic in his bulk, to his seat.
+
+"You neither of you know what's in it?" the Marchesa asked.
+
+They shook their heads.
+
+The Marchesa took hold of Norah's hand and said quietly, "Please read it
+to us, Mr. Stillford. I should like you all to hear."
+
+"That was also Lord Lynborough's desire," said Roger Wilbraham.
+
+Stillford unrolled the paper. It was all in Lynborough's own
+hand--written large and with fair flourishes. In mockery of the
+institution he hated, he had cast it in a form which at all events aimed
+at being legal; too close scrutiny on that score perhaps it would not
+abide successfully.
+
+"Silence while the document is read!" said Stillford; and he proceeded
+to read it in a clear and deliberate voice:
+
+"'Sir Ambrose Athelstan Caverly, Baronet, Baron Lynborough of Lynborough
+in the County of Dorset and of Scarsmoor in the County of Yorkshire,
+unto her Excellency Helena Vittoria Maria Antonia, Marchesa di San
+Servolo, and unto All to whom these Presents Come, Greeting. Whereas the
+said Lord Lynborough and his predecessors in title have been ever
+entitled as of right to pass and repass along the path called Beach Path
+leading across the lands of Nab Grange from the road bounding the same
+on the west to the seashore on the east thereof, and to use the said
+path by themselves, their agents and servants, at their pleasure,
+without let or interference from any person or persons whatsoever----'"
+
+Stillford paused and looked at the Marchesa. The document did not begin
+in a conciliatory manner. It asserted the right to use Beach Path in the
+most uncompromising way.
+
+"Go on," commanded the Marchesa, a little flushed, still holding Norah's
+hand.
+
+"'And Whereas the said Lord Lynborough is desirous that his rights as
+above defined shall receive the recognition of the said Marchesa, which
+recognition has hitherto been withheld and refused by the said Marchesa:
+And Whereas great and manifold troubles have arisen from such refusal:
+And Whereas the said Lord Lynborough is desirous of dwelling in peace
+and amity with the said Marchesa----'"
+
+"There, Helena, you see he is!" cried Norah triumphantly.
+
+"I really must not be interrupted," Stillford protested. "'Now Therefore
+the said Lord Lynborough, moved thereunto by divers considerations and
+in chief by his said desire to dwell in amity and good-will, doth engage
+and undertake that, in consideration of his receiving a full, gracious,
+and amicable recognition of his right from the said Marchesa, he shall
+and will, year by year and once a year, to wit on the Feast of St. John
+Baptist, also known as Midsummer Day----'"
+
+"Why, that's to-morrow!" exclaimed Violet Dufaure.
+
+Once more Stillford commanded silence. The Terms of Peace were not to be
+rudely interrupted just as they were reaching the most interesting
+point. For up to now nothing had come except a renewed assertion of
+Lynborough's right!
+
+"'That is to say the twenty-fourth day of June--repair in his own proper
+person, with or without attendants as shall seem to him good, to Nab
+Grange or such other place as may then and on each occasion be the abode
+and residence of the said Marchesa, and shall and will present himself
+in the presence of the said Marchesa at noon. And that he then shall and
+will do homage to the said Marchesa for such full, gracious, and
+amicable recognition as above mentioned by falling on his knee and
+kissing the hand of the said Marchesa. And if the said Lord Lynborough
+shall wilfully or by neglect omit so to present himself and so to pay
+his homage on any such Feast of St. John Baptist, then his said right
+shall be of no effect and shall be suspended (And he hereby engages not
+to exercise the same) until he shall have purged his contempt or neglect
+by performing his homage on the next succeeding Feast. Provided Always
+that the said Marchesa shall and will, a sufficient time before the said
+Feast in each year, apprise and inform the said Lord Lynborough of her
+intended place of residence, in default whereof the said Lord Lynborough
+shall not be bound to pay his homage and shall suffer no diminution of
+his right by reason of the omission thereof. Provided Further and
+Finally that whensoever the said Lord Lynborough shall duly and on the
+due date as in these Presents stipulated present himself at Nab Grange
+or elsewhere the residence for the time being of the said Marchesa, and
+claim to be admitted to the presence of the said Marchesa and to
+perform his homage as herein prescribed and ordered, the said Marchesa
+shall not and will not, on any pretext or for any cause whatsoever, deny
+or refuse to accept the said homage so duly proffered, but shall and
+will in all gracious condescension and neighborly friendship extend and
+give her hand to the said Lord Lynborough, to the end and purpose that,
+he rendering and she accepting his homage in all mutual trust and
+honorable confidence, Peace may reign between Nab Grange and Scarsmoor
+Castle so long as they both do stand. In Witness whereof the said Lord
+Lynborough has affixed his name on the Eve of the said Feast of St. John
+Baptist.
+
+    LYNBOROUGH.'"
+
+Stillford ended his reading, and handed the scroll to the Marchesa with
+a bow. She took it and looked at Lynborough's signature. Her cheeks
+were flushed, and her lips struggled not to smile. The rest were silent.
+She looked at Stillford, who smiled back at her and drew from his
+pocket--a stylographic pen.
+
+"Yes," she said, and took it.
+
+She wrote below Lynborough's name:
+
+"In Witness whereof, in a desire for peace and amity, in all mutual
+trust and honorable confidence, the said Marchesa has affixed her name
+on this same Eve of the said Feast of St. John Baptist.
+
+    HELENA DI SAN SERVOLO."
+
+She handed it back to Stillford. "Let it dry in the beautiful sunlight,"
+she said.
+
+The Ambassadors rose to their feet. She rose too and went over to Stabb
+with outstretched hands. A broad smile spread over Stabb's spacious
+face. "It's just like Ambrose," he said to her as he took her hands.
+"He gets what he wants--but in the prettiest way!"
+
+She answered him in a low voice: "A very knightly way of saving a
+foolish woman's pride." She raised her voice. "Bid Lord Lynborough--aye,
+Sir Ambrose Athelstan Caverly, Baron Lynborough, attend here at Nab
+Grange to pay his homage to-morrow at noon." She looked round on them
+all, smiling now openly, the red in her cheeks all triumphant over her
+olive hue. "Say I will give him private audience to receive his homage
+and to ask his friendship." With that the Marchesa departed, somewhat
+suddenly, into the house.
+
+Amid much merriment and reciprocal congratulations the Ambassadors were
+honorably escorted back to their coach and four.
+
+"Keep your eye on the Castle to-night," Roger Wilbraham whispered to
+Norah as he pressed her hand.
+
+They drove off, Stillford leading a gay "Hurrah!"
+
+At night indeed Scarsmoor Castle was a sight to see. Every window of its
+front blazed with light; rockets and all manner of amazing bright
+devices rose to heaven. All Fillby turned out to see the show; all Nab
+Grange was in the garden looking on.
+
+All save Helena herself. She had retreated to her own room; there she
+sat and watched alone. She was in a fever of feeling and could not rest.
+She twisted one hand round the other, she held up before her eyes the
+hand which was destined to receive homage on the morrow. Her eyes were
+bright, her cheeks flushed, her red lips trembled.
+
+"Alas, how this man knows his way to my heart!" she sighed.
+
+The blaze at Scarsmoor Castle died down. A kindly darkness fell. Under
+its friendly cover she kissed her hand to the Castle, murmuring
+"To-morrow!"
+
+
+
+
+_Chapter Thirteen_
+
+THE FEAST OF ST. JOHN BAPTIST
+
+
+"As there's a heaven above us," wrote Lynborough that same night--having
+been, one would fain hope, telepathically conscious of the hand-kissing
+by the red lips, of the softly breathed "To-morrow!" (for if he were
+not, what becomes of Love's Magic?)--"As there's a heaven above us, I
+have succeeded! Her answer is more than a consent--it's an appreciation.
+The rogue knew how she stood: she is haughtily, daintily grateful. Does
+she know how near she drove me to the abominable thing? Almost had I--I,
+Ambrose Caverly--issued a writ! I should never, in all my life, have got
+over the feeling of being a bailiff! She has saved me by the rightness
+of her taste. 'Knightly' she called it to old Cromlech. Well, that was
+in the blood--it had been my own fault if I had lost it, no credit of
+mine if to some measure I have it still. But to find the recognition! I
+have lit up the country-side to-night to celebrate that rare discovery.
+
+"Rare--yes--yet not doubted. I knew it of her. I believe that I have
+broken all records--since the Renaissance at least. Love at first sight!
+Where's the merit in that? Given the sight be fine enough (a thing that
+I pray may not admit of doubt in the case of Helena), it is no exploit;
+it is rather to suffer the inevitable than to achieve the great. But
+unless the sight of a figure a hundred yards away--and of a back
+fifty--is to count against me as a practical inspection, I am so
+supremely lucky as never to have seen her! I have made her for
+myself--a few tags of description, a noting of the effect on Roger and
+on Cromlech, mildly (and very unimaginatively) aided my work, I
+admit--but for the most part and in all essentials, she, as I love her
+(for of course I love her, or no amount of Feast of St. John Baptist
+should have moved me from my path--take that for literal or for
+metaphorical as ye will!)--is of my own craftsmanship--work of my heart
+and brain, wrought just as I would have her--as I knew, through all
+delightful wanderings, that some day she must come to me.
+
+"Think then of my mood for to-morrow! With what feelings do I ring the
+bell (unless perchance it be a knocker)! With what sensations accost the
+butler! With what emotions enter the presence! Because if by chance I am
+wrong--! Upon which awful doubt arises the question whether, if I be
+wrong, I can go back. I am plaguily the slave of putting the thing as
+prettily as it can be put (Thanks, Cromlech, for giving me the
+adverb--not so bad a touch for a Man of Tombs!), and, on my soul, I have
+put that homage of mine so prettily that one who was prudent would have
+addressed it to none other than a married lady--_vivente marito_, be it
+understood. But from my goddess her mortal mate is gone--and to
+explain--nay, not to explain (which would indeed tax every grace of
+style)--but to let it appear that the homage lingers, abides, and is
+confined within the letter of the bond--that would seem scarce
+'knightly.' Therefore, being (as all tell me) more of a fool than most
+men, and (as I soberly hope) not less of a gentleman, I stand thus. I
+love the Image I have made out of dim distant sight, prosaic shreds of
+catalogued description, a vividly creating mind, and--to be candid--the
+absolute necessity of amusing myself in the country. But the Woman I am
+to see to-morrow? Is she the Image? I shall know in the first moment of
+our encounter. If she is, all is well for me--for her it will be just a
+question of her dower of heavenly venturousness. If she is not--in my
+humble judgment, you, Ambrose Caverly, having put the thing with so
+excessive a prettiness, shall for your art's sake perish--you must, in
+short, if you would end this thing in the manner (creditable to
+yourself, Ambrose!) in which it has hitherto been conducted,
+willy-nilly, hot or cold, confirmed in divine dreams or slapped in the
+face by disenchanting fact--within a brief space of time, propose
+marriage to this lady. If there be any other course, the gods send me
+scent of it this night! But if she should refuse? Reckon not on that.
+For the more she fall short of her Image, the more will she grasp at an
+outward showing of triumph--and the greatest outward triumph would not
+be in refusal.
+
+"In my human weakness I wish that--just for once--I had seen her! But in
+the strong spirit of the wine of life--whereof I have been and am an
+inveterate and most incurable bibber--I rejoice in that wonderful moment
+of mine to-morrow--when the door of the shrine opens, and I see the
+goddess before whom my offering must be laid. Be she giant or dwarf, be
+she black or white, have she hair or none--by the powers, if she wears a
+sack only, and is well advised to stick close to that, lest casting it
+should be a change for the worse--in any event the offering must be
+made. Even so the Prince in the tales, making his vows to the Beast and
+not yet knowing if his spell shall transform it to the Beauty! In my
+stronger moments, so would I have it. Years of life shall I live in that
+moment to-morrow! If it end ill, no human being but myself shall know.
+If it end well, the world is not great enough to hold, nor the music of
+its spheres melodious enough to sound, my triumph!"
+
+It will be observed that Lord Lynborough, though indeed no novice in the
+cruel and tender passion, was appreciably excited on the Eve of the
+Feast of St. John Baptist. In view of so handsome a response, the
+Marchesa's kiss of the hand and her murmured "To-morrow" may pass
+excused of forwardness.
+
+It was, nevertheless, a gentleman to all seeming most cool and calm who
+presented himself at the doors of Nab Grange at eleven fifty-five the
+next morning. His Ambassadors had come in magnificence; humbly he
+walked--and not by Beach Path, since his homage was not yet paid--but
+round by the far-stretching road and up the main avenue most decorously.
+Stabb and Roger had cut across by the path--holding the Marchesa's leave
+and license so to do--and had joined an excited group which sat on
+chairs under sheltering trees.
+
+"I wish she hadn't made the audience private!" said Norah Mountliffey.
+
+"If ever a keyhole were justifiable--" sighed Violet Dufaure.
+
+"My dear, I'd box your ears myself," Miss Gilletson brusquely
+interrupted.
+
+The Marchesa sat in a high arm-chair, upholstered in tarnished fading
+gold. The sun from the window shone on her hair; her face was half in
+shadow. She rested her head on her left; hand the right lay on her knee.
+It was stripped of any ring--unadorned white. Her cheeks were pale--the
+olive reigned unchallenged; her lips were set tight, her eyes downcast.
+She made no movement when Lord Lynborough entered.
+
+He bowed low, but said nothing. He stood opposite to her some two yards
+away. The clock ticked. It wanted still a minute before noon struck.
+That was the minute of which Lynborough had raved and dreamed the night
+before. He had the fruit of it in full measure.
+
+The first stroke of twelve rang silvery from the clock. Lynborough
+advanced and fell upon his knee. She did not lift her eyes, but slowly
+raised her hand from her knee. He placed his hand under it, pressing it
+a little upward and bowing his head to meet it half-way in its ascent.
+She felt his lips lightly brush the skin. His homage for Beach Path and
+his right therein was duly paid.
+
+Slowly he rose to his feet; slowly her eyes turned upward to his face.
+It was ablaze with a great triumph; the fire seemed to spread to her
+cheeks.
+
+"It's better than I dreamed or hoped," he murmured.
+
+"What? To have peace between us? Yes, it's good."
+
+"I have never seen your face before." She made no answer. "Nor you
+mine?" he asked.
+
+"Once on Sandy Nab you passed by me. You didn't notice me--but, yes, I
+saw you." Her eyes were steadily on him now; the flush had ceased to
+deepen, nay, had receded, but abode still, tingeing the olive of her
+cheeks.
+
+"I have rendered my homage," he said.
+
+"It is accepted." Suddenly tears sprang to her eyes. "And you might have
+been so cruel to me!" she whispered.
+
+"To you? To you who carry the power of a world in your face?"
+
+The Marchesa was confused--as was, perhaps, hardly unnatural.
+
+"There are other things, besides gates and walls, and Norah's head, that
+you jump over, Lord Lynborough."
+
+"I lived a life while I stood waiting for the clock to strike. I have
+tried for life before--in that minute I found it." He seemed suddenly to
+awake as though from a dream. "But I beg your pardon. I have paid my
+dues. The bond gives me no right to linger."
+
+She rose with a light laugh--yet it sounded nervous. "Is it good-by
+till next St. John Baptist's day?"
+
+"You would see me walking on Beach Path day by day."
+
+"I never call it Beach Path."
+
+"May it now be called--Helena's?"
+
+"Or will you stay and lunch with me to-day? And you might even pay
+homage again--say to-morrow--or--or some day in the week."
+
+"Lunch, most certainly. That commits me to nothing. Homage, Marchesa, is
+quite another matter."
+
+"Your chivalry is turning to bargaining, Lord Lynborough."
+
+"It was never anything else," he answered. "Homage is rendered in
+payment--that's why one says 'Whereas.'" His keen eager eyes of hazel
+raised once more the flood of subdued crimson in her face. "For every
+recognition of a right of mine, I will pay you homage according to the
+form prescribed for St. John Baptist's Feast."
+
+"Of what other rights do you ask recognition?"
+
+"There might be the right of welcoming you at Scarsmoor to-morrow?"
+
+She made him a little curtsy. "It is accorded--on the prescribed terms,
+my lord."
+
+"That will do for the twenty-fifth. There might be the right of
+escorting you home from Scarsmoor by the path called--Helena's?"
+
+"On the prescribed terms it is your lordship's."
+
+"What then of the right to see you daily, and day by day?"
+
+"If your leisure serves, my lord, I will endeavor to adjust mine--so
+long as we both remain at Fillby. But so that the homage is paid!"
+
+"But if you go away?"
+
+"I'm bound to tell you of my whereabouts only on St. John Baptist's
+Feast."
+
+"The right to know it on other days--would that be recognized in return
+for a homage, Marchesa?"
+
+"One homage for so many letters?"
+
+"I had sooner there were no letters--and daily homages."
+
+"You take too many obligations--and too lightly."
+
+"For every one I gain the recognition of a right."
+
+"The richer you grow in rights then, the harder you must work!"
+
+"I would have so many rights accorded me as to be no better than a
+slave!" cried Lynborough. "Yet, if I have not one, still I have
+nothing."
+
+She spoke no word, but looked at him long and searchingly. She was not
+nervous now, but proud. Her look bade him weigh words; they had passed
+beyond the borders of merriment, beyond the bandying of challenges. Yet
+her eyes carried no prohibition; it was a warning only. She interposed
+no conventional check, no plea for time. She laid on him the
+responsibility for his speech; let him remember that he owed her homage.
+
+They grew curious and restless on the lawn; the private audience lasted
+long, the homage took much time in paying.
+
+"A marvelous thing has come to me," said Lynborough, speaking slower
+than his wont, "and with it a great courage. I have seen my dream. This
+morning I came here not knowing whether I should see it. I don't speak
+of the face of my dream-image only, though I could speak till next St.
+John's Day upon that. I speak to a soul. I think our souls have known
+one another longer, aye, and better than our faces."
+
+"Yes, I think it is so," she said quietly. "Yet who can tell so soon?"
+
+"There's a great gladness upon me because my dream came true."
+
+"Who can tell so soon?" she asked again. "It's strange to speak of it."
+
+"It may be that some day--yes, some day soon--in return for the homage
+of my lips on your hand, I would ask the recognition of my lip's right
+on your cheek."
+
+She came up to him and laid her hand on his arm. "Suffer me a little
+while, my lord," she said. "You've swept into my life like a whirlwind;
+you would carry me by assault as though I were a rebellious city. Am I
+to be won before ever I am wooed?"
+
+"You sha'n't lack wooing," he said quickly. "Yet haven't I wooed you
+already--as well in my quarrel as in my homage, in our strife as in the
+end of it?"
+
+"I think so, yes. Yet suffer me a little still."
+
+"If you doubt--" he cried.
+
+"I don't think I doubt. I linger." She gave her hand into his. "It's
+strange, but I cannot doubt."
+
+Lynborough sank again upon his knee and paid his homage. As he rose, she
+bent ever so slightly toward him; delicately he kissed her cheek.
+
+"I pray you," she whispered, "use gently what you took with that."
+
+"Here's a heart to my heart, and a spirit to my spirit--and a glad
+venture to us both!"
+
+"Come on to the lawn now, but tell them nothing."
+
+"Save that I have paid my homage, and received the recognition of my
+right?"
+
+"That, if you will--and that your path is to
+be--henceforward--Helena's."
+
+"I hope to have no need to travel far on the Feast of St. John!" cried
+Lynborough.
+
+They went out on the lawn. Nothing was asked, and nothing told, that
+day. In truth there appeared to be no need. For it seems as though Love
+were not always invisible, nor the twang of his bow so faint as to elude
+the ear. With joyous blood his glad wounds are red, and who will may
+tell the sufferers. Sympathy too lends insight; your fellow-sufferer
+knows your plight first. There were fellow-sufferers on the lawn that
+day--to whom, as to all good lovers, here's Godspeed.
+
+She went with him in the afternoon through the gardens, over the sunk
+fence, across the meadows, till they came to the path. On it they
+walked together.
+
+"So is your right recognized, my lord," she said.
+
+"We will walk together on Helena's Path," he answered, "until it leads
+us--still together--to the Boundless Sea."
+
+
+                               THE END
+
+
+
+
+TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:
+
+
+Italics are indicated by _underscores_.
+
+Minor typographical errors and inconsistencies have been silently
+corrected.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Helena's Path, by Anthony Hope
+
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+      The Project Gutenberg eBook of Helena's Path, by Anthony Hope.
+    </title>
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+<pre>
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Helena's Path, by Anthony Hope
+
+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: Helena's Path
+
+Author: Anthony Hope
+
+Release Date: July 27, 2011 [EBook #36876]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HELENA'S PATH ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Cathy Maxam, Juliet Sutherland and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+<h1>Helena's Path</h1>
+
+<p class="title" style="margin-top: 3em;">
+<i>By</i><br />
+</p>
+
+<p class="title">
+<big>ANTHONY HOPE</big><br />
+AUTHOR OF DOUBLE HARNESS<br />
+TRISTRAM OF BLENT<br />
+ETC.<br />
+</p>
+
+<div>
+<div class="figcenter"/>
+<img src="images/img001.jpg" alt="img001"/>
+
+</div>
+
+<p class="title">
+<span class="smcap">Garden City</span>&nbsp;<span class="smcap"><span style="margin-left: 2em;">New York</span></span><br />
+DOUBLEDAY, PAGE &amp; COMPANY
+</p>
+
+<p class="title">
+1912
+</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><i>Copyright, 1907, by Anthony Hope Hawkins</i></h2>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>CONTENTS</h2>
+
+<table
+ border="0"
+ cellpadding="4"
+ cellspacing="10"
+ width="90%"
+ summary="">
+<tr>
+ <td class="tdr pad">CHAPTER</td>
+ <td class="tdl">&nbsp;</td>
+ <td class="tdr pad">PAGE</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+ <td class="tdr">I</td>
+ <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Ambrose, Lord Lynborough</span></td>
+ <td class="tdr pad"><a href="#Chapter_One">3</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+ <td class="tdr">II</td>
+ <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Largely Topographical</span></td>
+ <td class="tdr"><a href="#Chapter_Two">15</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+ <td class="tdr">III</td>
+ <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Of Law and Natural Rights</span></td>
+ <td class="tdr"><a href="#Chapter_Three">33</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+ <td class="tdr">IV</td>
+ <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Message of a Padlock</span></td>
+ <td class="tdr"><a href="#Chapter_Four">52</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+ <td class="tdr">V</td>
+ <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Beginning of War</span></td>
+ <td class="tdr"><a href="#Chapter_Five">70</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+ <td class="tdr">VI</td>
+ <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Exercise Before Breakfast</span></td>
+ <td class="tdr"><a href="#Chapter_Six">90</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+ <td class="tdr">VII</td>
+ <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Another Wedge!</span></td>
+ <td class="tdr"><a href="#Chapter_Seven">110</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+ <td class="tdr">VIII</td>
+ <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Marchesa Moves</span></td>
+ <td class="tdr"><a href="#Chapter_Eight">127</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+ <td class="tdr">IX</td>
+ <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Lynborough Drops a Catch</span></td>
+ <td class="tdr"><a href="#Chapter_Nine">148</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+ <td class="tdr">X</td>
+ <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">In the Last Resort</span></td>
+ <td class="tdr"><a href="#Chapter_Ten">171</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+ <td class="tdr">XI</td>
+ <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">An Armistice</span></td>
+ <td class="tdr"><a href="#Chapter_Eleven">186</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+ <td class="tdr">XII</td>
+ <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">An Embassage</span></td>
+ <td class="tdr"><a href="#Chapter_Twelve">206</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+ <td class="tdr">XIII</td>
+ <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Feast of St. John Baptist</span></td>
+ <td class="tdr"><a href="#Chapter_Thirteen">223</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+
+</table>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span></p>
+<h2>HELENA'S PATH</h2>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="Chapter_One" id="Chapter_One"></a><i>Chapter One</i></h2>
+
+<h3>AMBROSE, LORD LYNBOROUGH</h3>
+
+
+<p>Common opinion said that Lord Lynborough
+ought never to have had a peerage and
+forty thousand a year; he ought to have had
+a pound a week and a back bedroom in
+Bloomsbury. Then he would have become an
+eminent man; as it was, he turned out only
+a singularly erratic individual.</p>
+
+<p>So much for common opinion. Let no
+more be heard of its dull utilitarian judgements!
+There are plenty of eminent men&mdash;at
+the moment, it is believed, no less than
+seventy Cabinet and ex-Cabinet Ministers
+(or thereabouts)&mdash;to say nothing of Bishops,
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span>Judges, and the British Academy,&mdash;and
+all this in a nook of the world! (And the
+world too is a point!) Lynborough was
+something much more uncommon; it is
+not, however, quite easy to say what. Let
+the question be postponed; perhaps the
+story itself will answer it.</p>
+
+<p>He started life&mdash;or was started in it&mdash;in
+a series of surroundings of unimpeachable
+orthodoxy&mdash;Eton, Christ Church, the Grenadier
+Guards. He left each of these schools
+of mental culture and bodily discipline, not
+under a cloud&mdash;that metaphor would be
+ludicrously inept&mdash;but in an explosion.
+That, having been thus shot out of the first,
+he managed to enter the second&mdash;that,
+having been shot out of the second, he
+walked placidly into the third&mdash;that, having
+been shot out of the third, he suffered no
+apparent damage from his repeated propulsions&mdash;these
+are matters explicable only<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span>
+by a secret knowledge of British institutions.
+His father was strong, his mother came of
+stock even stronger; he himself&mdash;Ambrose
+Caverly as he then was&mdash;was very popular,
+and extraordinarily handsome in his unusual
+outlandish style.</p>
+
+<p>His father being still alive&mdash;and, though
+devoted to him, by now apprehensive of
+his doings&mdash;his means were for the next
+few years limited. Yet he contrived to employ
+himself. He took a soup-kitchen and
+ran it; he took a yacht and sank it; he took a
+public-house, ruined it, and got himself
+severely fined for watering the beer in the
+Temperance interest. This injustice rankled
+in him deeply, and seems to have permanently
+influenced his development. For a
+time he forsook the world and joined a sect
+of persons who called themselves "Theo-philanthropists"&mdash;and
+surely no man could<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span>
+call himself much more than that? Returning
+to mundane affairs, he refused to pay
+his rates, stood for Parliament in the Socialist
+interest, and, being defeated, declared himself
+a practical follower of Count Tolstoi.
+His father advising a short holiday, he
+went off and narrowly escaped being shot
+somewhere in the Balkans, owing to his
+having taken too keen an interest in local
+politics. (He ought to have been shot; he
+was clear&mdash;and even vehement&mdash;on that
+point in a letter which he wrote to <i>The
+Times</i>.) Then he sent for Leonard Stabb,
+disappeared in company with that gentleman,
+and was no more seen for some years.</p>
+
+<p>He could always send for Stabb, so faithful
+was that learned student's affection for
+him. A few years Ambrose Caverly's senior,
+Stabb had emerged late and painfully from a
+humble origin and a local grammar school,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span>
+had gone up to Oxford as a non-collegiate
+man, had gained a first-class and a fellowship,
+and had settled down to a life of research.
+Early in his career he became known
+by the sobriquet of "Cromlech Stabb"&mdash;even
+his unlearned friends would call him
+"Cromlech" oftener than by any other
+name. His elaborate monograph on cromlechs
+had earned him the title; subsequently
+he extended his researches to other relics of
+ancient religions&mdash;or ancient forms of
+religion, as he always preferred to put it;
+"there being," he would add, with the simplicity
+of erudition beaming through his
+spectacles on any auditor, orthodox or other,
+"of course, only one religion." He was a very
+large stout man; his spectacles were large
+too. He was very strong, but by no means
+mobile. Ambrose's father regarded Stabb's
+companionship as a certain safeguard to his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span>
+heir. The validity of this idea is doubtful.
+Students have so much curiosity&mdash;and so
+many diverse scenes and various types of
+humanity can minister to that appetite of the
+mind.</p>
+
+<p>Occasional rumors about Ambrose Caverly
+reached his native shores; he was heard
+of in Morocco, located in Spain, familiar
+in North and in South America. Once he
+was not heard of for a year; his father and
+friends concluded that he must be dead&mdash;or
+in prison. Happily the latter explanation
+proved correct. Once more he and the law
+had come to loggerheads; when he emerged
+from confinement he swore never to employ
+on his own account an instrument so hateful.</p>
+
+<p>"A gentleman should fight his own battles,
+Cromlech," he cried to his friend. "I did no
+more than put a bullet in his arm&mdash;in a
+fair encounter&mdash;and he let me go to prison!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Monstrous!" Stabb agreed with a smile.
+He had passed the year in a dirty little inn
+by the prison gate&mdash;among scoundrels, but
+fortunately in the vicinity of some mounds
+distinctly prehistoric.</p>
+
+<p>Old Lord Lynborough's death occurred
+suddenly and unexpectedly, at a moment
+when Ambrose and his companion could not
+be found. They were somewhere in Peru&mdash;Stabb
+among the Incas, Ambrose probably
+in less ancient company. It was six months
+before the news reached them.</p>
+
+<p>"I must go home and take up my responsibilities,
+Cromlech," said the new
+Lord Lynborough.</p>
+
+<p>"You really think you'd better?" queried
+Stabb doubtfully.</p>
+
+<p>"It was my father's wish."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, well&mdash;! But you'll be thought odd
+over there, Ambrose."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Odd? I odd? What the deuce is there
+odd about me, Cromlech?"</p>
+
+<p>"Everything." The investigator stuck his
+cheroot back in his mouth.</p>
+
+<p>Lynborough considered dispassionately&mdash;as
+he fain would hope. "I don't see
+it."</p>
+
+<p>That was the difficulty. Stabb was well
+aware of it. A man who is odd, and knows it,
+may be proud, but he will be careful; he
+may swagger, but he will take precautions.
+Lynborough had no idea that he was odd;
+he followed his nature&mdash;in all its impulses
+and in all its whims&mdash;with equal fidelity
+and simplicity. This is not to say that he was
+never amused at himself; every intelligent
+observer is amused at himself pretty often;
+but he did not doubt merely because he was
+amused. He took his entertainment over his
+own doings as a bonus life offered. A great<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span>
+sincerity of action and of feeling was his
+predominant characteristic.</p>
+
+<p>"Besides, if I'm odd," he went on with a
+laugh, "it won't be noticed. I'm going to
+bury myself at Scarsmoor for a couple of
+years at least. I'm thinking of writing an
+autobiography. You'll come with me, Cromlech?"</p>
+
+<p>"I must be totally undisturbed," Stabb
+stipulated. "I've a great deal of material to
+get into shape."</p>
+
+<p>"There'll be nobody there but myself&mdash;and
+a secretary, I daresay."</p>
+
+<p>"A secretary? What's that for?"</p>
+
+<p>"To write the book, of course."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I see," said Stabb, smiling in a slow
+fat fashion. "You won't write your autobiography
+yourself?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not unless I find it very engrossing."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I'll come," said Stabb.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>So home they came&mdash;an unusual-looking
+pair&mdash;Stabb with his towering bulky frame,
+his big goggles, his huge head with its scanty
+black locks encircling a face like a harvest
+moon&mdash;Lynborough, tall, too, but lean
+as a lath, with tiny feet and hands, a rare
+elegance of carriage, a crown of chestnut hair,
+a long straight nose, a waving mustache, a
+chin pointed like a needle and scarcely
+thickened to the eye by the close-cropped,
+short, pointed beard he wore. His bright
+hazel eyes gleamed out from his face with an
+attractive restlessness that caught away a
+stranger's first attention even from the rare
+beauty of the lines of his head and face; it
+was regularity over-refined, sharpened almost
+to an outline of itself. But his appearance
+tempted him to no excesses of costume;
+he had always despised that facile path to a
+barren eccentricity. On every occasion he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span>
+wore what all men of breeding were wearing,
+yet invested the prescribed costume with the
+individuality of his character: this, it seems,
+is as near as the secret of dressing well can
+be tracked.</p>
+
+<p>His manner was not always deemed so
+free from affectation; it was, perhaps, a
+little more self-conscious; it was touched
+with a foreign courtliness, and he employed,
+on occasions of any ceremony or in intercourse
+with ladies, a certain formality of
+speech; it was said of him by an observant
+woman that he seemed to be thinking in a
+language more ornate and picturesque than
+his tongue employed. He was content to say
+the apt thing, not striving after wit; he was
+more prone to hide a joke than to tell it;
+he would ignore a victory and laugh at a
+defeat; yet he followed up the one and never
+sat down under the other, unless it were in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span>flicted
+by one he loved. He liked to puzzle,
+but took no conscious pains to amuse.</p>
+
+<p>Thus he returned to his "responsibilities."
+Cromlech Stabb was wondering what that
+dignified word would prove to describe.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="Chapter_Two" id="Chapter_Two"></a><i>Chapter Two</i></h2>
+
+<h3>LARGELY TOPOGRAPHICAL</h3>
+
+
+<p>Miss Gilletson had been studying the local
+paper, which appeared every Saturday and
+reached Nab Grange on the following morning.
+She uttered an exclamation, looked up
+from her small breakfast-table, and called
+over to the Marchesa's small breakfast-table.</p>
+
+<p>"Helena, I see that Lord Lynborough
+arrived at the Castle on Friday!"</p>
+
+<p>"Did he, Jennie?" returned the Marchesa,
+with no show of interest. "Have an
+egg, Colonel?" The latter words were addressed
+to her companion at table, Colonel
+Wenman, a handsome but bald-headed man
+of about forty.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"'Lord Lynborough, accompanied by
+his friend Mr. Leonard Stabb, the well-known
+authority on prehistoric remains,
+and Mr. Roger Wilbraham, his private
+secretary. His lordship's household had
+preceded him to the Castle.'"</p>
+
+<p>Lady Norah Mountliffey&mdash;who sat with
+Miss Gilletson&mdash;was in the habit of saying
+what she thought. What she said now was:
+"Thank goodness!" and she said it rather
+loudly.</p>
+
+<p>"You gentlemen haven't been amusing
+Norah," observed the Marchesa to the
+Colonel.</p>
+
+<p>"I hoped that I, at least, was engaged on
+another task&mdash;though, alas, a harder one!"
+he answered in a low tone and with a glance
+of respectful homage.</p>
+
+<p>"If you refer to me, you've been admirably
+successful," the Marchesa assured<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span>
+him graciously&mdash;only with the graciousness
+there mingled that touch of mockery which
+always made the Colonel rather ill at ease.
+"Amuse" is, moreover, a word rich in shades
+of meaning.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Gilletson was frowning thoughtfully.
+"Helena can't call on him&mdash;and I don't
+suppose he'll call on her," she said to
+Norah.</p>
+
+<p>"He'll get to know her if he wants to."</p>
+
+<p>"I might call on him," suggested the
+Colonel. "He was in the service, you know,
+and that&mdash;er&mdash;makes a bond. Queer
+fellow he was, by Jove!"</p>
+
+<p>Captain Irons and Mr. Stillford came in
+from riding, late for breakfast. They completed
+the party at table, for Violet Dufaure
+always took the first meal of the day in
+bed. Irons was a fine young man, still in the
+twenties, very fair and very bronzed. He<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span>
+had seen fighting and was great at polo.
+Stillford, though a man of peace (if a
+solicitor may so be called), was by no means
+inferior in physique. A cadet of a good
+county family, he was noted in the hunting
+field and as a long-distance swimmer. He
+had come to Nab Grange to confer with the
+Marchesa on her affairs, but, proving himself
+an acquisition to the party, had been
+pressed to stay on as a guest.</p>
+
+<p>The men began to bandy stories of Lynborough
+from one table to the other. Wenman
+knew the London gossip, Stillford the
+local traditions: but neither had seen the
+hero of their tales for many years. The anecdotes
+delighted Norah Mountliffey, and
+caused Miss Gilletson's hands to fly up in
+horror. Nevertheless it was Miss Gilletson
+who said, "Perhaps we shall see him at
+church to-day."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Not likely!" Stillford opined. "And&mdash;er&mdash;is
+anybody going?"</p>
+
+<p>The pause which habitually follows this
+question ensued upon it now. Neither the
+Marchesa nor Lady Norah would go&mdash;they
+were both of the Old Church. Miss Dufaure
+was unlikely to go, by reason of fatigue.
+Miss Gilletson would, of course, go, so
+would Colonel Wenman&mdash;but that was so
+well known that they didn't speak.</p>
+
+<p>"Any ladies with Lynborough's party, I
+wonder!" Captain Irons hazarded. "I think
+I'll go! Stillford, you ought to go to church&mdash;family
+solicitor and all that, eh?"</p>
+
+<p>A message suddenly arrived from Miss
+Dufaure, to say that she felt better and
+proposed to attend church&mdash;could she be
+sent?</p>
+
+<p>"The carriage is going anyhow," said
+Miss Gilletson a trifle stiffly.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I suppose I ought," Stillford agreed.
+"We'll drive there and walk back?"</p>
+
+<p>"Right you are!" said the Captain.</p>
+
+<p>By following the party from Nab Grange
+to Fillby parish church, a partial idea of the
+locality would be gained; but perhaps it is
+better to face the complete task at once.
+Idle tales suit idle readers; a history such as
+this may legitimately demand from those
+who study it some degree of mental application.</p>
+
+<p>If, then, the traveler lands from the North
+Sea (which is the only sea he can land from)
+he will find himself on a sandy beach,
+dipping rapidly to deep water and well
+adapted for bathing. As he stands facing inland,
+the sands stretch in a long line southerly
+on his left; on his right rises the bold
+bluff of Sandy Nab with its swelling outline,
+its grass-covered dunes, and its sparse firs;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span>
+directly in front of him, abutting on the
+beach, is the high wall inclosing the Grange
+property; a gate in the middle gives access
+to the grounds. The Grange faces south, and
+lies in the shelter of Sandy Nab. In front of
+it are pleasure-grounds, then a sunk fence,
+then spacious meadow-lands. The property
+is about a mile and a half (rather more
+than less) in length, to half-a-mile in breadth.
+Besides the Grange there is a small farmhouse,
+or bailiff's house, in the southwest
+corner of the estate. On the north the
+boundary consists of moorlands, to the east
+(as has been seen) of the beach, to the west
+and south of a public road. At the end of the
+Grange walls this road turns to the right,
+inland, and passes by Fillby village; it then
+develops into the highroad to Easthorpe
+with its market, shops, and station, ten miles
+away. Instead, however, of pursuing this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span>
+longer route, the traveler from the Grange
+grounds may reach Fillby and Easthorpe
+sooner by crossing the road on the west, and
+traversing the Scarsmoor Castle property,
+across which runs a broad carriage road,
+open to the public. He will first&mdash;after
+entering Lord Lynborough's gates&mdash;pass
+over a bridge which spans a little river, often
+nearly dry, but liable to be suddenly flooded
+by a rainfall in the hills. Thus he enters a
+beautiful demesne, rich in wood and undergrowth,
+in hill and valley, in pleasant rides
+and winding drives. The Castle itself&mdash;an
+ancient gray building, square and massive,
+stands on an eminence in the northwest
+extremity of the property; the ground drops
+rapidly in front of it, and it commands a
+view of Nab Grange and the sea beyond,
+being in its turn easily visible from either of
+these points. The road above mentioned, on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span>
+leaving Lynborough's park, runs across the
+moors in a southwesterly line to Fillby, a
+little village of some three hundred souls.
+All around and behind this, stretching to
+Easthorpe, are great rolling moors, rich in
+beauty as in opportunities for sport, yet
+cutting off the little settlement of village,
+Castle, and Grange from the outer world
+by an isolation more complete than the mere
+distance would in these days seem to entail.
+The church, two or three little shops, and
+one policeman, sum up Fillby's resources:
+anything more, for soul's comfort, for body's
+supply or protection, must come across the
+moors from Easthorpe.</p>
+
+<p>One point remains&mdash;reserved to the end
+by reason of its importance. A gate has been
+mentioned as opening on to the beach from
+the grounds of Nab Grange. He who enters
+at that gate and makes for the Grange<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span>
+follows the path for about two hundred
+yards in a straight line, and then takes a
+curving turn to the right, which in time
+brings him to the front door of the house.
+But the path goes on&mdash;growing indeed narrower,
+ultimately becoming a mere grass-grown
+track, yet persisting quite plain to
+see&mdash;straight across the meadows, about
+a hundred yards beyond the sunk fence
+which bounds the Grange gardens, and in
+full view from the Grange windows; and it
+desists not from its course till it reaches the
+rough stone wall which divides the Grange
+estate from the highroad on the west. This
+wall it reaches at a point directly opposite
+to the Scarsmoor lodge; in the wall there
+is a gate, through which the traveler must
+pass to gain the road.</p>
+
+<p>There is a gate&mdash;and there had always
+been a gate; that much at least is undisputed.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span>
+It will, of course, be obvious that if the residents
+at the Castle desired to reach the beach
+for the purpose of bathing or other diversions,
+and proposed to go on their feet,
+incomparably their best, shortest, and most
+convenient access thereto lay through this
+gate and along the path which crossed the
+Grange property and issued through the
+Grange gate on to the seashore. To go round
+by the road would take at least three times
+as long. Now the season was the month of
+June; Lord Lynborough was a man tenacious
+of his rights&mdash;and uncommonly fond of
+bathing.</p>
+
+<p>On the other hand, it might well be that
+the Marchesa di San Servolo&mdash;the present
+owner of Nab Grange&mdash;would prefer that
+strangers should not pass across her property,
+in full view and hail of her windows, without
+her permission and consent. That this,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span>
+indeed, was the lady's attitude might be
+gathered from the fact that, on this Sunday
+morning in June, Captain Irons and Mr.
+Stillford, walking back through the Scarsmoor
+grounds from Fillby church as they
+had proposed, found the gate leading from
+the road into the Grange meadows securely
+padlocked. Having ignored this possibility,
+they had to climb, incidentally displacing,
+but carefully replacing, a number of prickly
+furze branches which the zeal of the Marchesa's
+bailiff had arranged along the top
+rail of the gate.</p>
+
+<p>"Boys been coming in?" asked Irons.</p>
+
+<p>"It may be that," said Stillford, smiling
+as he arranged the prickly defenses to the
+best advantage.</p>
+
+<p>The Grange expedition to church had to
+confess to having seen nothing of the Castle
+party&mdash;and in so far it was dubbed a failure.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span>
+There was indeed a decorous row of servants
+in the household seat, but the square oaken
+pew in the chancel, with its brass rods and
+red curtains in front, and its fireplace at the
+back, stood empty. The two men reported
+having met, as they walked home through
+Scarsmoor, a very large fat man with a face
+which they described variously, one likening
+it to the sinking sun on a misty day, the other
+to a copper saucepan.</p>
+
+<p>"Not Lord Lynborough, I do trust!"
+shuddered little Violet Dufaure. She and
+Miss Gilletson had driven home by the road,
+regaining the Grange by the south gate and
+the main drive.</p>
+
+<p>Stillford was by the Marchesa. He spoke
+to her softly, covered by the general conversation.
+"You might have told us to take a
+key!" he said reproachfully. "That gorse
+is very dangerous to a man's Sunday clothes."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"It looks&mdash;businesslike, doesn't it?" she
+smiled.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, uncommon! When did you have it
+done?"</p>
+
+<p>"The day before yesterday. I wanted
+there to be no mistake from the very first.
+That's the best way to prevent any unpleasantness."</p>
+
+<p>"Possibly." Stillford sounded doubtful.
+"Going to have a notice-board, Marchesa?"</p>
+
+<p>"He will hardly make that necessary,
+will he?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I told you that in my judgment
+your right to shut it against him is very
+doubtful."</p>
+
+<p>"You told me a lot of things I didn't
+understand," she retorted rather pettishly.</p>
+
+<p>He shrugged his shoulders with a laugh.
+No good lay in anticipating trouble. Lord
+Lynborough might take no notice.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>In the afternoon the Marchesa's guests
+played golf on a rather makeshift nine-hole
+course laid out in the meadows. Miss Gilletson
+slept. The Marchesa herself mounted
+the top of Sandy Nab, and reviewed her
+situation. The Colonel would doubtless have
+liked to accompany her, but he was not
+thereto invited.</p>
+
+<p>Helena Vittoria Maria Antonia, Marchesa
+di San Servolo, was now in her twenty-fourth
+year. Born of an Italian father and an
+English mother, she had bestowed her hand
+on her paternal country, but her heart remained
+in her mother's. The Marchese
+took her as his second wife and his last
+pecuniary resource; in both capacities she
+soothed his declining years. Happily for her&mdash;and
+not unhappily for the world at large&mdash;these
+were few. He had not time to absorb
+her youth or to spend more than a small<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span>
+portion of her inheritance. She was left
+a widow&mdash;stepmother of adult Italian
+offspring&mdash;owner for life of an Apennine
+fortress. She liked the fortress much, but
+disliked the stepchildren (the youngest was of
+her own age) more. England&mdash;her mother's
+home&mdash;presented itself in the light of a
+refuge. In short, she had grave doubts about
+ever returning to Italy.</p>
+
+<p>Nab Grange was in the market. Ancestrally
+a possession of the Caverlys (for centuries
+a noble but unennobled family in
+those parts), it had served for the family's
+dower-house, till a bad race-meeting had induced
+the squire of the day to sell it to a Mr.
+Cross of Leeds. The Crosses held it for
+seventy years. Then the executors of the last
+Cross sold it to the Marchesa. This final
+transaction happened a year before Lynborough
+came home. The "Beach Path"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span>
+had, as above recorded, been closed only for
+two days.</p>
+
+<p>The path was not just now in the Marchesa's
+thoughts. Nothing very definite was.
+Rather, as her eyes ranged from moor to
+sea, from the splendid uniformity of the unclouded
+sky to the ravishing variety of many-tinted
+earth, from the green of the Grange
+meadows (the one spot of rich emerald on
+the near coast-line, owing its hues to Sandy
+Nab's kindly shelter) to the gray mass of
+Scarsmoor Castle&mdash;there was in her heart
+that great mixture of content and longing
+that youth and&mdash;(what put bluntly amounts
+to)&mdash;a fine day are apt to raise. And youth
+allied with beauty becomes self-assertive,
+a claimant against the world, a plaintiff
+against facts before High Heaven's tribunal.
+The Marchesa was infinitely delighted with
+Nab Grange&mdash;graciously content with Na<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span>ture&mdash;not
+ill-pleased with herself&mdash;but,
+in fine, somewhat discontented with her
+company. That was herself? Not precisely,
+though, at the moment, objectively. She
+was wondering whether her house-party
+was all that her youth and her beauty&mdash;to
+say nothing of her past endurance of the
+Marchese&mdash;entitled her to claim and to
+enjoy.</p>
+
+<p>Then suddenly across her vision, cutting
+the sky-line, seeming to divide for a moment
+heaven above from earth beneath, passed
+a tall meager figure, and a head of lines clean
+as if etched by a master's needle. The profile
+stood as carved in fine ivory; glints of color
+flashed from hair and beard. The man softly
+sang a love song as he walked&mdash;but he
+never looked toward the Marchesa.</p>
+
+<p>She sat up suddenly. "Could that be Lord
+Lynborough?" she thought&mdash;and smiled.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="Chapter_Three" id="Chapter_Three"></a><i>Chapter Three</i></h2>
+
+<h3>OF LAW AND NATURAL RIGHTS</h3>
+
+
+<p>Lynborough sat on the terrace which ran
+along the front of the Castle and looked
+down, over Nab Grange, to the sea. With
+him were Leonard Stabb and Roger Wilbraham.
+The latter was a rather short,
+slight man of dark complexion; although a
+light-weight he was very wiry and a fine
+boxer. His intellectual gifts corresponded
+well with his physical equipment; an acute
+ready mind was apt to deal with every-day
+problems and pressing necessities; it had
+little turn either for speculation or for fancy.
+He had dreams neither about the past,
+like Stabb, nor about present things, like<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span>
+Lynborough. His was, in a word, the practical
+spirit, and Lynborough could not have
+chosen a better right-hand man.</p>
+
+<p>They were all smoking; a silence had
+rested long over the party. At last Lynborough
+spoke.</p>
+
+<p>"There's always," he said, "something
+seductive in looking at a house when you
+know nothing about the people who live in it."</p>
+
+<p>"But I know a good deal about them,"
+Wilbraham interposed with a laugh. "Coltson's
+been pumping all the village, and I've
+had the benefit of it." Coltson was Lynborough's
+own man, an old soldier who
+had been with him nearly fifteen years and
+had accompanied him on all his travels
+and excursions.</p>
+
+<p>Lynborough paid no heed; he was not the
+man to be put off his reflections by intrusive
+facts.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"The blank wall of a strange house is
+like the old green curtain at the theater. It
+may rise for you any moment and show
+you&mdash;what? Now what is there at Nab
+Grange?"</p>
+
+<p>"A lot of country bumpkins, I expect,"
+growled Stabb.</p>
+
+<p>"No, no," Wilbraham protested. "I'll
+tell you, if you like&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"What's there?" Lynborough pursued.
+"I don't know. You don't know&mdash;no, you
+don't, Roger, and you probably wouldn't
+even if you were inside. But I like not knowing&mdash;I
+don't want to know. We won't
+visit at the Grange, I think. We will just
+idealize it, Cromlech." He cast his queer
+elusive smile at his friend.</p>
+
+<p>"Bosh!" said Stabb. "There's sure to be
+a woman there&mdash;and I'll be bound she'll
+call on you!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"She'll call on me? Why?"</p>
+
+<p>"Because you're a lord," said Stabb,
+scorning any more personal form of flattery.</p>
+
+<p>"That fortuitous circumstance should, in
+my judgment, rather afford me protection."</p>
+
+<p>"If you come to that, she's somebody herself."
+Wilbraham's knowledge would bubble
+out, for all the want of encouragement.</p>
+
+<p>"Everybody's somebody," murmured
+Lynborough&mdash;"and it is a very odd arrangement.
+Can't be regarded as permanent,
+eh, Cromlech? Immortality by merit seems
+a better idea. And by merit I mean originality.
+Well&mdash;I sha'n't know the Grange, but I like
+to look at it. The way I picture her&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Picture whom?" asked Stabb.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, the Lady of the Grange, to be
+sure&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Tut, tut, who's thinking of the woman?&mdash;if
+there is a woman at all."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"I am thinking of the woman, Cromlech,
+and I've a perfect right to think of her. At
+least, if not of that woman, of a woman&mdash;whose
+like I've never met."</p>
+
+<p>"She must be of an unusual type," opined
+Stabb with a reflective smile.</p>
+
+<p>"She is, Cromlech. Shall I describe her?"</p>
+
+<p>"I expect you must."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, at this moment&mdash;with the evening
+just this color&mdash;and the Grange down
+there&mdash;and the sea, Cromlech, so remarkably
+large, I'm afraid I must. She is, of
+course, tall and slender; she has, of course, a
+rippling laugh; her eyes are, of course,
+deep and dreamy, yet lighting to a sparkle
+when one challenges. All this may be presupposed.
+It's her tint, Cromlech, her color&mdash;that's
+what's in my mind to-night; that,
+you will find, is her most distinguishing,
+her most wonderful characteristic."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"That's just what the Vicar told Coltson!
+At least he said that the Marchesa had a
+most extraordinary complexion." Wilbraham
+had got something out at last.</p>
+
+<p>"Roger, you bring me back to earth. You
+substitute the Vicar's impression for my
+imagination. Is that kind?"</p>
+
+<p>"It seems such a funny coincidence."</p>
+
+<p>"Supposing it to be a mere coincidence&mdash;no
+doubt! But I've always known that I had
+to meet that complexion somewhere. If here&mdash;so
+much the better!"</p>
+
+<p>"I have a great doubt about that," said
+Leonard Stabb.</p>
+
+<p>"I can get over it, Cromlech! At least
+consider that."</p>
+
+<p>"But you're not going to know her!"
+laughed Wilbraham.</p>
+
+<p>"I shall probably see her as we walk
+down to bathe by Beach Path."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>A deferential voice spoke from behind
+his chair. "I beg your pardon, my lord, but
+Beach Path is closed." Coltson had brought
+Lynborough his cigar-case and laid it down
+on a table by him as he communicated this
+intelligence.</p>
+
+<p>"Closed, Coltson?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, my lord. There's a padlock on the
+gate, and a&mdash;er&mdash;barricade of furze. And
+the gardeners tell me they were warned off
+yesterday."</p>
+
+<p>"My gardeners warned off Beach
+Path?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, my lord."</p>
+
+<p>"By whose orders?"</p>
+
+<p>"Her Excellency's, my lord."</p>
+
+<p>"That's the Marchesa&mdash;Marchesa di
+San Servolo," Wilbraham supplied.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, that's the name, sir," said Coltson
+respectfully.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"What about her complexion now, Ambrose?"
+chuckled Stabb.</p>
+
+<p>"The Marchesa di San Servolo? Is that
+right, Coltson?"</p>
+
+<p>"Perfectly correct, my lord. Italian, I
+understand, my lord."</p>
+
+<p>"Excellent, excellent! She has closed my
+Beach Path? I think I have reflected enough
+for to-night. I'll go in and write a letter."
+He rose, smiled upon Stabb, who himself
+was grinning broadly, and walked through
+an open window into the house.</p>
+
+<p>"Now you may see something happen,"
+said Leonard Stabb.</p>
+
+<p>"What's the matter? Is it a public path?"
+asked Wilbraham.</p>
+
+<p>With a shrug Stabb denied all knowledge&mdash;and,
+probably, all interest. Coltson,
+who had lingered behind his master, undertook
+to reply.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Not exactly public, as I understand, sir.
+But the Castle has always used it. Green&mdash;that's
+the head-gardener&mdash;tells me so, at
+least."</p>
+
+<p>"By legal right, do you mean?" Wilbraham
+had been called to the Bar, although he
+had never practised. No situation gives rise
+to greater confidence on legal problems.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't think you'll find that his lordship
+will trouble much about that, sir," was
+Coltson's answer, as he picked up the cigar-case
+again and hurried into the library with
+it.</p>
+
+<p>"What does the man mean by that?"
+asked Wilbraham scornfully. "It's a purely
+legal question&mdash;Lynborough must trouble
+about it." He rose and addressed Stabb
+somewhat as though that gentleman were
+the Court. "Not a public right of way?
+We don't argue that? Then it's a case of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span>
+dominant and servient tenement&mdash;a right
+of way by user as of right, or by a lost grant.
+That&mdash;or nothing!"</p>
+
+<p>"I daresay," muttered Stabb very absently.</p>
+
+<p>"Then what does Coltson mean&mdash;&mdash;?"</p>
+
+<p>"Coltson knows Ambrose&mdash;you don't.
+Ambrose will never go to law&mdash;but he'll
+go to bathe."</p>
+
+<p>"But she'll go to law if he goes to bathe!"
+cried the lawyer.</p>
+
+<p>Stabb blinked lazily, and seemed to loom
+enormous over his cigar. "I daresay&mdash;if
+she's got a good case," said he. "Do you
+know, Wilbraham, I don't much care
+whether she does or not? But in regard to
+her complexion&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"What the devil does her complexion
+matter?" shouted Wilbraham.</p>
+
+<p>"The human side of a thing always<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span>
+matters," observed Leonard Stabb. "For
+instance&mdash;pray sit down, Wilbraham&mdash;standing
+up and talking loud prove nothing,
+if people would only believe it&mdash;the permanence
+of hierarchical systems may be
+historically observed to bear a direct relation
+to the emoluments."</p>
+
+<p>"Would you mind telling me your opinion
+on two points, Stabb? We can go on with
+that argument of yours afterward."</p>
+
+<p>"Say on, Wilbraham."</p>
+
+<p>"Is Lynborough in his right senses?"</p>
+
+<p>"The point is doubtful."</p>
+
+<p>"Are you in yours?"</p>
+
+<p>Stabb reflected. "I am sane&mdash;but very
+highly specialized," was his conclusion.</p>
+
+<p>Wilbraham wrinkled his brow. "All the
+same, right of way or no right of way is
+purely a legal question," he persisted.</p>
+
+<p>"I think you're highly specialized too,"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span>
+said Stabb. "But you'd better keep quiet and
+see it through, you know. There may be
+some fun&mdash;it will serve to amuse the Archdeacon
+when you write." Wilbraham's
+father was a highly esteemed dignitary of
+the order mentioned.</p>
+
+<p>Lynborough came out again, smoking a
+cigar. His manner was noticeably more
+alert: his brow was unclouded, his whole
+mien tranquil and placid.</p>
+
+<p>"I've put it all right," he observed. "I've
+written her a civil letter. Will you men bathe
+to-morrow?"</p>
+
+<p>They both assented to the proposition.</p>
+
+<p>"Very well. We'll start at eight. We may
+as well walk. By Beach Path it's only about
+half-a-mile."</p>
+
+<p>"But the path's stopped, Ambrose,"
+Stabb objected.</p>
+
+<p>"I've asked her to have the obstruction<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span>
+removed before eight o'clock," Lynborough
+explained.</p>
+
+<p>"If it isn't?" asked Roger Wilbraham.</p>
+
+<p>"We have hands," answered Lynborough,
+looking at his own very small ones.</p>
+
+<p>"Wilbraham wants to know why you
+don't go to law, Ambrose."</p>
+
+<p>Lord Lynborough never shrank from explaining
+his views and convictions.</p>
+
+<p>"The law disgusts me. So does my experience
+of it. You remember the beer,
+Cromlech? Nobody ever acted more wisely
+or from better motives. And if I made money&mdash;as
+I did, till the customers left off coming&mdash;why
+not? I was unobtrusively doing good.
+Then Juanita's affair! I acted as a gentleman
+is bound to act. Result&mdash;a year's
+imprisonment! I lay stress on these personal
+experiences, but not too great stress. The
+law, Roger, always considers what you have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span>
+had and what you now have&mdash;never what
+you ought to have. Take that path! It
+happens to be a fact that my grandfather,
+and my father, and I have always used that
+path. That's important by law, I daresay&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Certainly, Lord Lynborough."</p>
+
+<p>"Just what would be important by law!"
+commented Lynborough. "And I have
+made use of the fact in my letter to the
+Marchesa. But in my own mind I stand on
+reason and natural right. Is it reasonable
+that I, living half-a-mile from my bathing,
+should have to walk two miles to get to it?
+Plainly not. Isn't it the natural right of the
+owner of Scarsmoor to have that path open
+through Nab Grange? Plainly yes. That,
+Roger, although, as I say, not the shape in
+which I have put the matter before the Marchesa&mdash;because
+she, being a woman, would<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span>
+be unappreciative of pure reason&mdash;is really
+the way in which the question presents itself
+to my mind&mdash;and, I'm sure, to Cromlech's?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not the least in the world to mine," said
+Stabb. "However, Ambrose, the young man
+thinks us both mad."</p>
+
+<p>"You do, Roger?" His smile persuaded
+to an affirmative reply.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm afraid so, Lord Lynborough."</p>
+
+<p>"No 'Lord,' if you love me! Why do you
+think me mad? Cromlech, of course, is mad,
+so we needn't bother about him."</p>
+
+<p>"You're not&mdash;not practical," stammered
+Roger.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I don't know, really I don't know.
+You'll see that I shall get that path open.
+And in the end I did get that public-house
+closed. And Juanita's husband had to leave
+the country, owing to the heat of local feeling<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span>&mdash;aroused
+entirely by me. Juanita stayed
+behind and, after due formalities, married
+again most happily. I'm not altogether inclined
+to call myself unpractical. Roger!"
+He turned quickly to his secretary. "Your
+father's what they call a High Churchman,
+isn't he?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes&mdash;and so am I," said Roger.</p>
+
+<p>"He has his Church. He puts that above
+the State, doesn't he? He wouldn't obey the
+State against the Church? He wouldn't
+do what the Church said was wrong because
+the State said it was right?"</p>
+
+<p>"How could he? Of course he wouldn't,"
+answered Roger.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I have my Church&mdash;inside here."
+He touched his breast. "I stand where your
+father does. Why am I more mad than the
+Archdeacon, Roger?"</p>
+
+<p>"But there's all the difference!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Of course there is," said Stabb. "All the
+difference that there is between being able
+to do it and not being able to do it&mdash;and I
+know of none so profound."</p>
+
+<p>"There's no difference at all," declared
+Lynborough. "Therefore&mdash;as a good son,
+no less than as a good friend&mdash;you will
+come and bathe with me to-morrow?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I'll come and bathe, by all means,
+Lynborough."</p>
+
+<p>"By all means! Well said, young man. By
+all means, that is, which are becoming in
+opposing a lady. What precisely those may
+be we will consider when we see the strength
+of her opposition."</p>
+
+<p>"That doesn't sound so very unpractical,
+after all," Stabb suggested to Roger.</p>
+
+<p>Lynborough took his stand before Stabb,
+hands in pockets, smiling down at the bulk
+of his friend.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"O Cromlech, Haunter of Tombs," he
+said, "Cromlech, Lover of Men long Dead,
+there is a possible&mdash;indeed a probable&mdash;chance&mdash;there
+is a divine hope&mdash;that Life
+may breathe here on this coast, that the
+blood may run quick, that the world may
+move, that our old friend Fortune may
+smile, and trick, and juggle, and favor us
+once more. This, Cromlech, to a man who
+had determined to reform, who came home
+to assume&mdash;what was it? Oh yes&mdash;responsibilities!&mdash;this
+is most extraordinary
+luck. Never shall it be said that Ambrose
+Caverly, being harnessed and carrying a
+bow, turned himself back in the day of
+battle!"</p>
+
+<p>He swayed himself to and fro on his heels,
+and broke into merry laughter.</p>
+
+<p>"She'll get the letter to-night, Cromlech.
+I've sent Coltson down with it&mdash;he pro<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span>ceeds
+decorously by the highroad and the
+main approach. But she'll get it. Cromlech,
+will she read it with a beating heart? Will
+she read it with a flushing cheek? And if so,
+Cromlech, what, I ask you, will be the
+particular shade of that particular flush?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, the sweetness of the game!" said he.</p>
+
+<p>Over Nab Grange the stars seemed to
+twinkle roguishly.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="Chapter_Four" id="Chapter_Four"></a><i>Chapter Four</i></h2>
+
+<h3>THE MESSAGE OF A PADLOCK</h3>
+
+
+<blockquote><p>Lord Lynborough presents his compliments to her Excellency
+the Marchesa di San Servolo. Lord Lynborough
+has learnt, with surprise and regret, that his servants have
+within the last two days been warned off Beach Path, and
+that a padlock and other obstacles have been placed on
+the gate leading to the path, by her Excellency's orders.
+Lord Lynborough and his predecessors have enjoyed the
+use of this path by themselves, their agents and servants,
+for many years back&mdash;certainly for fifty, as Lord Lynborough
+knows from his father and from old servants, and
+Lord Lynborough is not disposed to acquiesce in any
+obstruction being raised to his continued use of it. He
+must therefore request her Excellency to have the kindness
+to order that the padlock and other obstacles shall be
+removed, and he will be obliged by this being done before
+eight o'clock to-morrow morning&mdash;at which time Lord
+Lynborough intends to proceed by Beach Path to the sea
+in order to bathe. Scarsmoor Castle; 13th June.</p></blockquote>
+
+<p>The reception of this letter proved an agree<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span>able
+incident of an otherwise rather dull
+Sunday evening at Nab Grange. The Marchesa
+had been bored; the Colonel was
+sulky. Miss Gilletson had forbidden cards;
+her conscience would not allow herself, nor
+her feelings of envy permit other people,
+to play on the Sabbath. Lady Norah and
+Violet Dufaure were somewhat at cross-purposes,
+each preferring to talk to Stillford
+and endeavoring, under a false show
+of amity, to foist Captain Irons on to the
+other.</p>
+
+<p>"Listen to this!" cried the Marchesa vivaciously.
+She read it out. "He doesn't beat
+about the bush, does he? I'm to surrender
+before eight o'clock to-morrow morning!"</p>
+
+<p>"Sounds rather a peremptory sort of a
+chap!" observed Colonel Wenman.</p>
+
+<p>"I," remarked Lady Norah, "shouldn't
+so much as answer him, Helena."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"I shall certainly answer him and tell
+him that he'll trespass on my property at
+his peril," said the Marchesa haughtily.
+"Isn't that the right way to put it, Mr.
+Stillford?"</p>
+
+<p>"If it would be a trespass, that might be
+one way to put it," was Stillford's professionally
+cautious advice. "But as I ventured
+to tell you when you determined to put on
+the padlock, the rights in the matter are not
+quite as clear as we could wish."</p>
+
+<p>"When I bought this place, I bought a
+private estate&mdash;a private estate, Mr. Stillford&mdash;for
+myself&mdash;not a short cut for
+Lord Lynborough! Am I to put up a
+notice for him, 'This Way to the Bathing-Machines'?"</p>
+
+<p>"I wouldn't stand it for a moment."
+Captain Irons sounded bellicose.</p>
+
+<p>Violet Dufaure was amicably inclined.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"You might give him leave to walk
+through. It would be a bore for him to go
+round by the road every time."</p>
+
+<p>"Certainly I might give him leave if he
+asked for it," retorted the Marchesa rather
+sharply. "But he doesn't. He orders me to
+open my gate&mdash;and tells me he means to
+bathe! As if I cared whether he bathed or
+not! What is it to me, I ask you, Violet,
+whether the man bathes or not?"</p>
+
+<p>"I beg your pardon, Marchesa, but aren't
+you getting a little off the point?" Stillford
+intervened deferentially.</p>
+
+<p>"No, I'm not. I never get off the point,
+Mr. Stillford. Do I, Colonel Wenman?"</p>
+
+<p>"I've never known you to do it in my life,
+Marchesa." There was, in fact, as Lynborough
+had ventured to anticipate, a flush on
+the Marchesa's cheek, and the Colonel
+knew his place.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"There, Mr. Stillford!" she cried triumphantly.
+Then she swept&mdash;the expression
+is really applicable&mdash;across the room to her
+writing-table. "I shall be courteous, but
+quite decisive," she announced over her
+shoulder as she sat down.</p>
+
+<p>Stillford stood by the fire, smiling doubtfully.
+Evidently it was no use trying to stop
+the Marchesa; she had insisted on locking
+the gate, and she would persist in keeping
+it locked till she was forced, by process of
+law or otherwise, to open it again. But if the
+Lords of Scarsmoor Castle really had used
+it without interruption for fifty years (as
+Lord Lynborough asserted)&mdash;well, the Marchesa's
+rights were at least in a precarious
+position.</p>
+
+<p>The Marchesa came back with her letter
+in her hand.</p>
+
+<p>"'The Marchesa di San Servolo,'" she read<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span>
+out to an admiring audience, "'presents
+her compliments to Lord Lynborough. The
+Marchesa has no intention of removing the
+padlock and other obstacles which have
+been placed on the gate to prevent trespassing&mdash;either
+by Lord Lynborough or by
+anybody else. The Marchesa is not concerned
+to know Lord Lynborough's plans in
+regard to bathing or otherwise. Nab Grange;
+13th June.'"</p>
+
+<p>The Marchesa looked round on her friends
+with a satisfied air.</p>
+
+<p>"I call that good," she remarked. "Don't
+you, Norah?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't like the last sentence."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh yes! Why, that'll make him angrier
+than anything else! Please ring the
+bell for me, Mr. Stillford; it's just behind
+you."</p>
+
+<p>The butler came back.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Who brought Lord Lynborough's letter?"
+asked the Marchesa.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know who it is, your Excellency&mdash;one
+of the upper servants at the Castle,
+I think."</p>
+
+<p>"How did he come to the house?"</p>
+
+<p>"By the drive&mdash;from the south gate&mdash;I
+believe, your Excellency."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm glad of that," she declared, looking
+positively dangerous. "Tell him to go back
+the same way, and not by the&mdash;by what
+Lord Lynborough chooses to call 'Beach
+Path.' Here's a letter for him to take."</p>
+
+<p>"Very good, your Excellency." The butler
+received the letter and withdrew.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said Lady Norah, "rather funny
+he should call it Beach Path, isn't it?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know whether it's funny or not,
+Norah, but I do know that I don't care what
+he calls it. He may call it Piccadilly if he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span>
+likes, but it's my path all the same." As she
+spoke she looked, somewhat defiantly, at
+Mr. Stillford.</p>
+
+<p>Violet Dufaure, whose delicate frame held
+an indomitable and indeed pugnacious spirit,
+appealed to Stillford; "Can't Helena have
+him taken up if he trespasses?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, hardly, Miss Dufaure. The remedy
+would lie in the civil courts."</p>
+
+<p>"Shall I bring an action against him? Is
+that it? Is that right?" cried the Marchesa.</p>
+
+<p>"That's the ticket, eh, Stillford?" asked
+the Colonel.</p>
+
+<p>Stillford's position was difficult; he had
+the greatest doubt about his client's case.</p>
+
+<p>"Suppose you leave him to bring the
+action?" he suggested. "When he does, we
+can fully consider our position."</p>
+
+<p>"But if he insists on using the path to-morrow?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"He'll hardly do that," Stillford persuaded
+her. "You'll probably get a letter
+from him, asking for the name of your
+solicitor. You will give him my name; I
+shall obtain the name of his solicitor, and
+we shall settle it between us&mdash;amicably, I
+hope, but in any case without further personal
+trouble to you, Marchesa."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!" said the Marchesa blankly. "That's
+how it will be, will it?"</p>
+
+<p>"That's the usual course&mdash;the proper
+way of doing the thing."</p>
+
+<p>"It may be proper; it sounds very dull,
+Mr. Stillford. What if he does try to use the
+path to-morrow&mdash;'in order to bathe' as
+he's good enough to tell me?"</p>
+
+<p>"If you're right about the path, then
+you've the right to stop him," Stillford answered
+rather reluctantly. "If you do stop
+him, that, of course, raises the question in a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span>
+concrete form. You will offer a formal resistance.
+He will make a formal protest.
+Then the lawyers step in."</p>
+
+<p>"We always end with the lawyers&mdash;and
+my lawyer doesn't seem sure I'm right!"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I'm not sure," said Stillford
+bluntly. "It's impossible to be sure at this
+stage of the case."</p>
+
+<p>"For all I see, he may use my path to-morrow!"
+The Marchesa was justifying
+her boast that she could stick to a point.</p>
+
+<p>"Now that you've lodged your objection,
+that won't matter much legally."</p>
+
+<p>"It will annoy me intensely," the Marchesa
+complained.</p>
+
+<p>"Then we'll stop him," declared Colonel
+Wenman valorously.</p>
+
+<p>"Politely&mdash;but firmly," added Captain
+Irons.</p>
+
+<p>"And what do you say, Mr. Stillford?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"I'll go with these fellows anyhow&mdash;and
+see that they don't overstep the law. No
+more than the strictly necessary force, Colonel!"</p>
+
+<p>"I begin to think that the law is rather
+stupid," said the Marchesa. She thought it
+stupid; Lynborough held it iniquitous; the
+law was at a discount, and its majesty little
+reverenced, that night.</p>
+
+<p>Ultimately, however, Stillford persuaded
+the angry lady to&mdash;as he tactfully put it&mdash;give
+Lynborough a chance. "See what he
+does first. If he crosses the path now, after
+warning, your case is clear. Write to him
+again then, and tell him that, if he persists
+in trespassing, your servants have orders to
+interfere."</p>
+
+<p>"That lets him bathe to-morrow!" Once
+more the Marchesa returned to her point&mdash;a
+very sore one.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Just for once, it really doesn't matter!"
+Stillford urged.</p>
+
+<p>Reluctantly she acquiesced; the others
+were rather relieved&mdash;not because they
+objected to a fight, but because eight in the
+morning was rather early to start one.
+Breakfast at the Grange was at nine-thirty,
+and, though the men generally went down
+for a dip, they went much later than Lord
+Lynborough proposed to go.</p>
+
+<p>"He shall have one chance of withdrawing
+gracefully," the Marchesa finally
+decided.</p>
+
+<p>Stillford was unfeignedly glad to hear her
+say so; he had, from a professional point of
+view, no desire for a conflict. Inquiries which
+he had made in Fillby&mdash;both from men in
+Scarsmoor Castle employ and from independent
+persons&mdash;had convinced him that
+Lynborough's case was strong. For many<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span>
+years&mdash;through the time of two Lynboroughs
+before the present at Scarsmoor,
+and through the time of three Crosses (the
+predecessors of the Marchesa) at Nab
+Grange, Scarsmoor Castle had without
+doubt asserted this dominant right over Nab
+Grange. It had been claimed and exercised
+openly&mdash;and, so far as he could discover,
+without protest or opposition. The period,
+as he reckoned it, would prove to be long
+enough to satisfy the law as to prescription;
+it was very unlikely that any document
+existed&mdash;or anyhow could be found&mdash;which
+would serve to explain away the presumption
+which uses such as this gave. In
+fine, the Marchesa's legal adviser was of
+opinion that in a legal fight the Marchesa
+would be beaten. His own hope lay in compromise;
+if friendly relations could be established,
+there would be a chance of a compro<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span>mise.
+He was sure that the Marchesa would
+readily grant as a favor&mdash;and would possibly
+give in return for a nominal payment&mdash;all
+that Lynborough asked. That would be the
+best way out of the difficulty. "Let us temporize,
+and be conciliatory," thought the man
+of law.</p>
+
+<p>Alas, neither conciliation nor dilatoriness
+was in Lord Lynborough's line! He read the
+Marchesa's letter with appreciation and
+pleasure. He admired the curtness of its
+intimation, and the lofty haughtiness with
+which the writer dismissed the subject of his
+bathing. But he treated the document&mdash;it
+cannot be said that he did wrong&mdash;as a
+plain defiance. It appeared to him that no
+further declaration of war was necessary; he
+was not concerned to consider evidence nor
+to weigh his case, as Stillford wanted to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span>
+weigh her case. This for two reasons: first,
+because he was entirely sure that he was
+right; secondly because he had no intention
+of bringing the question to trial. Lynborough
+knew but one tribunal; he had pointed
+out its local habitation to Roger Wilbraham.</p>
+
+<p>Accordingly it fell out that conciliatory
+counsels and Fabian tactics at Nab Grange
+received a very severe&mdash;perhaps indeed a
+fatal&mdash;shock the next morning.</p>
+
+<p>At about nine o'clock the Marchesa was
+sitting in her dressing-gown by the open
+window, reading her correspondence and
+sipping an early cup of tea&mdash;she had become
+quite English in her habits. Her maid
+reëntered the room, carrying in her hand a
+small parcel. "For your Excellency," she
+said. "A man has just left it at the door."
+She put the parcel down on the marble top
+of the dressing-table.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"What is it?" asked the Marchesa indolently.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know, your Excellency. It's hard,
+and very heavy for its size."</p>
+
+<p>Laying down the letter which she had been
+perusing, the Marchesa took up the parcel
+and cut the string which bound it. With a
+metallic clink there fell on her dressing-table&mdash;a
+padlock! To it was fastened a piece of
+paper, bearing these words: "Padlock found
+attached to gate leading to Beach Path.
+Detached by order of Lord Lynborough.
+With Lord Lynborough's compliments."</p>
+
+<p>Now, too, Lynborough might have got
+his flush&mdash;if he could have been there to
+see it!</p>
+
+<p>"Bring me my field-glasses!" she cried.</p>
+
+<p>The window commanded a view of the
+gardens, of the meadows beyond the sunk
+fence, of the path&mdash;Beach Path as that man<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span>
+was pleased to call it!&mdash;and of the gate.
+At the last-named object the enraged Marchesa
+directed her gaze. The barricade of
+furze branches was gone! The gate hung
+open upon its hinges!</p>
+
+<p>While she still looked, three figures came
+across the lens. A very large stout shape&mdash;a
+short spare form&mdash;a tall, lithe, very lean
+figure. They were just reaching the gate,
+coming from the direction of the sea. The
+two first were strangers to her; the third she
+had seen for a moment the afternoon before
+on Sandy Nab. It was Lynborough himself,
+beyond a doubt. The others must be friends&mdash;she
+cared not about them. But to sit here
+with the padlock before her, and see Lynborough
+pass through the gate&mdash;a meeker
+woman than she had surely been moved to
+wrath! He had bathed&mdash;as he had said he
+would. And he had sent her the padlock.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span>
+That was what came of listening to conciliatory
+counsels, of letting herself give ear
+to dilatory persuasions!</p>
+
+<p>"War!" declared the Marchesa. "War&mdash;war&mdash;war!
+And if he's not careful, I
+won't confine it to the path either!" She
+seemed to dream of conquests, perhaps to
+reckon resources, whereof Mr. Stillford, her
+legal adviser, had taken no account.</p>
+
+<p>She carried the padlock down to breakfast
+with her; it was to her as a Fiery Cross; it
+summoned her and her array to battle. She
+exhibited it to her guests.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, gentlemen, I'm in your hands!"
+said she. "Is that man to walk over my
+property for his miserable bathing to-morrow?"</p>
+
+<p>He would have been a bold man who,
+at that moment, would have answered her
+with a "Yes."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="Chapter_Five" id="Chapter_Five"></a><i>Chapter Five</i></h2>
+
+<h3>THE BEGINNING OF WAR</h3>
+
+
+<p>An enviable characteristic of Lord Lynborough's
+was that, when he had laid the
+fuse, he could wait patiently for the explosion.
+(That last word tends to recur in connection
+with him.) Provided he knew that
+his adventure and his joke were coming,
+he occupied the interval profitably&mdash;which
+is to say, as agreeably as he could. Having
+launched the padlock&mdash;his symbolical ultimatum&mdash;and
+asserted his right, he spent
+the morning in dictating to Roger Wilbraham
+a full, particular, and veracious account of
+his early differences with the Dean of Christ
+Church. Roger found his task entertaining,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span>
+for Lynborough's mimicry of his distinguished
+opponent was excellent. Stabb meanwhile
+was among the tombs in an adjacent apartment.</p>
+
+<p>This studious tranquillity was disturbed
+by the announcement of a call from Mr.
+Stillford. Not without difficulty he had persuaded
+the Marchesa to let him reconnoiter
+the ground&mdash;to try, if it seemed desirable,
+the effect of a bit of "bluff"&mdash;at any rate
+to discover, if he could, something of the
+enemy's plan of campaign. Stillford was,
+in truth, not a little afraid of a lawsuit!</p>
+
+<p>Lynborough denied himself to no man,
+and received with courtesy every man who
+came. But his face grew grim and his manner
+distant when Stillford discounted the
+favorable effect produced by his appearance
+and manner&mdash;also by his name, well
+known in the county&mdash;by confessing that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span>
+he called in the capacity of the Marchesa's
+solicitor.</p>
+
+<p>"A solicitor?" said Lynborough, slightly
+raising his brows.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. The Marchesa does me the honor
+to place her confidence in me; and it occurs
+to me that, before this unfortunate dispute&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Why unfortunate?" interrupted Lynborough
+with an air of some surprise.</p>
+
+<p>"Surely it is&mdash;between neighbors? The
+Castle and the Grange should be friends."
+His cunning suggestion elicited no response.
+"It occurred to me," he continued, somewhat
+less glibly, "that, before further annoyance
+or expense was caused, it might be
+well if I talked matters over with your
+lordship's solicitor."</p>
+
+<p>"Sir," said Lynborough, "saving your
+presence&mdash;which, I must beg you to re<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span>member,
+was not invited by me&mdash;I don't
+like solicitors. I have no solicitor. I shall
+never have a solicitor. You can't talk with a
+non-existent person."</p>
+
+<p>"But proceedings are the natural&mdash;the
+almost inevitable&mdash;result of such a situation
+as your action has created, Lord Lynborough.
+My client can't be flouted, she
+can't have her indubitable rights outraged&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Do you think they're indubitable?"
+Lynborough put in, with a sudden quick
+flash of his eyes.</p>
+
+<p>For an instant Stillford hesitated. Then
+he made his orthodox reply. "As I am instructed,
+they certainly are."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah!" said Lynborough dryly.</p>
+
+<p>"No professional man could say more
+than that, Lord Lynborough."</p>
+
+<p>"And they all say just as much! If I say<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span>
+anything you don't like, again remember
+that this interview is not of my seeking,
+Mr. Stillford."</p>
+
+<p>Stillford waxed a trifle sarcastic. "You'll
+conduct your case in person?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p>"If you hale me to court, I shall. Otherwise
+there's no question of a case."</p>
+
+<p>This time Stillford's eyes brightened; yet
+still he doubted Lynborough's meaning.</p>
+
+<p>"We shouldn't hesitate to take our case
+into court."</p>
+
+<p>"Since you're wrong, you'd probably
+win," said Lynborough, with a smile. "But
+I'd make it cost you the devil of a lot of
+money. That, at least, the law can do&mdash;I'm
+not aware that it can do much else.
+But as far as I'm concerned, I should
+as soon appeal to the Pope of Rome in
+this matter as to a law-court&mdash;sooner in
+fact."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Stillford grew more confidently happy&mdash;and
+more amazed at Lynborough.</p>
+
+<p>"But you've no right to&mdash;er&mdash;assert
+rights if you don't intend to support them."</p>
+
+<p>"I do intend to support them, Mr. Stillford.
+That you'll very soon find out."</p>
+
+<p>"By force?" Stillford himself was gratified
+by the shocked solemnity which he
+achieved in this question.</p>
+
+<p>"If so, your side has no prejudice against
+legal proceedings. Prisons are not strange
+to me&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"What?" Stillford was a little startled.
+He had not heard all the stories about Lord
+Lynborough.</p>
+
+<p>"I say, prisons are not strange to me. If
+necessary, I can do a month. I am, however,
+not altogether a novice in the somewhat
+degrading art of getting the other man to hit
+first. Then he goes to prison, doesn't he?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span>
+Just like the law! As if that had anything
+to do with the merits!"</p>
+
+<p>Stillford kept his eye on the point valuable
+to him. "By supporting your claim I intended
+to convey supporting it by legal action."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, the cunning of this world, the cunning
+of this world, Roger!" He flung himself
+into an arm-chair, laughing. Stillford was
+already seated. "Take a cigarette, Mr.
+Stillford. You want to know whether I'm
+going to law or not, don't you? Well, I'm
+not. Is there anything else you want to
+know? Oh, by the way, we don't abstain
+from the law because we don't know the law.
+Permit me&mdash;Mr. Stillford, solicitor&mdash;Mr.
+Roger Wilbraham, of the Middle Temple,
+Esquire, barrister-at-law. Had I known
+you were coming, Roger should have worn
+his wig. No, no, we know the law&mdash;but
+we hate it."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Stillford was jubilant at a substantial
+gain&mdash;the appeal to law lay within the Marchesa's
+choice now; and that was in his
+view a great advantage. But he was legitimately
+irritated by Lynborough's sneers at
+his profession.</p>
+
+<p>"So do most of the people who belong to&mdash;the
+people to whom prisons are not
+strange, Lord Lynborough."</p>
+
+<p>"Apostles&mdash;and so on?" asked Lynborough
+airily.</p>
+
+<p>"I hardly recognize your lordship as belonging
+to that&mdash;er&mdash;er&mdash;category."</p>
+
+<p>"That's the worst of it&mdash;nobody will,"
+Lynborough admitted candidly. A note of
+sincere, if whimsical, regret sounded in his
+voice. "I've been trying for fifteen years.
+Yet some day I may be known as St. Ambrose!"
+His tones fell to despondency again.
+"St. Ambrose the Less, though&mdash;yes, I'm<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span>
+afraid the Less. Apostles&mdash;even Saints&mdash;are
+much handicapped in these days, Mr.
+Stillford."</p>
+
+<p>Stillford rose to his feet. "You've no more
+to say to me, Lord Lynborough?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know that I ever had anything
+to say to you, Mr. Stillford. You must have
+gathered before now that I intend to use
+Beach Path."</p>
+
+<p>"My client intends to prevent you."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes?&mdash;Well, you're three able-bodied
+men down there&mdash;so my man tells me&mdash;you,
+and the Colonel, and the Captain.
+And we're three up here. It seems to me fair
+enough."</p>
+
+<p>"You don't really contemplate settling
+the matter by personal conflict?" He was
+half amused, yet genuinely stricken in his
+habits of thought.</p>
+
+<p>"Entirely a question for your side. We<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span>
+shall use the path." Lynborough cocked
+his head on one side, looking up at the sturdy
+lawyer with a mischievous amusement. "I
+shall harry you, Mr. Stillford&mdash;day and
+night I shall harry you. If you mean to keep
+me off that path, vigils will be your portion.
+And you won't succeed."</p>
+
+<p>"I make a last appeal to your lordship.
+The matter could, I believe, be adjusted
+on an amicable basis. The Marchesa
+could be prevailed upon to grant permission&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I'd just as soon ask her permission to
+breathe," interrupted Lynborough.</p>
+
+<p>"Then my mission is at an end."</p>
+
+<p>"I congratulate you."</p>
+
+<p>"I beg your pardon?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, you've found out the chief thing
+you wanted to know, haven't you? If you'd
+asked it point-blank, we should have saved<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span>
+a lot of time. Good-by, Mr. Stillford. Roger,
+the bell's in reach of your hand."</p>
+
+<p>"You're pleased to be amused at my
+expense?" Stillford had grown huffy.</p>
+
+<p>"No&mdash;only don't think you've been
+clever at mine," Lynborough retorted
+placidly.</p>
+
+<p>So they parted. Lynborough went back
+to his Dean, Stillford to the Marchesa.
+Still ruffled in his plumes, feeling that he
+had been chaffed and had made no adequate
+reply, yet still happy in the solid, the important
+fact which he had ascertained, he
+made his report to his client. He refrained
+from openly congratulating her on not being
+challenged to a legal fight; he contented
+himself with observing that it was convenient
+to be able to choose her own time
+to take proceedings.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Norah was with the Marchesa. They<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span>
+both listened attentively and questioned
+closely. Not the substantial points alone attracted
+their interest; Stillford was constantly
+asked&mdash;"How did he look when he said
+that?" He had no other answer than "Oh&mdash;well&mdash;er&mdash;rather
+queer." He left them,
+having received directions to rebarricade the
+gate as solidly and as offensively as possible;
+a board warning off trespassers was also
+to be erected.</p>
+
+<p>Although not apt at a description of his
+interlocutor, yet Stillford seemed to have
+conveyed an impression.</p>
+
+<p>"I think he must be delightful," said
+Norah thoughtfully, when the two ladies
+were left together. "I'm sure he's just the
+sort of a man I should fall in love with,
+Helena."</p>
+
+<p>As a rule the Marchesa admired and applauded
+Norah's candor, praising it for a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span>
+certain patrician flavor&mdash;Norah spoke her
+mind, let the crowd think what it would!
+On this occasion she was somehow less
+pleased; she was even a little startled. She
+was conscious that any man with whom
+Norah was gracious enough to fall in love
+would be subjected to no ordinary assault;
+the Irish coloring is bad to beat, and Norah
+had it to perfection; moreover, the aforesaid
+candor makes matters move ahead.</p>
+
+<p>"After all, it's my path he's trespassing on,
+Norah," the Marchesa remonstrated.</p>
+
+<p>They both began to laugh. "The wretch
+is as handsome as&mdash;as a god," sighed
+Helena.</p>
+
+<p>"You've seen him?" eagerly questioned
+Norah; and the glimpse&mdash;that tantalizing
+glimpse&mdash;on Sandy Nab was confessed to.</p>
+
+<p>The Marchesa sprang up, clenching her
+fist. "Norah, I should like to have that man<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span>
+at my feet, and then to trample on him!
+Oh, it's not only the path! I believe he's
+laughing at me all the time!"</p>
+
+<p>"He's never seen you. Perhaps if he
+did he wouldn't laugh. And perhaps you
+wouldn't trample on him either."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, but I would!" She tossed her head
+impatiently. "Well, if you want to meet
+him. I expect you can do it&mdash;on my path
+to-morrow!"</p>
+
+<p>This talk left the Marchesa vaguely
+vexed. Her feeling could not be called jealousy;
+nothing can hardly be jealous of
+nothing, and even as her acquaintance with
+Lynborough amounted to nothing, Lady
+Norah's also was represented by a cipher.
+But why should Norah want to know him?
+It was the Marchesa's path&mdash;by consequence
+it was the Marchesa's quarrel.
+Where did Norah stand in the matter? The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span>
+Marchesa had perhaps been constructing
+a little drama. Norah took leave to introduce
+a new character!</p>
+
+<p>And not Norah alone, as it appeared at
+dinner. Little Violet Dufaure, whose appealing
+ways were notoriously successful
+with the emotionally weaker sex, took her
+seat at table with a demurely triumphant air.
+Captain Irons reproached her, with polite
+gallantry, for having deserted the croquet
+lawn after tea.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I went for a walk to Fillby&mdash;through
+Scarsmoor, you know."</p>
+
+<p>"Through Scarsmoor, Violet?" The Marchesa
+sounded rather startled again.</p>
+
+<p>"It's a public road, you know, Helena.
+Isn't it, Mr. Stillford?"</p>
+
+<p>Stillford admitted that it was. "All the
+same, perhaps the less we go there at the
+present moment&mdash;&mdash;"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Oh, but Lord Lynborough asked me to
+come again and to go wherever I liked&mdash;not
+to keep to the stupid road."</p>
+
+<p>Absolute silence reigned. Violet looked
+round with a smile which conveyed a general
+appeal for sympathy; there was, perhaps,
+special reference to Miss Gilletson as the
+guardian of propriety, and to the Marchesa
+as the owner of the disputed path.</p>
+
+<p>"You see, I took Nellie, and the dear always
+does run away. She ran after a rabbit.
+I ran after her, of course. The rabbit ran
+into a hole, and I ran into Lord Lynborough.
+Helena, he's charming!"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm thoroughly tired of Lord Lynborough,"
+said the Marchesa icily.</p>
+
+<p>"He must have known I was staying with
+you, I think; but he never so much as mentioned
+you. He just ignored you&mdash;the
+whole thing, I mean. Wasn't it tactful?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Tactful it might have been; it did not appear
+to gratify the Marchesa.</p>
+
+<p>"What a wonderful air there is about a&mdash;a
+<i>grand seigneio</i>!" pursued Violet reflectively.
+"Such a difference it makes!"</p>
+
+<p>That remark did not gratify any of the
+gentlemen present; it implied a contrast,
+although it might not definitely assert one.</p>
+
+<p>"It is such a pity that you've quarreled
+about that silly path!"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! oh! Miss Dufaure!"&mdash;"I say
+come, Miss Dufaure!"&mdash;"Er&mdash;really,
+Miss Dufaure!"&mdash;these three remonstrances
+may be distributed indifferently among
+the three men. They felt that there was a risk
+of treason in the camp.</p>
+
+<p>The Marchesa assumed her grandest manner;
+it was medieval&mdash;it was Titianesque.</p>
+
+<p>"Fortunately, as it seems, Violet, I do not
+rely on your help to maintain my fights in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span>
+regard to the path. Pray meet Lord Lynborough
+as often as you please, but spare me
+any unnecessary mention of his name."</p>
+
+<p>"I didn't mean any harm. It was all
+Nellie's fault."</p>
+
+<p>The Marchesa's reply&mdash;if such it can be
+called&mdash;was delivered <i>sotto voce</i>, yet was
+distinctly audible. It was also brief. She
+said "<i>Nellie</i>!" Nellie was, of course, Miss
+Dufaure's dog.</p>
+
+<p>Night fell upon an apparently peaceful
+land. Yet Violet was an absentee from the
+Marchesa's dressing-room that night, and
+even between Norah and her hostess the
+conversation showed a tendency to flag.
+Norah, for all her courage, dared not mention
+the name of Lynborough, and Helena
+most plainly would not. Yet what else was
+there to talk about? It had come to that
+point even so early in the war!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile, up at Scarsmoor Castle, Lynborough,
+in exceedingly high spirits, talked
+to Leonard Stabb.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, Cromlech," he said, "a pretty
+girl, a very pretty girl if you like that <i>petite</i>
+insinuating style. For myself I prefer something
+a shade more&mdash;what shall we call
+it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Don't care a hang," muttered Stabb.</p>
+
+<p>"A trifle more in the grand manner,
+perhaps, Cromlech. And she hadn't anything
+like the complexion. I knew at once that it
+couldn't be the Marchesa. Do you bathe to-morrow
+morning?"</p>
+
+<p>"And get my head broken?"</p>
+
+<p>"Just stand still, and let them throw
+themselves against you, Cromlech. Roger!&mdash;Oh,
+he's gone to bed; stupid thing to do&mdash;that!
+Cromlech, old chap, I'm enjoying
+myself immensely."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>He just touched his old friend's shoulder
+as he passed by: the caress was almost imperceptible.
+Stabb turned his broad red
+face round to him and laughed ponderously.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, and you understand!" cried Lynborough.</p>
+
+<p>"I have never myself objected to a bit of
+fun with the girls," said Stabb.</p>
+
+<p>Lynborough sank into a chair murmuring
+delightedly, "You're priceless, Cromlech!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="Chapter_Six" id="Chapter_Six"></a><i>Chapter Six</i></h2>
+
+<h3>EXERCISE BEFORE BREAKFAST</h3>
+
+
+<p>"Life&mdash;" (The extract is from Lynborough's
+diary, dated this same 14th of June)&mdash;"may
+be considered as a process (Cromlech's
+view, conducting to the tomb)&mdash;a
+program (as, I am persuaded, Roger conceives
+it, marking off each stage thereof
+with a duly guaranteed stamp of performance)&mdash;or
+as a progress&mdash;in which light
+I myself prefer to envisage it. Process&mdash;program&mdash;progress;
+the words, with my
+above-avowed preference, sound unimpeachably
+orthodox. Once I had a Bishop ancestor.
+He crops out.</p>
+
+<p>"Yet I don't mean what he does. I don't<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span>
+believe in growing better in the common
+sense&mdash;that is, in an increasing power to
+resist what tempts you, to refrain from doing
+what you want. That ideal seems to me,
+more and more, to start from the wrong end.
+No man refrains from doing what he wants
+to do. In the end the contradiction&mdash;the
+illogicality&mdash;is complete. You learn to
+want more wisely&mdash;that's all. Train desire,
+for you can never chain it.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm engaged here and now on what is
+to all appearance the most trivial of businesses.
+I play the spiteful boy&mdash;she is an
+obstinate peevish girl. There are other girls
+too&mdash;one an insinuating tiny minx, who
+would wheedle a backward glance out of
+Simon Stylites as he remounted his pillar&mdash;and,
+by the sun in heaven, will get little
+more from this child of Mother Earth!
+There's another, I hear&mdash;Irish!&mdash;And<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span>
+Irish is near my heart. But behind her&mdash;set
+in the uncertain radiance of my imagination&mdash;lies
+her Excellency. Heaven knows why!
+Save that it is gloriously paradoxical to meet
+a foreign Excellency in this spot, and to get
+to most justifiable, most delightful, loggerheads
+with her immediately. I have conceived
+Machiavellian devices. I will lure
+away her friends. I will isolate her, humiliate
+her, beat her in the fight. There may be
+some black eyes&mdash;some bruised hearts&mdash;but
+I shall do it. Why? I have always been
+gentle before. But so I feel toward her.
+And therefore I am afraid. This is the
+foeman for my steel, I think&mdash;I have
+my doubts but that she'll beat me in the
+end.</p>
+
+<p>"When I talk like this, Cromlech chuckles,
+loves me as a show, despises me as a mind.
+Roger&mdash;young Roger Fitz-Archdeacon<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span>&mdash;is
+all an incredulous amazement. I don't
+wonder. There is nothing so small and
+nothing so great&mdash;nothing so primitive
+and not a thing so complex&mdash;nothing so unimportant
+and so engrossing as this 'duel
+of the sexes.' A proves it a trifle, and is held
+great. B reckons it all-supreme, and becomes
+popular. C (a woman) describes the Hunter
+Man. D (a man) descants of the Pursuit by
+Woman. The oldest thing is the most canvassed
+and the least comprehended. But
+there's a reputation&mdash;and I suppose money&mdash;in
+it for anybody who can string phrases.
+There's blood-red excitement for everybody
+who can feel. Yet I've played my part
+in other affairs&mdash;not so much in dull old
+England, where you work five years to become
+a Member of Parliament, and five
+years more in order to get kicked out again&mdash;but
+in places where in a night you rise or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span>
+fall&mdash;in five minutes order the shooting-squad
+or face it&mdash;boil the cook or are stuffed
+into the pot yourself. (Cromlech, this is not
+exact scientific statement!) Yet always&mdash;everywhere&mdash;the
+woman! And why? On
+my honor, I don't know. What in the end
+is she?</p>
+
+<p>"I adjourn the question&mdash;and put a
+broader one. What am I? The human being
+as such? If I'm a vegetable, am I not a mistake?
+If I'm an animal, am I not a cruelty?
+If I'm a soul, am I not misplaced? I'd say
+'Yes' to all this, save that I enjoy myself so
+much. Because I have forty thousand a
+year? Hardly. I've had nothing, and been as
+completely out of reach of getting anything
+as the veriest pauper that ever existed&mdash;and
+yet I've had the deuce of a fine existence
+the while. I think there's only one solid
+blunder been made about man&mdash;he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span>
+oughtn't to have been able to think. It wastes
+time. It makes many people unhappy. That's
+not my case. I like it. It just wastes time.</p>
+
+<p>"That insinuating minx, possessed of a
+convenient dog and an ingratiating manner,
+insinuated to-day that I was handsome.
+Well, she's pretty, and I suppose we're both
+better off for it. It is an introduction. But
+to myself I don't seem very handsome. I
+have my pride&mdash;I look a gentleman. But
+I look a queer foreign fish. I found myself
+envying the British robustness of that fine
+young chap who is so misguided as to be a
+lawyer.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, why do I object to lawyers? Tolstoi!&mdash;I
+used to say&mdash;or, at the risk of
+advanced intellects not recognizing one's
+allusions, one could go further back. But
+that is, in the end, all gammon. Every real
+conviction springs from personal experience.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span>
+I hate the law because it interfered with me.
+I'm not aware of any better reason. So I'm
+going on without it&mdash;unless somebody tries
+to steal my forty thousand, of course. Ambrose,
+thou art a humbug&mdash;or, more precisely,
+thou canst not avoid being a human
+individual!"</p>
+
+<p>Lord Lynborough completed the entry
+in his diary&mdash;he was tolerably well aware
+that he might just as well not have written
+it&mdash;and cast his eyes toward the window
+of the library. The stars were bright; a
+crescent moon decorated, without illuminating,
+the sky. The regular recurrent beat of
+the sea on the shore, traversing the interval
+in night's silence, struck on his ear. "If
+God knew Time, that might be His clock,"
+said he. "Listen to its inexorable, peaceable,
+gentle, formidable stroke!"</p>
+
+<p>His sleep that night was short and broken.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span>
+A fitful excitement was on his spirit: the
+glory of the summer morning wooed his
+restlessness. He would take his swim alone,
+and early. At six o'clock he slipped out of
+the house and made for Beach Path. The
+fortified gate was too strong for his unaided
+efforts. Roger Wilbraham had told him
+that, if the way were impeded, he had a
+right to "deviate." He deviated now, lightly
+vaulting over the four-foot-high stone wall.
+None was there to hinder him, and, with
+emotions appropriate to the occasion, he
+passed Nab Grange and gained the beach.
+When once he was in the water, the emotions
+went away.</p>
+
+<p>They were to return&mdash;or, at any rate, to
+be succeeded by their brethren. After he had
+dressed, he sat down and smoked a cigarette
+as he regarded the smiling sea. This situation
+was so agreeable that he prolonged it for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span>
+full half-an-hour; then a sudden longing for
+Coltson's coffee came over him. He jumped
+up briskly and made for the Grange gate.</p>
+
+<p>He had left it open&mdash;it was shut now.
+None had been nigh when he passed through.
+Now a young woman in a white frock leant
+her elbows comfortably on its top rail and
+rested her pretty chin upon her hands.
+Lady Norah's blue eyes looked at him
+serenely from beneath black lashes of
+noticeable length&mdash;at any rate Lynborough
+noticed their length.</p>
+
+<p>Lynborough walked up to the gate. With
+one hand he removed his hat, with the other
+he laid a tentative hand on the latch. Norah
+did not move or even smile.</p>
+
+<p>"I beg your pardon, madam," said Lynborough,
+"but if it does not incommode you,
+would you have the great kindness to permit
+me to open the gate?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I'm sorry; but this is a private path
+leading to Nab Grange. I suppose you're a
+stranger in these parts?"</p>
+
+<p>"My name is Lynborough. I live at Scarsmoor
+there."</p>
+
+<p>"Are you Lord Lynborough?" Norah
+sounded exceedingly interested. "<i>The</i> Lord
+Lynborough?"</p>
+
+<p>"There's only one, so far as I'm aware,"
+the owner of the title answered.</p>
+
+<p>"I mean the one who has done all those&mdash;those&mdash;well,
+those funny things?"</p>
+
+<p>"I rejoice if the recital of them has caused
+you any amusement. And now, if you will
+permit me&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, but I can't! Helena would never
+forgive me. I'm a friend of hers, you know&mdash;of
+the Marchesa di San Servolo. Really
+you can't come through here."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you think you can stop me?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"There isn't room for you to get over as
+long as I stand here&mdash;and the wall's too
+high to climb, isn't it?"</p>
+
+<p>Lynborough studied the wall; it was twice
+the height of the wall on the other side; it
+might be possible to scale, but difficult and
+laborious; nor would he look imposing while
+struggling at the feat.</p>
+
+<p>"You'll have to go round by the road,"
+remarked Norah, breaking into a smile.</p>
+
+<p>Lynborough was enjoying the conversation
+just as much as she was&mdash;but he wanted
+two things; one was victory, the other
+coffee.</p>
+
+<p>"Can't I persuade you to move?" he said
+imploringly. "I really don't want to have to
+resort to more startling measures."</p>
+
+<p>"You surely wouldn't use force against
+a girl, Lord Lynborough!"</p>
+
+<p>"I said startling measures&mdash;not violent<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span>
+ones," he reminded her. "Are your nerves
+good?"</p>
+
+<p>"Excellent, thank you."</p>
+
+<p>"You mean to stand where you are?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes&mdash;till you've gone away." Now she
+laughed openly at him. Lynborough delighted
+in the merry sound and the flash of
+her white teeth.</p>
+
+<p>"It's a splendid morning, isn't it?" he
+asked. "I should think you stand about five
+feet five, don't you? By the way, whom have
+I the pleasure of conversing with?"</p>
+
+<p>"My name is Norah Mountliffey."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, I knew your father very well." He
+drew back a few steps. "So you must excuse
+an old family friend for telling you that you
+make a charming picture at that gate. If I
+had a camera&mdash;Just as you are, please!"
+He held up his hand, as though to pose her.</p>
+
+<p>"Am I quite right?" she asked, humoring<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span>
+the joke, with her merry mischievous eyes
+set on Lynborough's face as she leaned over
+the top of the gate.</p>
+
+<p>"Quite right. Now, please! Don't move!"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I've no intention of moving,"
+laughed Norah mockingly.</p>
+
+<p>She kept her word; perhaps she was too
+surprised to do anything else. For Lynborough,
+clapping his hat on firmly, with a dart
+and a spring flew over her head.</p>
+
+<p>Then she wheeled round&mdash;to see him
+standing two yards from her, his hat in his
+hand again, bowing apologetically.</p>
+
+<p>"Forgive me for getting between you and
+the sunshine for a moment," he said. "But
+I thought I could still do five feet five; and
+you weren't standing upright either. I've
+done within an inch of six feet, you know.
+And now I'm afraid I must reluctantly ask
+you to excuse me. I thank you for the plea<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span>sure
+of this conversation." He bowed, put on
+his hat, turned, and began to walk away
+along Beach Path.</p>
+
+<p>"You got the better of me that time, but
+you've not done with me yet," she cried,
+starting after him.</p>
+
+<p>He turned and looked over his shoulder:
+save for his eyes his face was quite grave.
+He quickened his pace to a very rapid walk.
+Norah found that she must run, or fall
+behind. She began to run. Again that gravely
+derisory face turned upon her. She blushed,
+and fell suddenly to wondering whether in
+running she looked absurd. She fell to a
+walk. Lynborough seemed to know. Without
+looking round again, he abated his pace.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I can't catch you if you won't
+stop!" she cried.</p>
+
+<p>"My friend and secretary, Roger Wilbraham,
+tells me that I have no right to stop,"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span>
+Lynborough explained, looking round again,
+but not standing still. "I have only the right
+to pass and repass. I'm repassing now. He's
+a barrister, and he says that's the law. I
+daresay it is&mdash;but I regret that it prevents
+me from obliging you, Lady Norah."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I'm not going to make a fool of
+myself by running after you," said Norah
+crossly.</p>
+
+<p>Lynborough walked slowly on; Norah
+followed; they reached the turn of the path
+towards the Grange hall door. They reached
+it&mdash;and passed it&mdash;both of them. Lynborough
+turned once more&mdash;with a surprised
+lift of his brows.</p>
+
+<p>"At least I can see you safe off the premises!"
+laughed Norah, and with a quick
+dart forward she reduced the distance between
+them to half-a-yard. Lynborough
+seemed to have no objection; proximity<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span>
+made conversation easier; he moved slowly
+on.</p>
+
+<p>Norah seemed defeated&mdash;but suddenly
+she saw her chance, and hailed it with a cry.
+The Marchesa's bailiff&mdash;John Goodenough&mdash;was
+approaching the path from the house
+situated at the southwest corner of the
+meadow. Her cry of his name caught his
+attention&mdash;as well as Lynborough's. The
+latter walked a little quicker. John Goodenough
+hurried up. Lynborough walked
+steadily on.</p>
+
+<p>"Stop him, John!" cried Norah, her eyes
+sparkling with new excitement. "You know
+her Excellency's orders? This is Lord Lynborough!"</p>
+
+<p>"His lordship! Aye, it is. I beg your pardon,
+my lord, but&mdash;I'm very sorry to interfere
+with your lordship, but&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"You're in my way, Goodenough." For<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span>
+John had got across his path, and barred
+progress. "Of course I must stand still if
+you impede my steps, but I do it under
+protest. I only want to repass."</p>
+
+<p>"You can't come this way, my lord. I'm
+sorry, but it's her Excellency's strict orders.
+You must go back, my lord."</p>
+
+<p>"I am going back&mdash;or I was till you
+stopped me."</p>
+
+<p>"Back to where you came from, my lord."</p>
+
+<p>"I came from Scarsmoor and I'm going
+back there, Goodenough."</p>
+
+<p>"Where you came from last, my lord."</p>
+
+<p>"No, no, Goodenough. At all events, her
+Excellency has no right to drive me into the
+sea." Lynborough's tone was plaintively
+expostulatory.</p>
+
+<p>"Then if you won't go back, my lord,
+here we stay!" said John, bewildered but
+faithfully obstinate.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Just your tactics!" Lynborough observed
+to Norah, a keen spectator of the scene. "But
+I'm not so patient of them from Goodenough."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know that you were very patient
+with me."</p>
+
+<p>"Goodenough, if you use sufficient force
+I shall, of course, be prevented from continuing
+on my way. Nothing short of that,
+however, will stop me. And pray take care
+that the force is sufficient&mdash;neither more
+nor less than sufficient, Goodenough."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't want to use no violence to your
+lordship. Well now, if I lay my hand on
+your lordship's shoulder, will that do to
+satisfy your lordship?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know until you try it."</p>
+
+<p>John's face brightened. "I reckon that's
+the way out. I reckon that's law, my lord.
+I puts my hand on your lordship's shoulder
+like that&mdash;&mdash;"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>He suited the action to the word. In an
+instant Lynborough's long lithe arms were
+round him, Lynborough's supple lean leg
+twisted about his. Gently, as though he had
+been a little baby, Lynborough laid the
+sturdy fellow on the grass.</p>
+
+<p>For all she could do, Norah Mountliffey
+cried "Bravo!" and clapped her hands.
+Goodenough sat up, scratched his head, and
+laughed feebly.</p>
+
+<p>"Force not quite sufficient, Goodenough,"
+cried Lynborough gaily. "Now I repass!"</p>
+
+<p>He lifted his hat to Norah, then waved
+his hand. In her open impulsive way she
+kissed hers back to him as he turned away.</p>
+
+<p>By one of those accidents peculiar to
+tragedy, the Marchesa's maid, performing
+her toilet at an upper window, saw this
+nefarious and traitorous deed!</p>
+
+<p>"Swimming&mdash;jumping&mdash;wrestling! A<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span>
+good morning's exercise! And all before
+those lazy chaps, Roger and Cromlech, are
+out of bed!"</p>
+
+<p>So saying, Lord Lynborough vaulted the
+wall again in high good humor.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="Chapter_Seven" id="Chapter_Seven"></a><i>Chapter Seven</i></h2>
+
+<h3>ANOTHER WEDGE!</h3>
+
+
+<p>Deprived of their leader's inspiration, the
+other two representatives of Scarsmoor did
+not brave the Passage Perilous to the sea
+that morning. Lynborough was well content
+to forego further aggression for the moment.
+His words declared his satisfaction&mdash;&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"I have driven a wedge&mdash;another wedge&mdash;into
+the Marchesa's phalanx. Yes, I
+think I may say a second wedge. Disaffection
+has made its entry into Nab Grange, Cromlech.
+The process of isolation has begun.
+Perhaps after lunch we will resume operations."</p>
+
+<p>But fortune was to give him an opportun<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span>ity
+even before lunch. It appeared that
+Stabb had sniffed out the existence of two
+old brasses in Fillby Church; he was determined
+to inspect them at the earliest possible
+moment. Lynborough courteously offered
+to accompany him, and they set out
+together about eleven o'clock.</p>
+
+<p>No incident marked their way. Lynborough
+rang up the parish clerk at his
+house, presented Stabb to that important
+functionary, and bespoke for him every consideration.
+Then he leaned against the outside
+of the churchyard wall, peacefully
+smoking a cigarette.</p>
+
+<p>On the opposite side of the village street
+stood the Lynborough Arms. The inn was
+kept by a very superior man, who had retired
+to this comparative leisure after some years
+of service as butler with Lynborough's
+father. This excellent person, perceiving<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span>
+Lynborough, crossed the road and invited
+him to partake of a glass of ale in memory
+of old days. Readily acquiescing, Lynborough
+crossed the road, sat down with the
+landlord on a bench by the porch, and began
+to discuss local affairs over the beer.</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose you haven't kept up your
+cricket since you've been in foreign parts,
+my lord?" asked Dawson, the landlord,
+after some conversation which need not
+occupy this narrative. "We're playing a
+team from Easthorpe to-morrow, and we're
+very short."</p>
+
+<p>"Haven't played for nearly fifteen years,
+Dawson. But I tell you what&mdash;I daresay
+my friend Mr. Wilbraham will play. Mr.
+Stabb's no use."</p>
+
+<p>"Every one helps," said Dawson. "We've
+got two of the gentlemen from the Grange&mdash;Mr.
+Stillford, a good bat, and Captain<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span>
+Irons, who can bowl a bit&mdash;or so John
+Goodenough tells me."</p>
+
+<p>Lynborough's eyes had grown alert. "Well,
+I used to bowl a bit, too. If you're really
+hard up for a man, Dawson&mdash;really at a
+loss, you know&mdash;I'll play. It'll be better
+than going into the field short, won't it?"</p>
+
+<p>Dawson was profuse in his thanks. Lynborough
+listened patiently.</p>
+
+<p>"I tell you what I should like to do,
+Dawson," he said. "I should like to stand
+the lunch."</p>
+
+<p>It was the turn of Dawson's eyes to grow
+alert. They did. Dawson supplied the lunch.
+The club's finances were slender, and its
+ideas correspondingly modest. But if Lord
+Lynborough "stood" the lunch&mdash;&mdash;!</p>
+
+<p>"And to do it really well," added that
+nobleman. "A sort of little feast to celebrate
+my homecoming. The two teams<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span>&mdash;and
+perhaps a dozen places for friends&mdash;ladies,
+the Vicar, and so on, eh, Dawson?
+Do you see the idea?"</p>
+
+<p>Dawson saw the idea much more clearly
+than he saw most ideas. Almost corporeally
+he beheld the groaning board.</p>
+
+<p>"On such an occasion, Dawson, we
+shouldn't quarrel about figures."</p>
+
+<p>"Your lordship's always most liberal,"
+Dawson acknowledged in tones which showed
+some trace of emotion.</p>
+
+<p>"Put the matter in hand at once. But
+look here, I don't want it talked about.
+Just tell the secretary of the club&mdash;that's
+enough. Keep the tent empty till the moment
+comes. Then display your triumph!
+It'll be a pleasant little surprise for everybody,
+won't it?"</p>
+
+<p>Dawson thought it would; at any rate
+it was one for him.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>At this instant an elderly lady of demure
+appearance was observed, to walk up to the
+lych-gate and enter the churchyard. Lynborough
+inquired of his companion who
+she was.</p>
+
+<p>"That's Miss Gilletson from the Grange,
+my lord&mdash;the Marchesa's companion."</p>
+
+<p>"Is it?" said Lynborough softly. "Oh,
+is it indeed?" He rose from his seat. "Good-by,
+Dawson. Mind&mdash;a dead secret, and
+a rattling good lunch!"</p>
+
+<p>"I'll attend to it, my lord," Dawson assured
+him with the utmost cheerfulness.
+Never had Dawson invested a glass of beer
+to better profit!</p>
+
+<p>Lynborough threw away his cigar and
+entered the sacred precincts. His brain
+was very busy. "Another wedge!" he was
+saying to himself. "Another wedge!"</p>
+
+<p>The lady had gone into the church.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span>
+Lynborough went in too. He came first on
+Stabb&mdash;on his hands and knees, examining
+one of the old brasses and making copious
+notes in a pocket-book.</p>
+
+<p>"Have you seen a lady come in, Cromlech?"
+asked Lord Lynborough.</p>
+
+<p>"No, I haven't," said Cromlech, now
+producing a yard measure and proceeding
+to ascertain the dimensions of the brass.</p>
+
+<p>"You wouldn't, if it were Venus herself,"
+replied Lynborough pleasantly. "Well, I
+must look for her on my own account."</p>
+
+<p>He found her in the neighborhood of his
+family monuments which, with his family
+pew, crowded the little chancel of the church.
+She was not employed in devotions, but was
+arranging some flowers in a vase&mdash;doubtless
+a pious offering. Somewhat at a loss
+how to open the conversation, Lynborough
+dropped his hat&mdash;or rather gave it a dex<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span>terous
+jerk, so that it fell at the lady's feet.
+Miss Gilletson started violently, and Lord
+Lynborough humbly apologized. Thence
+he glided into conversation, first about the
+flowers, then about the tombs. On the latter
+subject he was exceedingly interesting and
+informing.</p>
+
+<p>"Dear, dear! Married the Duke of Dexminster's
+daughter, did he?" said Miss
+Gilletson, considerably thrilled. "She's not
+buried here, is she?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, she's not," said Lynborough, suppressing
+the fact that the lady had run away
+after six months of married life. "And my
+own father's not buried here, either; he
+chose my mother's family place in Devonshire.
+I thought it rather a pity."</p>
+
+<p>"Your own father?" Miss Gilletson
+gasped.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I forgot you didn't know me," he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span>
+said, laughing. "I'm Lord Lynborough, you
+know. That's how I come to be so well up in
+all this. And I tell you what&mdash;I should like
+to show you some of our Scarsmoor roses
+on your way home."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, but if you're Lord Lynborough, I&mdash;I
+really couldn't&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Who's to know anything about it, unless
+you choose, Miss Gilletson?" he asked
+with his ingratiating smile and his merry
+twinkle. "There's nothing so pleasant as a
+secret shared with a lady!"</p>
+
+<p>It was a long time since a handsome man
+had shared a secret with Miss Gilletson.
+Who knows, indeed, whether such a thing
+had ever happened? Or whether Miss
+Gilletson had once just dreamed that some
+day it might&mdash;and had gone on dreaming
+for long, long days, till even the dream had
+slowly and sadly faded away? For some<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span>times
+it does happen like that. Lynborough
+meant nothing&mdash;but no possible effort
+(supposing he made it) could enable him to
+look as if he meant nothing. One thing at
+least he did mean&mdash;to make himself very
+pleasant to Miss Gilletson.</p>
+
+<p>Interested knave! It is impossible to avoid
+that reflection. Yet let ladies in their turn
+ask themselves if they are over-scrupulous
+in their treatment of one man when their
+affections are set upon another.</p>
+
+<p>He showed Miss Gilletson all the family
+tombs. He escorted her from the church.
+Under renewed vows of secrecy he induced
+her to enter Scarsmoor. Once in the gardens,
+the good lady was lost. They had no such
+roses at Nab Grange! Lynborough insisted
+on sending an enormous bouquet to the
+Vicar's wife in Miss Gilletson's name&mdash;and
+Miss Gilletson grew merry as she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span>
+pictured the mystification of the Vicar's wife.
+For Miss Gilletson herself he superintended
+the selection of a nosegay of the choicest
+blooms; they laughed again together when
+she hid them in a large bag she carried&mdash;destined
+for the tea and tobacco which
+represented her little charities. Then&mdash;after
+pausing for one private word in his
+gardener's ear, which caused a boy to be
+sent off post-haste to the stables&mdash;he led
+her to the road, and in vain implored her
+to honor his house by setting foot in it.
+There the fear of the Marchesa or (it is
+pleasanter to think) some revival of the
+sense of youth, bred by Lynborough's deferential
+courtliness, prevailed. They came
+together through his lodge gates; and Miss
+Gilletson's face suddenly fell.</p>
+
+<p>"That wretched gate!" she cried. "It's
+locked&mdash;and I haven't got the key."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"No more have I, I'm sorry to say,"
+said Lynborough. He, on his part, had
+forgotten nothing.</p>
+
+<p>"It's nearly two miles round by the road&mdash;and
+so hot and dusty!&mdash;Really Helena
+does cut off her nose to spite her face!"
+Though, in truth, it appeared rather to be
+Miss Gilletson's nose the Marchesa had cut
+off.</p>
+
+<p>A commiserating gravity sat on Lord
+Lynborough's attentive countenance.</p>
+
+<p>"If I were younger, I'd climb that wall,"
+declared Miss Gilletson. "As it is&mdash;well,
+but for your lovely flowers, I'd better have
+gone the other way after all."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't want you to feel that," said he,
+almost tenderly.</p>
+
+<p>"I must walk!"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh no, you needn't," said Lynborough.</p>
+
+<p>As he spoke, there issued from the gates<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span>
+behind them a luxurious victoria, drawn by
+two admirable horses. It came to a stand by
+Lynborough, the coachman touching his
+hat, the footman leaping to the ground.</p>
+
+<p>"Just take Miss Gilletson to the Grange,
+Williams. Stop a little way short of the
+house. She wants to walk through the
+garden."</p>
+
+<p>"Very good, my lord."</p>
+
+<p>"Put up the hood, Charles. The sun's
+very hot for Miss Gilletson."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, my lord."</p>
+
+<p>"Nobody'll see you if you get out a hundred
+yards from the door&mdash;and it's really
+better than tramping the road on a day
+like this. Of course, if Beach Path were
+open&mdash;!" He shrugged his shoulders ever
+so slightly.</p>
+
+<p>Fear of the Marchesa struggled in Miss
+Gilletson's heart with the horror of the hot<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span>
+and tiring walk&mdash;with the seduction of the
+shady, softly rolling, speedy carriage.</p>
+
+<p>"If I met Helena!" she whispered; and
+the whisper was an admission of reciprocal
+confidence.</p>
+
+<p>"It's the chance of that against the certainty
+of the tramp!"</p>
+
+<p>"She didn't come down to breakfast this
+morning&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, didn't she?" Lynborough made a
+note for his Intelligence Department.</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps she isn't up yet! I&mdash;I think
+I'll take the risk."</p>
+
+<p>Lynborough assisted her into the carriage.</p>
+
+<p>"I hope we shall meet again," he said,
+with no small <i>empressement</i>.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm afraid not," answered Miss Gilletson
+dolefully. "You see, Helena&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, yes; but ladies have their moods.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span>
+Anyhow you won't think too hardly of me,
+will you? I'm not altogether an ogre."</p>
+
+<p>There was a pretty faint blush on Miss
+Gilletson's cheek as she gave him her hand.
+"An ogre! No, dear Lord Lynborough,"
+she murmured.</p>
+
+<p>"A wedge!" said Lynborough, as he
+watched her drive away.</p>
+
+<p>He was triumphant with what he had
+achieved&mdash;he was full of hope for what
+he had planned. If he reckoned right, the
+loyalty of the ladies at Nab Grange to the
+mistress thereof was tottering, if it had not
+fallen. His relations with the men awaited
+the result of the cricket match. Yet neither
+his triumph nor his hope could in the nature
+of the case exist without an intermixture
+of remorse. He hurt&mdash;or tried to hurt&mdash;what
+he would please&mdash;and hoped to please.
+His mood was mixed, and his smile not al<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span>together
+mirthful as he stood looking at the
+fast-receding carriage.</p>
+
+<p>Then suddenly, for the first time, he saw
+his enemy. Distantly&mdash;afar off! Yet without
+a doubt it was she. As he turned and cast
+his eyes over the forbidden path&mdash;the path
+whose seclusion he had violated, bold in his
+right&mdash;a white figure came to the sunk
+fence and stood there, looking not toward
+where he stood, but up to his castle on the
+hill. Lynborough edged near to the barricaded
+gate&mdash;a new padlock and new
+<i>chevaux-de-frise</i> of prickly branches guarded
+it. The latter, high as his head, screened him
+completely; he peered through the interstices
+in absolute security.</p>
+
+<p>The white figure stood on the little bridge
+which led over the sunk fence into the meadow.
+He could see neither feature nor color;
+only the slender shape caught and chained<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span>
+his eye. Tall she was, and slender, as his
+mocking forecast had prophesied. More than
+that he could not see.</p>
+
+<p>Well, he did see one more thing. This
+beautiful shape, after a few minutes of what
+must be presumed to be meditation, raised
+its arm and shook its fist with decision at
+Scarsmoor Castle; then it turned and walked
+straight back to the Grange.</p>
+
+<p>There was no sort of possibility of mistaking
+the nature or the meaning of the gesture.</p>
+
+<p>It had the result of stifling Lynborough's
+softer mood, of reviving his pugnacity.
+"She must do more than that, if she's to
+win!" said he.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="Chapter_Eight" id="Chapter_Eight"></a><i>Chapter Eight</i></h2>
+
+<h3>THE MARCHESA MOVES</h3>
+
+
+<p>After her demonstration against Scarsmoor
+Castle, the Marchesa went in to lunch. But
+there were objects of her wrath nearer home
+also. She received Norah's salute&mdash;they
+had not met before, that morning&mdash;with
+icy coldness.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm better, thank you," she said, "but
+you must be feeling tired&mdash;having been up so
+very early in the morning! And you&mdash;Violet&mdash;have
+you been over to Scarsmoor again?"</p>
+
+<p>Violet had heard from Norah all about the
+latter's morning adventure. They exchanged
+uneasy glances. Yet they were prepared to
+back one another up. The men looked more<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span>
+frightened; men are frightened when women
+quarrel.</p>
+
+<p>"One of you," continued the Marchesa
+accusingly, "pursues Lord Lynborough to
+his own threshold&mdash;the other flirts with
+him in my own meadow! Rather peculiar
+signs of friendship for me under the present
+circumstances&mdash;don't you think so, Colonel
+Wenman?"</p>
+
+<p>The Colonel thought so&mdash;though he
+would have greatly preferred to be at liberty
+to entertain&mdash;or at least to express&mdash;no
+opinion on so thorny a point.</p>
+
+<p>"Flirt with him? What do you mean?"
+But Norah's protest lacked the ring of honest
+indignation.</p>
+
+<p>"Kissing one's hand to a mere stranger&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"How do you know that? You were in
+bed."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Carlotta saw you from her window.
+You don't deny it?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, I don't," said Norah, perceiving
+the uselessness of such a course. "In fact, I
+glory in it. I had a splendid time with Lord
+Lynborough. Oh, I did try to keep him out
+for you&mdash;but he jumped over my head."</p>
+
+<p>Sensation among the gentlemen! Increased
+scorn on the Marchesa's face!</p>
+
+<p>"And when I got John Goodenough to
+help me, he just laid John down on the grass
+as&mdash;as I lay that spoon on the table! He's
+splendid, Helena!"</p>
+
+<p>"He seems a good sort of chap," said
+Irons thoughtfully.</p>
+
+<p>The Marchesa looked at Wenman.</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing to be said for the fellow, nothing
+at all," declared the Colonel hastily.</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you, Colonel Wenman. I'm glad
+I have one friend left anyhow. Oh, besides<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span>
+you, Mr. Stillford, of course. Oh, and you,
+dear old Jennie, of course. You wouldn't
+forsake me, would you?"</p>
+
+<p>The tone of affection was calculated to
+gratify Miss Gilletson. But against it had
+to be set the curious and amused gaze of
+Norah and Violet. Seen by these two ladies
+in the act of descending from a stylish (and
+coroneted) victoria in the drive of Nab
+Grange, Miss Gilletson had, pardonably
+perhaps, broken down rather severely in
+cross-examination. She had been so very
+proud of the roses&mdash;so very full of Lord
+Lynborough's graces! She was conscious
+now that the pair held her in their hands
+and were demanding courage from her.</p>
+
+<p>"Forsake you, dearest Helena? Of course
+not! There's no question of that with any
+of us."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes&mdash;there is&mdash;with those of you who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span>
+make friends with that wretch at Scarsmoor!"</p>
+
+<p>"Really, Helena, you shouldn't be so&mdash;so
+vehement. I'm not sure it's ladylike. It's
+absurd to call Lord Lynborough a wretch."
+The pale faint flush again adorned her fading
+cheeks. "I never met a man more thoroughly
+a gentleman."</p>
+
+<p>"You never met&mdash;" began the Marchesa
+in petrified tones. "Then you have met&mdash;?"
+Again her words died away.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Gilletson took her courage in both
+hands.</p>
+
+<p>"Circumstances threw us together. I
+behaved as a lady does under such circumstances,
+Helena. And Lord Lynborough was,
+under the circumstances, most charming,
+courteous, and considerate." She gathered
+more courage as she proceeded. "And really
+it's highly inconvenient having that gate<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span>
+locked, Helena. I had to come all the way
+round by the road."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm sorry if you find yourself fatigued,"
+said the Marchesa with formal civility.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm not fatigued, thank you, Helena. I
+should have been terribly&mdash;but for Lord
+Lynborough's kindness in sending me home
+in his carriage."</p>
+
+<p>A pause followed. Then Norah and Violet
+began to giggle.</p>
+
+<p>"It was so funny this morning!" said
+Norah&mdash;and boldly launched on a full
+story of her adventure. She held the attention
+of the table. The Marchesa sat in
+gloomy silence. Violet chimed in with more
+reminiscences of her visit to Scarsmoor;
+Miss Gilletson contributed new items, including
+that matter of the roses. Norah
+ended triumphantly with a eulogy on Lynborough's
+extraordinary physical powers.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span>
+Captain Irons listened with concealed interest.
+Even Colonel Wenman ventured to
+opine that the enemy was worth fighting.
+Stillford imitated his hostess's silence, but
+he was watching her closely. Would her
+courage&mdash;or her obstinacy&mdash;break down
+under these assaults, this lukewarmness,
+these desertions? In his heart, fearful of
+that lawsuit, he hoped so.</p>
+
+<p>"I shall prosecute him for assaulting
+Goodenough," the Marchesa announced.</p>
+
+<p>"Goodenough touched him first!" cried
+Norah.</p>
+
+<p>"That doesn't matter, since I'm in the
+right. He had no business to be there. That's
+the law, isn't it, Mr. Stillford? Will he be
+sent to prison or only heavily fined?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well&mdash;er&mdash;I'm rather afraid&mdash;neither,
+Marchesa. You see, he'll plead his
+right, and the Bench would refer us to our<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span>
+civil remedy and dismiss the summons. At
+least that's my opinion."</p>
+
+<p>"Of course that's right," pronounced
+Norah in an authoritative tone.</p>
+
+<p>"If that's the English law," observed
+the Marchesa, rising from the table, "I
+greatly regret that I ever settled in England."</p>
+
+<p>"What are you going to do this afternoon,
+Helena? Going to play tennis&mdash;or croquet?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm going for a walk, thank you, Violet."
+She paused for a moment and then added,
+"By myself."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, mayn't I have the privilege&mdash;?"
+began the Colonel.</p>
+
+<p>"Not to-day, thank you, Colonel Wenman.
+I&mdash;I have a great deal to think about. We
+shall meet again at tea&mdash;unless you're
+all going to tea at Scarsmoor Castle!" With
+this Parthian shot she left them.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>She had indeed much to think of&mdash;and
+her reflections were not cast in a cheerful
+mold. She had underrated her enemy. It
+had seemed sufficient to lock the gate and
+to forbid Lynborough's entry. These easy
+measures had appeared to leave him no
+resource save blank violence: in that confidence
+she had sat still and done nothing.
+He had been at work&mdash;not by blank violence,
+but by cunning devices and subtle
+machinations. He had made a base use of
+his personal fascinations, of his athletic
+gifts, even of his lordly domain, his garden
+of roses, and his carriage. She perceived his
+strategy; she saw now how he had driven
+in his wedges. Her ladies had already gone
+over to his side; even her men were shaken.
+Stillford had always been lukewarm; Irons
+was fluttering round Lynborough's flame;
+Wenman might still be hers&mdash;but an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span>
+isolation mitigated only by Colonel Wenman
+seemed an isolation not mitigated in the
+least. When she had looked forward to a
+fight, it had not been to such a fight as this.
+An enthusiastic, hilarious, united Nab
+Grange was to have hurled laughing defiance
+at Scarsmoor Castle. Now more than
+half Nab Grange laughed&mdash;but its laughter
+was not at the Castle; its laughter, its pitying
+amusement, was directed at her; Lynborough's
+triumphant campaign drew all admiration.
+He had told Stillford that he would
+harry her; he was harrying her to his heart's
+content&mdash;and to a very soreness in hers.</p>
+
+<p>For the path&mdash;hateful Beach Path which
+her feet at this moment trod&mdash;became now
+no more than an occasion for battle, a symbol
+of strife. The greater issue stood out. It
+was that this man had peremptorily challenged
+her to a fight&mdash;and was beating her!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span>
+And he won his victory, not by male violence
+in spite of male stupidity, but by just the
+arts and the cunning which should have
+been her own weapons. To her he left the
+blunt, the inept, the stupid and violent
+methods. He chose the more refined, and
+wielded them like a master. It was a position
+to which the Marchesa's experience had not
+accustomed her&mdash;one to which her spirit
+was by no means attuned.</p>
+
+<p>What was his end&mdash;that end whose approach
+seemed even now clearly indicated?
+It was to convict her at once of cowardice
+and of pig-headedness, to exhibit her as
+afraid to bring him to book by law, and yet
+too churlish to cede him his rights. He would
+get all her friends to think that about her.
+Then she would be left alone&mdash;to fight a
+lost battle all alone.</p>
+
+<p>Was he right in his charge? Did it truly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span>
+describe her conduct? For any truth there
+might be in it, she declared that he was
+himself to blame. He had forced the fight on
+her by his audacious demand for instant
+surrender; he had given her no fair time
+for consideration, no opportunity for a dignified
+retreat. He had offered her no choice
+save between ignominy and defiance. If she
+chose defiance, his rather than hers was the
+blame.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly&mdash;across these dismal broodings&mdash;there
+shot a new idea. <i>Fas est et
+ab hoste doceri</i>; she did not put it in Latin,
+but it came to the same thing&mdash;Couldn't
+she pay Lynborough back in his own coin?
+She had her resources&mdash;perhaps she had
+been letting them lie idle! Lord Lynborough
+did not live alone at Scarsmoor. If there were
+women open to his wiles at the Grange,
+were there no men open to hers at Scars<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span>moor?
+The idea was illuminating; she accorded
+it place in her thoughts.</p>
+
+<p>She was just by the gate. She took out her
+key, opened the padlock, closed the gate
+behind her, but did not lock it, walked on
+to the road, and surveyed the territory of
+Scarsmoor.</p>
+
+<p>Fate helps those who help themselves:
+her new courage of brain and heart had its
+reward. She had not been there above a
+minute when Roger Wilbraham came out
+from the Scarsmoor gates.</p>
+
+<p>Lynborough had, he considered, done
+enough for one day. He was awaiting the
+results of to-morrow's manoeuvers anent
+the cricket match. But he amused himself
+after lunch by proffering to Roger a wager
+that he would not succeed in traversing
+Beach Path from end to end, and back again,
+alone, by his own unassisted efforts, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span>
+without being driven to ignominious flight.
+Without a moment's hesitation Roger accepted.
+"I shall just wait till the coast's
+clear," he said.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, but they'll see you from the windows!
+They will be on the lookout," Lynborough
+retorted.</p>
+
+<p>The Marchesa had strolled a little way
+down the road. She was walking back toward
+the gate when Roger first came in
+sight. He did not see her until after he had
+reached the gate. There he stood a moment,
+considering at what point to attack it&mdash;for
+the barricade was formidable. He came to the
+same conclusion as Lynborough had reached
+earlier in the day. "Oh, I'll jump the wall,"
+he said.</p>
+
+<p>"The gate isn't locked," remarked a
+charming voice just behind him.</p>
+
+<p>He turned round with a start and saw<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span>&mdash;he
+had no doubt whom she was. The Marchesa's
+tall slender figure stood before him&mdash;all
+in white, crowned by a large, yet simple,
+white hat; her pale olive cheeks were tinged
+with underlying red (the flush of which
+Lynborough had dreamed!); her dark eyes
+rested on the young man with a kindly
+languid interest; her very red lips showed
+no smile, yet seemed to have one in ready
+ambush. Roger was overcome; he blushed
+and stood silent before the vision.</p>
+
+<p>"I expect you're going to bathe? Of course
+this is the shortest way, and I shall be so
+glad if you'll use it. I'm going to the Grange
+myself, so I can put you on your way."</p>
+
+<p>Roger was honest. "I&mdash;I'm staying at
+the Castle."</p>
+
+<p>"I'll tell somebody to be on the lookout
+and open the gate for you when you come
+back," said she.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>If Norah was no match for Lynborough,
+Roger was none for the Marchesa's practised
+art.</p>
+
+<p>"You're&mdash;you're awfully kind. I&mdash;I
+shall be delighted, of course."</p>
+
+<p>The Marchesa passed through the gate.
+Roger followed. She handed him the key.</p>
+
+<p>"Will you please lock the padlock? It's
+not&mdash;safe&mdash;to leave the gate open."</p>
+
+<p>Her smile had come into the open&mdash;it
+was on the red lips now! For all his agitation
+Roger was not blind to its meaning.
+His hand was to lock the gate against his
+friend and chief! But the smile and the eyes
+commanded. He obeyed.</p>
+
+<p>It was the first really satisfactory moment
+which the contest had brought to the Marchesa&mdash;some
+small instalment of consolation
+for the treason of her friends.</p>
+
+<p>Roger had been honestly in love once with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span>
+a guileless maiden&mdash;who had promptly
+and quite unguilefully refused him; his experience
+did not at all fit him to cope with
+the Marchesa. She, of course, was merciless:
+was he not of the hated house? As an individual,
+however, he appeared to be comely
+and agreeable.</p>
+
+<p>They walked on side by side&mdash;not very
+quickly. The Marchesa's eyes were now
+downcast. Roger was able to steal a glance
+at her profile; he could compare it to nothing
+less than a Roman Empress on an ancient
+silver coin.</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose you've been taught to think
+me a very rude and unneighborly person,
+haven't you, Mr. Wilbraham? At least I
+suppose you're Mr. Wilbraham? You don't
+look old enough to be that learned Mr.
+Stabb the Vicar told me about. Though he
+said Mr. Stabb was absolutely delightful<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span>&mdash;how
+I should love to know him, if only&mdash;!"
+She broke off, sighing deeply.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, my name's Wilbraham. I'm Lynborough's
+secretary. But&mdash;er&mdash;I don't
+think anything of that sort about you.
+And&mdash;and I've never heard Lynborough
+say anything&mdash;er&mdash;unkind."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Lord Lynborough!" She gave a
+charming little shrug, accompanied with
+what Roger, from his novel-reading, conceived
+to be a <i>moue</i>.</p>
+
+<p>"Of course I&mdash;I know that you&mdash;you
+think you're right," he stammered.</p>
+
+<p>She stopped on the path. "Yes, I do
+think I'm right, Mr. Wilbraham. But that's
+not it. If it were merely a question of right,
+it would be unneighborly to insist. I'm not
+hurt by Lord Lynborough's using this path.
+But I'm hurt by Lord Lynborough's discourtesy.
+In my country women are treated<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span>
+with respect&mdash;even sometimes (she gave a
+bitter little laugh) with deference. That
+doesn't seem to occur to Lord Lynborough."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, you know&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I can't let you say a word against
+him, whatever you may be obliged to think.
+In your position&mdash;as his friend&mdash;that
+would be disloyal; and the one thing I dislike
+is disloyalty. Only I was anxious"&mdash;she
+turned and faced him&mdash;"that you should understand
+my position&mdash;and that Mr. Stabb
+should too. I shall be very glad if you and Mr.
+Stabb will use the path whenever you like. If
+the gate's locked you can manage the wall!"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm&mdash;I'm most awfully obliged to you&mdash;er&mdash;Marchesa&mdash;but
+you see&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"No more need be said about that, Mr.
+Wilbraham. You're heartily welcome. Lord
+Lynborough would have been heartily welcome
+too, if he would have approached me<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span>
+properly. I was open to discussion. I received
+orders. I don't take orders&mdash;not
+even from Lord Lynborough."</p>
+
+<p>She looked splendid&mdash;so Roger thought.
+The underlying red dyed the olive to a
+brighter hue; her eyes were very proud; the
+red lips shut decisively. Just like a Roman
+Empress! Then her face underwent a
+rapid transformation; the lips parted, the
+eyes laughed, the cheeks faded to hues less
+stormy, yet not less beautiful. (These are
+recorded as Mr. Wilbraham's impressions.)
+Lightly she laid the tips of her fingers on his
+arm for just a moment.</p>
+
+<p>"There&mdash;don't let's talk any more about
+disagreeable things," she said. "It's too
+beautiful an afternoon. Can you spare just
+five minutes? The strawberries are splendid!
+I want some&mdash;and it's so hot to pick them
+for one's self!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Roger paused, twisting the towel round
+his neck.</p>
+
+<p>"Only five minutes!" pleaded&mdash;yes,
+pleaded&mdash;the beautiful Marchesa. "Then
+you can go and have your swim in peace."</p>
+
+<p>It was a question whether poor Roger was
+to do anything more in peace that day&mdash;but
+he went and picked the strawberries.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="Chapter_Nine" id="Chapter_Nine"></a><i>Chapter Nine</i></h2>
+
+<h3>LYNBOROUGH DROPS A CATCH</h3>
+
+
+<p>"Something has happened!" (So Lynborough
+records the same evening.) "I
+don't know precisely what&mdash;but I think
+that the enemy is at last in motion. I'm glad.
+I was being too successful. I had begun to
+laugh at her&mdash;and that only. I prefer the
+admixture of another element of emotion.
+All that ostensibly appears is that I have
+lost five shillings to Roger. 'You did it?' I
+asked. 'Certainly,' said Roger. 'I went at
+my ease and came back at my ease, and&mdash;'
+I interrupted, 'Nobody stopped you?'
+'Nobody made any objection,' said Roger.
+'You took your time,' says I. 'You were<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span>
+away three hours!' 'The water was very
+pleasant this afternoon,' says Roger. Hum!
+I hand over my two half-crowns, which
+Roger pockets with a most peculiar sort
+of smile. There that incident appears to
+end&mdash;with a comment from me that the
+Marchesa's garrison is not very alert. Another
+smile&mdash;not less peculiar&mdash;from
+Roger! <i>Hum!</i></p>
+
+<p>"Then Cromlech! I trust Cromlech as
+myself&mdash;that is, as far as I can see him.
+He has no secrets from me&mdash;that I know of;
+I have none from him&mdash;which would be
+at all likely to interest him. Yet, soon after
+Roger's return, Cromlech goes out! And
+they had been alone together for some minutes,
+as I happen to have observed. Cromlech
+is away an hour and a half! If I were not
+a man of honor, I would have trained the
+telescope on to him. I refrained. Where was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span>
+Cromlech? At the church, he told me. I
+accept his word&mdash;but the church has had a
+curious effect upon him. Sometimes he is silent,
+sulky, reflective, embarrassed&mdash;constantly
+rubbing the place where his hair ought to be&mdash;not
+altogether too civil to me either.
+Anon, sits with a fat happy smile on his face!
+Has he found a new tomb? No; he'd tell
+me about a new tomb. What has happened
+to Cromlech?</p>
+
+<p>"At first sight Violet&mdash;the insinuating
+one&mdash;would account for the phenomena.
+Or Norah's eyes and lashes? Yet I hesitate.
+Woman, of course, it is, with both of them.
+Violet might make men pleased with themselves;
+Norah could make them merry and
+happy. Yet these two are not so much pleased
+with themselves&mdash;rather they are pleased
+with events; they are not merry&mdash;they are
+thoughtful. And I think they are resentful. I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span>
+believe the hostile squadron has weighed anchor.
+In these great results, achieved so
+quickly, demanding on my part such an
+effort in reply, I see the Marchesa's touch!
+I have my own opinion as to what has
+happened to Roger and to Cromlech. Well,
+we shall see&mdash;to-morrow is the cricket
+match!"</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Later.</i> I had closed this record; I was
+preparing to go to bed (wishing to bathe
+early to-morrow) when I found that I had
+forgotten to bring up my book. Coltson
+had gone to bed&mdash;or out&mdash;anyhow, away.
+I went down myself. The library door stood
+ajar; I had on my slippers; a light burned
+still; Cromlech and Roger were up. As I
+approached&mdash;with an involuntary noiselessness
+(I really couldn't be expected to
+think of coughing, in my own house and
+with no ladies about)&mdash;I overheard this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span>
+remarkable, most significant, most important
+conversation:</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Cromlech</i>: 'On my soul, there were tears
+in her eyes!'</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Roger</i>: 'Stabb, can we as gentlemen&mdash;?'</p>
+
+<p>"Then, as I presume, the shuffle of my
+slippers became audible. I went in; both
+drank whisky-and-soda in a hurried fashion.
+I took my book from the table. Naught said
+I. Their confusion was obvious. I cast on
+them one of my looks; Roger blushed, Stabb
+shuffled his feet. I left them.</p>
+
+<p>"'Tears in her eyes!' 'Can we as gentlemen?'</p>
+
+<p>"The Marchesa moves slowly, but she
+moves in force!"</p>
+
+<p>It is unnecessary to pursue the diary
+further; for his lordship&mdash;forgetful apparently
+of the borne of bed, to which he had
+originally destined himself&mdash;launches into<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span>
+a variety of speculations as to the Nature of
+Love. Among other questions, he puts to
+himself the following concerning Love:
+(1) Is it Inevitable? (2) Is it Agreeable?
+(3) Is it Universal? (4) Is it Wise? (5) Is it
+Remunerative? (6) Is it Momentary? (7)
+Is it Sempiternal? (8) Is it Voluntary? (9)
+Is it Conditioned? (10) Is it Remediable?
+(11) Is it Religious? (There's a note here&mdash;"Consult
+Cromlech")&mdash;(12) May it be
+expected to survive the Advance of Civilization?
+(13) Why does it exist at all? (14) Is
+it Ridiculous?</p>
+
+<p>It is not to be inferred that Lord Lynborough
+answers these questions. He is,
+like a wise man, content to propound them.
+If, however, he had answered them, it might
+have been worth while to transcribe the diary.</p>
+
+<p>"Can we as gentlemen&mdash;?"&mdash;Roger
+had put the question. It waited unanswered<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span>
+till Lynborough had taken his book and
+returned to record its utterance&mdash;together
+with the speculations to which that utterance
+gave rise. Stabb weighed it carefully, rubbing
+his bald head, according to the habit which
+his friend had animadverted upon.</p>
+
+<p>"If such a glorious creature&mdash;" cried
+Roger.</p>
+
+<p>"If a thoroughly intelligent and most
+sympathetic woman&mdash;" said Stabb.</p>
+
+<p>"Thinks that she has a right, why, she
+probably has one!"</p>
+
+<p>"At any rate her view is entitled to respect&mdash;to
+a courteous hearing."</p>
+
+<p>"Lynborough does appear to have been
+a shade&mdash;er&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Ambrose is a spoiled child, bless him!
+She took a wonderful interest in my brasses.
+I don't know what brought her to the
+church."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"She waited herself to let me through
+that beastly gate again!"</p>
+
+<p>"She drove me round herself to our gates.
+Wouldn't come through Scarsmoor!"</p>
+
+<p>They both sighed. They both thought
+of telling the other something&mdash;but on
+second thoughts refrained.</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose we'd better go to bed. Shall
+you bathe to-morrow morning?"</p>
+
+<p>"With Ambrose? No, I sha'n't, Wilbraham."</p>
+
+<p>"No more shall I. Good-night, Stabb.
+You'll&mdash;think it over?"</p>
+
+<p>Stabb grunted inarticulately. Roger drew
+the blind aside for a moment, looked down
+on Nab Grange, saw a light in one window&mdash;and
+went to bed. The window was, in
+objective fact (if there be such a thing),
+Colonel Wenman's. No matter. There nothing
+is but thinking makes it so. The Colonel<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span>
+was sitting up, writing a persuasive letter
+to his tailor. He served emotions that he did
+not feel; it is a not uncommon lot.</p>
+
+<p>Lynborough's passing and repassing to
+and from his bathing were uninterrupted
+next morning. Nab Grange seemed wrapped
+in slumber; only Goodenough saw him,
+and Goodenough did not think it advisable
+to interrupt his ordinary avocations. But
+an air of constraint&mdash;even of mystery&mdash;marked
+both Stabb and Roger at breakfast.
+The cricket match was naturally the topic&mdash;though
+Stabb declared that he took little
+interest in it and should probably not be
+there.</p>
+
+<p>"There'll be some lunch, I suppose,"
+said Lynborough carelessly. "You'd better
+have lunch there&mdash;it'd be dull for you all
+by yourself here, Cromlech."</p>
+
+<p>After apparent consideration Stabb con<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span>ceded
+that he might take luncheon on the
+cricket ground; Roger, as a member of the
+Fillby team, would, of course, do likewise.</p>
+
+<p>The game was played in a large field,
+pleasantly surrounded by a belt of trees, and
+lying behind the Lynborough Arms. Besides
+Roger and Lynborough, Stillford and
+Irons represented Fillby. Easthorpe Polytechnic
+came in full force, save for an umpire.
+Colonel Wenman, who had walked
+up with his friends, was pressed into this
+honorable and responsible service, landlord
+Dawson officiating at the other end. Lynborough's
+second gardener, a noted fast
+bowler, was Fillby's captain; Easthorpe was
+under the command of a curate who had
+played several times for his University,
+although he had not actually achieved his
+"blue." Easthorpe won the toss and took
+first innings.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>The second gardener, aware of his employer's
+turn of speed, sent Lord Lynborough
+to field "in the country." That gentleman
+was well content; few balls came his
+way and he was at leisure to contemplate
+the exterior of the luncheon tent&mdash;he had
+already inspected the interior thereof with
+sedulous care and high contentment&mdash;and
+to speculate on the probable happenings of
+the luncheon hour. So engrossed was he
+that only a rapturous cheer, which rang out
+from the field and the spectators, apprised
+him of the fact that the second gardener had
+yorked the redoubtable curate with the
+first ball of his second over! Young Woodwell
+came in; he was known as a mighty
+hitter; Lynborough was signaled to take his
+position yet deeper in the field. Young
+Woodwell immediately got to business&mdash;but
+he kept the ball low. Lynborough had,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span>
+however, the satisfaction of saving several
+"boundaries." Roger, keeping wicket, observed
+his chief's exertions with some satisfaction.
+Other wickets fell rapidly&mdash;but
+young Woodwell's score rapidly mounted
+up. If he could stay in, they would make
+a hundred&mdash;and Fillby looked with just
+apprehension on a score like that. The
+second gardener, who had given himself a
+brief rest, took the ball again with an air
+of determination.</p>
+
+<p>"Peters doesn't seem to remember that I
+also bowl," reflected Lord Lynborough.</p>
+
+<p>The next moment he was glad of this
+omission. Young Woodwell was playing
+for safety now&mdash;his fifty loomed ahead!
+Lynborough had time for a glance round.
+He saw Stabb saunter on to the field; then&mdash;just
+behind where he stood when the second
+gardener was bowling from the Lynborough<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span>
+Arms end of the field&mdash;a wagonette drove
+up. Four ladies descended. A bench was
+placed at their disposal, and the two menservants
+at once began to make preparations
+for lunch, aided therein by the ostler from
+the Lynborough Arms, who rigged up a
+table on trestles under a spreading tree.</p>
+
+<p>Lord Lynborough's reputation as a sportsman
+inevitably suffers from this portion of
+the narrative. Yet extenuating circumstances
+may fairly be pleaded. He was deeply interested
+in the four ladies who sat behind
+him on the bench; he was vitally concerned
+in the question of the lunch. As he walked
+back, between the overs, to his position, he
+could see that places were being set for some
+half-dozen people. Would there be half-a-dozen
+there? As he stood, watching, or
+trying to watch, young Woodwell's dangerous
+bat, he overheard fragments of conver<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span>sation
+wafted from the bench. The ladies
+were too far from him to allow of their
+faces being clearly seen, but it was not hard
+to recognize their figures.</p>
+
+<p>The last man in had joined young Woodwell.
+That hero's score was forty-eight, the
+total ninety-three. The second gardener was
+tempting the Easthorpe champion with an
+occasional slow ball; up to now young
+Woodwell had declined to hit at these deceivers.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly Lynborough heard the ladies'
+voices quite plainly. They&mdash;or some of them&mdash;had
+left the bench and come nearer to
+the boundary. Irresistibly drawn by curiosity,
+for an instant he turned his head. At
+the same instant the second gardener delivered
+a slow ball&mdash;a specious ball. This
+time young Woodwell fell into the snare.
+He jumped out and opened his shoulders to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span>
+it. He hit it&mdash;but he hit it into the air. It
+soared over the bowler's head and came
+traveling through high heaven toward
+Lord Lynborough.</p>
+
+<p>"Look out!" cried the second gardener.
+Lynborough's head spun round again&mdash;but
+his nerves were shaken. His eyes seemed
+rather in the back of his head, trying to see
+the Marchesa's face, than fixed on the ball
+that was coming toward him. He was in no
+mood for bringing off a safe catch!</p>
+
+<p>Silence reigned, the ball began to drop.
+Lynborough had an instant to wait for it.
+He tried to think of the ball and the ball only.</p>
+
+<p>It fell&mdash;it fell into his hands; he caught it&mdash;fumbled
+it&mdash;caught it&mdash;fumbled it
+again&mdash;and at last dropped it on the grass!
+"Oh!" went in a long-drawn expostulation
+round the field; and Lynborough heard a
+voice say plainly:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Who is that stupid clumsy man?" The
+voice was the Marchesa's.</p>
+
+<p>He wheeled round sharply&mdash;but her
+back was turned. He had not seen her face
+after all!</p>
+
+<p>"Over!" was called. Lynborough apologized
+abjectly to the second gardener.</p>
+
+<p>"The sun was in my eyes, Peters, and
+dazzled me," he pleaded.</p>
+
+<p>"Looks to <i>me</i> as if the sun was shining the
+other way, my lord," said Peters dryly. And
+so, in physical fact, it was.</p>
+
+<p>In Peters' next over Lynborough atoned&mdash;for
+young Woodwell had got his fifty
+and grown reckless. A one-handed catch,
+wide on his left side, made the welkin ring
+with applause. The luncheon bell rang too&mdash;for
+the innings was finished. Score 101.
+Last man out 52. Jim (office-boy at Polytechnic)
+not out 0. Young Woodwell received<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span>
+a merited ovation&mdash;and Lord Lynborough
+hurried to the luncheon tent. The Marchesa,
+with an exceedingly dignified mien,
+repaired to her table under the spreading
+oak.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Dawson had done himself more than
+justice; the repast was magnificent. When
+Stillford and Irons saw it, they became more
+sure than ever what their duty was, more
+convinced still that the Marchesa would
+understand. Colonel Wenman became less
+sure what his duty was&mdash;previously it had
+appeared to him that it was to lunch with
+the Marchesa. But the Marchesa had
+spoken of a few sandwiches and perhaps a
+bottle of claret. Stillford told him that, as
+umpire, he ought to lunch with the teams.
+Irons declared it would look "deuced standoffish"
+if he didn't. Lynborough, who appeared
+to act as deputy-landlord to Mr.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span>
+Dawson, pressed him into a chair with a
+friendly hand.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, she'll have the ladies with her,
+won't she?" said the Colonel, his last
+scruple vanishing before a large jug of hock-cup,
+artfully iced. The Nab Grange contingent
+fell to.</p>
+
+<p>Just then&mdash;when they were irrevocably
+committed to this feast&mdash;the flap of the
+tent was drawn back, and Lady Norah's
+face appeared. Behind her stood Violet and
+Miss Gilletson. Lynborough ran forward
+to meet them.</p>
+
+<p>"Here we are, Lord Lynborough," said
+Norah. "The Marchesa was so kind, she
+told us to do just as we liked, and we thought
+it would be such fun to lunch with the
+cricketers."</p>
+
+<p>"The cricketers are immensely honored.
+Let me introduce you to our captain, Mr.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span>
+Peters. You must sit by him, you know.
+And, Miss Dufaure, will you sit by Mr.
+Jeffreys?&mdash;he's their captain&mdash;Miss Dufaure&mdash;Mr. Jeffreys.
+You, Miss Gilletson,
+must sit between Mr. Dawson and me.
+Now we're right&mdash;What, Colonel Wenman?&mdash;What's
+the matter?"</p>
+
+<p>Wenman had risen from his place. "The&mdash;the
+Marchesa!" he said. "We&mdash;we
+can't leave her to lunch alone!"</p>
+
+<p>Lady Norah broke in again. "Oh, Helena
+expressly said that she didn't expect the
+gentlemen. She knows what the custom is,
+you see."</p>
+
+<p>The Marchesa had, no doubt, made all
+these speeches. It may, however, be doubted
+whether Norah reproduced exactly the manner,
+and the spirit, in which she made
+them. But the iced hock-cup settled the
+Colonel. With a relieved sigh he resumed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span>
+his place. The business of the moment went
+on briskly for a quarter of an hour.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Dawson rose, glass in hand. "Ladies
+and gentlemen," said he, "I'm no hand at a
+speech, but I give you the health of our kind
+neighbor and good host to-day&mdash;Lord
+Lynborough. Here's to his lordship!"</p>
+
+<p>"I&mdash;I didn't know he was giving the
+lunch!" whispered Colonel Wenman.</p>
+
+<p>"Is it his lunch?" said Irons, nudging
+Stillford.</p>
+
+<p>Stillford laughed. "It looks like it. And
+we can hardly throw him over the hedge
+after this!"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, he seems to be a jolly good chap,"
+said Captain Irons.</p>
+
+<p>Lynborough bowed his acknowledgments,
+and flirted with Miss Gilletson; his face wore
+a contented smile. Here they all were&mdash;and
+the Marchesa lunched alone on the other<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span>
+side of the field! Here indeed was a new
+wedge! Here was the isolation at which his
+diabolical schemes had aimed. He had captured
+Nab Grange! Bag and baggage they
+had come over&mdash;and left their chieftainess
+deserted.</p>
+
+<p>Then suddenly&mdash;in the midst of his
+triumph&mdash;in the midst too of a certain not
+ungenerous commiseration which he felt
+that he could extend to a defeated enemy
+and to beauty in distress&mdash;he became
+vaguely aware of a gap in his company.
+Stabb was not there! Yet Stabb had come
+upon the ground. He searched the company
+again. No, Stabb was not there. Moreover&mdash;a
+fact the second search revealed&mdash;Roger
+Wilbraham was not there. Roger
+was certainly not there; yet, whatever Stabb
+might do, Roger would never miss lunch!</p>
+
+<p>Lynborough's eyes grew thoughtful; he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span>
+pursed up his lips. Miss Gilletson noticed
+that he became silent.</p>
+
+<p>He could bear the suspense no longer.
+On a pretext of looking for more bottled
+beer, he rose and walked to the door of the
+tent.</p>
+
+<p>Under the spreading tree the Marchesa
+lunched&mdash;not in isolation, not in gloom.
+She had company&mdash;and, even as he appeared,
+a merry peal of laughter was wafted
+by a favoring breeze across the field of
+battle. Stabb's ponderous figure, Roger
+Wilbraham's highly recognizable "blazer,"
+told the truth plainly.</p>
+
+<p>Lord Lynborough was not the only expert
+in the art of driving wedges!</p>
+
+<p>"Well played, Helena!" he said under his
+breath.</p>
+
+<p>The rest of the cricket match interested
+him very little. Successful beyond their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span>
+expectations, Fillby won by five runs (Wilbraham
+not out thirty-seven)&mdash;but Lynborough's
+score did not swell the victorious
+total. In Easthorpe's second innings&mdash;which
+could not affect the result&mdash;Peters
+let him bowl, and he got young Woodwell's
+wicket. That was a distinction; yet, looking
+at the day as a whole, he had scored less
+than he expected.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="Chapter_Ten" id="Chapter_Ten"></a><i>Chapter Ten</i></h2>
+
+<h3>IN THE LAST RESORT!</h3>
+
+
+<p>It will have been perceived by now that Lord
+Lynborough delighted in a fight. He revelled
+in being opposed; the man who withstood
+him to the face gave him such pleasure as to
+beget in his mind certainly gratitude, perhaps
+affection, or at least a predisposition
+thereto. There was nothing he liked so much
+as an even battle&mdash;unless, by chance, it were
+the scales seeming to incline a little against
+him. Then his spirits rose highest, his courage
+was most buoyant, his kindliness most sunny.</p>
+
+<p>The benefit of this disposition accrued to
+the Marchesa; for by her sudden counterattack
+she had at least redressed the balance<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span>
+of the campaign. He could not be sure that
+she had not done more. The ladies of her
+party were his&mdash;he reckoned confidently
+on that; but the men he could not count
+as more than neutral at the best; Wenman,
+anyhow, could easily be whistled back to the
+Marchesa's heel. But in his own house, he
+admitted at once, she had secured for him
+open hostility, for herself the warmest of
+partisanship. The meaning of her lunch was
+too plain to doubt. No wonder her opposition
+to her own deserters had been so faint;
+no wonder she had so readily, even if so
+scornfully, afforded them the pretext&mdash;the
+barren verbal permission&mdash;that they had
+required. She had not wanted them&mdash;no,
+not even the Colonel himself! She had
+wanted to be alone with Roger and with
+Stabb&mdash;and to complete the work of her
+blandishments on those guileless, tender<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span>hearted,
+and susceptible persons. Lynborough
+admired, applauded, and promised
+himself considerable entertainment at dinner.</p>
+
+<p>How was the Marchesa, in her turn,
+bearing her domestic isolation, the internal
+disaffection at Nab Grange? He flattered
+himself that she would not be finding in it
+such pleasure as his whimsical temper
+reaped from the corresponding position of
+affairs at Scarsmoor.</p>
+
+<p>There he was right. At Nab Grange the
+atmosphere was not cheerful. Not to want a
+thing by no means implies an admission
+that you do not want it; that is elementary
+diplomacy. Rather do you insist that you
+want it very much; if you do not get it,
+there is a grievance&mdash;and a grievance is a
+mighty handy article of barter. The Marchesa
+knew all that.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>The deserters were severely lashed. The
+Marchesa had said that she did not expect
+Colonel Wenman; ought she to have sent a
+message to say that she was pining for him&mdash;must
+that be wrung from her before he would
+condescend to come? She had said that she
+knew the custom with regard to lunch at
+cricket matches; was that to say that she
+expected it to be observed to her manifest
+and public humiliation? She had told Miss
+Gilletson and the girls to please themselves;
+of course she wished them to do that always.
+Yet it might be a wound to find that their
+pleasure lay in abandoning their friend
+and hostess, in consorting with her arch-enemy,
+and giving him a triumph.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, what do you say about Wilbraham
+and Stabb?" cried the trampled Colonel.</p>
+
+<p>"I say that they're gentlemen," retorted
+the Marchesa. "They saw the position I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span>
+was in&mdash;and they saved me from humiliation."</p>
+
+<p>That was enough for the men; men are,
+after all, poor fighters. It was not, however,
+enough for Lady Norah Mountliffey&mdash;a
+woman&mdash;and an Irishwoman to boot!</p>
+
+<p>"Are you really asking us to believe that
+you hadn't arranged it with them beforehand?"
+she inquired scornfully.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I don't ask you to believe anything
+I say," returned the Marchesa, dexterously
+avoiding saying anything on the point
+suggested.</p>
+
+<p>"The truth is, you're being very absurd,
+Helena," Norah pursued. "If you've got a
+right, go to law with Lord Lynborough and
+make him respect it. If you haven't got a
+right, why go on making yourself ridiculous
+and all the rest of us very uncomfortable?"</p>
+
+<p>It was obvious that the Marchesa might<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span>
+reply that any guest of hers who felt himself
+or herself uncomfortable at Nab Grange
+had, in his or her own hand, the easy remedy.
+She did not do that. She did a thing more
+disconcerting still. Though the mutton had
+only just been put on the table, she pushed
+back her chair, rose to her feet, and fled from
+the room very hastily.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Gilletson sprang up. But Norah was
+beforehand with her.</p>
+
+<p>"No! I said it. I'm the one to go. Who
+could think she'd take it like that?" Norah's
+own blue eyes were less bright than usual as
+she hurried after her wounded friend. The
+rest ate on in dreary conscience-stricken
+silence. At last Stillford spoke.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't urge her to go to law," he said.
+"I'm pretty sure she'd be beaten."</p>
+
+<p>"Then she ought to give in&mdash;and apologize
+to Lord Lynborough," said Miss<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span>
+Gilletson decisively. "That would be right&mdash;and,
+I will add, Christian."</p>
+
+<p>"Humble Pie ain't very good eating,"
+commented Captain Irons.</p>
+
+<p>Neither the Marchesa nor Norah came
+back. The meal wended along its slow and
+melancholy course to a mirthless weary
+conclusion. Colonel Wenman began to look
+on the repose of bachelorhood with a kinder
+eye, on its loneliness with a more tolerant
+disposition. He went so far as to remember
+that, if the worst came to the worst, he had
+another invitation for the following week.</p>
+
+<p>The Spirit of Discord (The tragic atmosphere
+now gathering justifies these figures
+of speech&mdash;the chronicler must rise
+to the occasion of a heroine in tears), having
+wrought her fell work at Nab Grange, now
+winged her way to the towers of Scarsmoor
+Castle.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Dinner had passed off quite as Lynborough
+anticipated; he had enjoyed himself
+exceedingly. Whenever the temporary absence
+of the servants allowed, he had rallied
+his friends on their susceptibility to beauty,
+on their readiness to fail him under its lures,
+on their clumsy attempts at concealment
+of their growing intimacy, and their confidential
+relations, with the fascinating mistress
+of Nab Grange. He too had been told
+to take his case into the Courts or to drop
+his claim&mdash;and had laughed triumphantly
+at the advice. He had laughed when Stabb
+said that he really could not pursue his work
+in the midst of such distractions, that his
+mind was too perturbed for scientific thought.
+He had laughed lightly and good-humoredly
+even when (as they were left alone over
+coffee) Roger Wilbraham, going suddenly
+a little white, said he thought that persecut<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span>ing
+a lady was no fit amusement for a gentleman.
+Lynborough did not suppose that the
+Marchesa&mdash;with the battle of the day at
+least drawn, if not decided in her favor&mdash;could
+be regarded as the subject of persecution&mdash;and
+he did recognize that young
+fellows, under certain spells, spoke hotly
+and were not to be held to serious account.
+He was smiling still when, with a forced
+remark about the heat, the pair went out
+together to smoke on the terrace. He had
+some letters to read, and for the moment
+dismissed the matter from his mind.</p>
+
+<p>In ten minutes young Roger Wilbraham
+returned; his manner was quiet now, but
+his face still rather pale. He came up to the
+table by which Lynborough sat.</p>
+
+<p>"Holding the position I do in your house,
+Lord Lynborough," he said, "I had no
+right to use the words I used this evening at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span>
+dinner. I apologize for them. But, on the
+other hand, I have no wish to hold a position
+which prevents me from using those
+words when they represent what I think. I
+beg you to accept my resignation, and I shall
+be greatly obliged if you can arrange to relieve
+me of my duties as soon as possible."</p>
+
+<p>Lynborough heard him without interruption;
+with grave impassive face, with surprise,
+pity, and a secret amusement. Even
+if he were right, he was so solemn over it!</p>
+
+<p>The young man waited for no answer.
+With the merest indication of a bow, he left
+Lynborough alone, and passed on into the
+house.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, now!" said Lord Lynborough,
+rising and lighting a cigar. "This Marchesa!
+Well, now!"</p>
+
+<p>Stabb's heavy form came lumbering in
+from the terrace; he seemed to move more<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span>
+heavily than ever, as though his bulk were
+even unusually inert. He plumped down into
+a chair and looked up at Lynborough's
+graceful figure.</p>
+
+<p>"I meant what I said at dinner, Ambrose.
+I wasn't joking, though I suppose you
+thought I was. All this affair may amuse you&mdash;it
+worries me. I can't settle to work. If
+you'll be so kind as to send me over to Easthorpe
+to-morrow, I'll be off&mdash;back to
+Oxford."</p>
+
+<p>"Cromlech, old boy!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I know. But I&mdash;I don't want to
+stay, Ambrose. I'm not&mdash;comfortable."
+His great face set in a heavy, disconsolate,
+wrinkled frown.</p>
+
+<p>Lord Lynborough pursed his lips in a
+momentary whistle, then put his cigar back
+into his mouth, and walked out on to the
+terrace.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"This Marchesa!" said he again. "This
+very remarkable Marchesa! Her <i>riposte</i> is
+admirable. Really I venture to hope that I,
+in my turn, have very seriously disturbed
+her household!"</p>
+
+<p>He walked to the edge of the terrace, and
+stood there musing. Sandy Nab loomed up,
+dimly the sea rose and fell, twinkled and
+sank into darkness. It talked too&mdash;talked to
+Lynborough with a soft, low, quiet voice; it
+seemed (to his absurdly whimsical imagination)
+as though some lovely woman gently
+stroked his brow and whispered to him.
+He liked to encourage such freaks of fancy.</p>
+
+<p>Cromlech couldn't go. That was absurd.</p>
+
+<p>And the young fellow? So much a gentleman!
+Lynborough had liked the terms of
+his apology no less than the firmness of his
+protest. "It's the first time, I think, that I've
+been told that I'm no gentleman," he re<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span>flected
+with amusement. But Roger had
+been pale when he said it. Imaginatively
+Lynborough assumed his place. "A brave
+boy," he said. "And that dear old knight-errant
+of a Cromlech!"</p>
+
+<p>A space&mdash;room indeed and room enough&mdash;for
+the softer emotions&mdash;so much Lynborough
+was ever inclined to allow. But to
+acquiesce in this state of things as final&mdash;that
+was to admit defeat at the hands of the
+Marchesa. It was to concede that one day
+had changed the whole complexion of the
+fight.</p>
+
+<p>"Cromlech sha'n't go&mdash;the boy sha'n't
+go&mdash;and I'll still use the path," he thought.
+"Not that I really care about the path, you
+know." He paused. "Well, yes, I do care
+about it&mdash;for bathing in the morning."
+He hardened his heart against the Marchesa.
+She chose to fight; the fortune of war must<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span>
+be hers. He turned his eyes down to Nab
+Grange. Lights burned there&mdash;were her
+guests demanding to be sent to Easthorpe?
+Why, no! As he looked, Lynborough came
+to the conclusion that she had reduced them
+all to order&mdash;that they would be whipped
+back to heel&mdash;that his manoeuvers (and
+his lunch!) had probably been wasted.
+He was beaten then?</p>
+
+<p>He scorned the conclusion. But if he were
+not&mdash;the result was deadlock! Then still
+he was beaten; for unless Helena (he called
+her that) owned his right, his right was to
+him as nothing.</p>
+
+<p>"I have made myself a champion of my
+sex," he said. "Shall I be beaten?"</p>
+
+<p>In that moment&mdash;with all the pang of
+forsaking an old conviction&mdash;of disowning
+that stronger tie, the loved embrace of an
+ancient and perversely championed prejudice<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span>&mdash;he
+declared that any price must be paid
+for victory.</p>
+
+<p>"Heaven forgive me, but, sooner than be
+beaten, I'll go to law with her!" he cried.</p>
+
+<p>A face appeared from between two bushes&mdash;a
+voice spoke from the edge of the terrace.</p>
+
+<p>"I thought you might be interested to
+hear&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Lady Norah?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, it's me&mdash;to hear that you've made
+her cry&mdash;and very bitterly."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="Chapter_Eleven" id="Chapter_Eleven"></a><i>Chapter Eleven</i></h2>
+
+<h3>AN ARMISTICE</h3>
+
+
+<p>Lord Lynborough walked down to the edge
+of the terrace; Lady Norah stood half hidden
+in the shrubbery.</p>
+
+<p>"And that, I suppose, ought to end the
+matter?" he asked. "I ought at once to
+abandon all my pretensions and to give up
+my path?"</p>
+
+<p>"I just thought you might like to know
+it," said Norah.</p>
+
+<p>"Actually I believe I do like to know it&mdash;though
+what Roger would say to me about
+that I really can't imagine. You're mistaking
+my character, Lady Norah. I'm not
+the hero of this piece. There are several<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span>
+gentlemen from among whom you can choose
+one for that effective part. Lots of candidates
+for it! But I'm the villain. Consequently
+you must be prepared for my receiving
+your news with devilish glee."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, you haven't seen it&mdash;and I
+have."</p>
+
+<p>"Well put!" he allowed. "How did it
+happen?"</p>
+
+<p>"Over something I said to her&mdash;something
+horrid."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, then, why am I&mdash;?" Lynborough's
+hands expostulated eloquently.</p>
+
+<p>"But you were the real reason, of course.
+She thinks you've turned us all against her;
+she says it's so mean to get her own friends to
+turn against her."</p>
+
+<p>"Does she now?" asked Lord Lynborough
+with a thoughtful smile.</p>
+
+<p>Norah too smiled faintly. "She says she's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span>
+not angry with us&mdash;she's just sorry for us&mdash;because
+she understands&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"What?"</p>
+
+<p>"I mean she says she&mdash;she can imagine&mdash;"
+Norah's smile grew a little more
+pronounced. "I'm not sure she'd like me
+to repeat that," said Norah. "And of course
+she doesn't know I'm here at all&mdash;and you
+must never tell her."</p>
+
+<p>"Of course it's all my fault. Still, as a matter
+of curiosity, what did you say to her?"</p>
+
+<p>"I said that, if she had a good case, she
+ought to go to law; and, if she hadn't, she
+ought to stop making herself ridiculous and
+the rest of us uncomfortable."</p>
+
+<p>"You spoke with the general assent of the
+company?"</p>
+
+<p>"I said what I thought&mdash;yes, I think
+they all agreed&mdash;but she took it&mdash;well,
+in the way I've told you, you know."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Lady Norah had, in the course of conversation,
+insensibly advanced on to the terrace.
+She stood there now beside Lynborough.</p>
+
+<p>"How do you think I'm taking it?" he
+asked. "Doesn't my fortitude wring applause
+from you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Taking what?"</p>
+
+<p>"Exactly the same thing from my
+friends. They tell me to go to law if I've
+got a case&mdash;and at any rate to stop persecuting
+a lady. And they've both given me
+warning."</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Stabb and Mr. Wilbraham? They're
+going away?"</p>
+
+<p>"So it appears. Carry back those tidings.
+Won't they dry the Marchesa's tears?"</p>
+
+<p>Norah looked at him with a smile. "Well,
+it is pretty clever of her, isn't it?" she said.
+"I didn't think she'd got along as quickly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span>
+as that!" Norah's voice was full of an honest
+and undisguised admiration.</p>
+
+<p>"It's a little unreasonable of her to cry
+under the circumstances. I'm not crying,
+Lady Norah."</p>
+
+<p>"I expect you're rather disgusted, though,
+aren't you?" she suggested.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm a little vexed at having to surrender&mdash;for
+the moment&mdash;a principle which I've
+held dear&mdash;at having to give my enemies an
+occasion for mockery. But I must bow to
+my friends' wishes. I can't lose them under
+such painful circumstances. No, I must
+yield, Lady Norah."</p>
+
+<p>"You're going to give up the path?" she
+cried, not sure whether she were pleased or
+not with his determination.</p>
+
+<p>"Dear me, no! I'm going to law about
+it."</p>
+
+<p>Open dismay was betrayed in her excla<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span>mation:
+"Oh, but what will Mr. Stillford
+say to that?"</p>
+
+<p>Lynborough laughed. Norah saw her mistake&mdash;but
+she made no attempt to remedy
+it. She took up another line of tactics. "It
+would all come right if only you knew one
+another! She's the most wonderful woman
+in the world, Lord Lynborough. And
+you&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, what of me?" he asked in deceitful
+gravity.</p>
+
+<p>Norah parried, with a hasty little laugh;
+"Just ask Miss Gilletson that!"</p>
+
+<p>Lynborough smiled for a moment, then
+took a turn along the terrace, and came
+back to her.</p>
+
+<p>"You must tell her that you've seen me&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I couldn't do that!"</p>
+
+<p>"You must&mdash;or here the matter ends,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span>
+and I shall be forced to go to law&mdash;ugh!
+Tell her you've seen me, and that I'm open
+to reason&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Lord Lynborough! How can I tell her
+that?"</p>
+
+<p>"That I'm open to reason, and that I
+propose an armistice. Not peace&mdash;not
+yet, anyhow&mdash;but an armistice. I undertake
+not to exercise my right over Beach
+Path for a week from to-day, and before
+the end of that week I will submit a proposal
+to the Marchesa."</p>
+
+<p>Norah saw a gleam of hope. "Very well.
+I don't know what she'll say to me, but I'll
+tell her that. Thank you. You'll make it a&mdash;a
+pleasant proposal?"</p>
+
+<p>"I haven't had time to consider the
+proposal yet. She must inform me to-morrow
+morning whether she accepts the armistice."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>He suddenly turned to the house, and
+shouted up to a window above his head,
+"Roger!"</p>
+
+<p>The window was open. Roger Wilbraham
+put his head out.</p>
+
+<p>"Come down," said Lynborough. "Here's
+somebody wants to see you."</p>
+
+<p>"I never said I did, Lord Lynborough."</p>
+
+<p>"Let him take you home. He wants cheering
+up."</p>
+
+<p>"I like him very much. He won't really
+leave you, will he?"</p>
+
+<p>"I want you to persuade him to stay
+during the armistice. I'm too proud to ask
+him for myself. I shall think very little
+of you, however, if he doesn't."</p>
+
+<p>Roger appeared. Lynborough told him
+that Lady Norah required an escort back to
+Nab Grange; for obvious reasons he himself
+was obliged to relinquish the pleasure;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span>
+Roger, he felt sure, would be charmed to
+take his place. Roger was somewhat puzzled
+by the turn of events, but delighted with his
+mission.</p>
+
+<p>Lynborough saw them off, went into the
+library, sat down at his writing-table, and
+laid paper before him. But he sat idle for
+many minutes. Stabb came in, his arms full
+of books.</p>
+
+<p>"I think I left some of my stuff here,"
+he said, avoiding Lynborough's eye. "I'm
+just getting it together."</p>
+
+<p>"Drop that lot too. You're not going to-morrow,
+Cromlech, there's an armistice."</p>
+
+<p>Stabb put his books down on the table,
+and came up to him with outstretched hand.
+Lynborough leaned back, his hands clasped
+behind his head.</p>
+
+<p>"Wait for a week," he said. "We may,
+Cromlech, arrive at an accommodation.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span>
+Meanwhile, for that week, I do not use the
+path."</p>
+
+<p>"I've been feeling pretty badly, Ambrose."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I don't think it's safe to expose you
+to the charms of beauty." He looked at his
+friend in good-natured mockery. "Return
+to your tombs in peace."</p>
+
+<p>The next morning he received a communication
+from Nab Grange. It ran as
+follows:</p>
+
+<p>"The Marchesa di San Servolo presents
+her compliments to Lord Lynborough. The
+Marchesa will be prepared to consider any
+proposal put forward by Lord Lynborough,
+and will place no hindrance in the way
+of Lord Lynborough's using the path across
+her property if it suits his convenience to
+do so in the meantime."</p>
+
+<p>"No, no!" said Lynborough, as he took a
+sheet of paper.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Lord Lynborough presents his compliments
+to her Excellency the Marchesa di
+San Servolo. Lord Lynborough will take an
+early opportunity of submitting his proposal
+to the Marchesa di San Servolo. He is
+obliged for the Marchesa di San Servolo's
+suggestion that he should in the meantime
+use Beach Path, but cannot consent to do
+so except in the exercise of his right. He
+will therefore not use Beach Path during
+the ensuing week."</p>
+
+<p>"And now to pave the way for my proposal!"
+he thought. For the proposal, which
+had assumed a position so important in the
+relations between the Marchesa and himself,
+was to be of such a nature that a grave
+question arose how best the way should be
+paved for it.</p>
+
+<p>The obvious course was to set his spies
+to work&mdash;he could command plenty of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span>
+friendly help among the Nab Grange garrison&mdash;learn
+the Marchesa's probable movements,
+throw himself in her way, contrive
+an acquaintance, make himself as pleasant
+as he could, establish relations of amity, of
+cordiality, even of friendship and of intimacy.
+That might prepare the way, and incline
+her to accept the proposal&mdash;to take the
+jest&mdash;it was little more in hard reality&mdash;in
+the spirit in which he put it forward,
+and so to end her resistance.</p>
+
+<p>That seemed the reasonable method&mdash;the
+plain and rational line of advance.
+Accordingly Lynborough disliked and distrusted
+it. He saw another way&mdash;more full
+of risk, more hazardous in its result, making
+an even greater demand on his confidence in
+himself, perhaps also on the qualities with
+which his imagination credited the Marchesa.
+But, on the other hand, this alternative<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span>
+was far richer in surprise, in dash&mdash;as it
+seemed to him, in gallantry and a touch of
+romance. It was far more medieval, more
+picturesque, more in keeping with the actual
+proposal itself. For the actual proposal was
+one which, Lynborough flattered himself,
+might well have come from a powerful yet
+chivalrous baron of old days to a beautiful
+queen who claimed a suzerainty which not
+her power, but only her beauty, could command
+or enforce.</p>
+
+<p>"It suits my humor, and I'll do it!" he
+said. "She sha'n't see me, and I won't
+see her. The first she shall hear from me
+shall be the proposal; the first time we
+meet shall be on the twenty-fourth&mdash;or
+never! A week from to-day&mdash;the twenty-fourth."</p>
+
+<p>Now the twenty-fourth of June is, as all
+the world knows (or an almanac will inform<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span>
+the heathen), the Feast of St. John Baptist
+also called Midsummer Day.</p>
+
+<p>So he disappeared from the view of Nab
+Grange and the inhabitants thereof. He
+never left his own grounds; even within
+them he shunned the public road; his beloved
+sea-bathing he abandoned. Nay, more,
+he strictly charged Roger Wilbraham, who
+often during this week of armistice went to
+play golf or tennis at the Grange, to say
+nothing of him; the same instructions were
+laid on Stabb in case on his excursions
+amidst the tombs, he should meet any
+member of the Marchesa's party. So far as
+the thing could be done, Lord Lynborough
+obliterated himself.</p>
+
+<p>It was playing a high stake on a risky
+hand. Plainly it assumed an interest in himself
+on the part of the Marchesa&mdash;an interest
+so strong that absence and mystery<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span>
+(if perchance he achieved a flavor of that
+attraction!) would foster and nourish it
+more than presence and friendship could
+conduce to its increase. She might think
+nothing about him during the week! Impossible
+surely&mdash;with all that had gone
+before, and with his proposal to come at the
+end! But if it were so&mdash;why, so he was
+content. "In that case, she's a woman of no
+imagination, of no taste in the picturesque,"
+he said.</p>
+
+<p>For five days the Marchesa gave no sign,
+no clue to her feelings which the anxious
+watchers could detect. She did indeed suffer
+Colonel Wenman to depart all forlorn, most
+unsuccessful and uncomforted&mdash;save by
+the company of his brother-in-arms, Captain
+Irons; and he was not cheerful either,
+having failed notably in certain designs on
+Miss Dufaure which he had been pursuing,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span>
+but whereunto more pressing matters have
+not allowed of attention being given. But
+Lord Lynborough she never mentioned&mdash;not
+to Miss Gilletson, nor even to Norah.
+She seemed to have regained her tranquillity;
+her wrath at least was over; she was very
+friendly to all the ladies; she was markedly
+cordial to Roger Wilbraham on his visits.
+But she asked him nothing of Lord Lynborough&mdash;and,
+if she ever looked from the
+window toward Scarsmoor Castle, none&mdash;not
+even her observant maid&mdash;saw her
+do it.</p>
+
+<p>Yet Cupid was in the Grange&mdash;and very
+busy. There were signs, not to be misunderstood,
+that Violet had not for handsome
+Stillford the scorn she had bestowed on unfortunate
+Irons; and Roger, humbly and
+distantly worshiping the Marchesa, deeming
+her far as a queen beyond his reach,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span>
+rested his eyes and solaced his spirit with the
+less awe-inspiring charms, the more accessible
+comradeship, of Norah Mountliffey.
+Norah, as her custom was, flirted hard, yet
+in her delicate fashion. Though she had not
+begun to ask herself about the end yet,
+she was well amused, and by no means insensible
+to Roger's attractions. Only she
+was preoccupied with Helena&mdash;and Lord
+Lynborough. Till that riddle was solved,
+she could not turn seriously to her own
+affairs.</p>
+
+<p>On the night of the twenty-second she
+walked with the Marchesa in the gardens of
+the Grange after dinner. Helena was very
+silent; yet to Norah the silence did not seem
+empty. Over against them, on its high hill,
+stood Scarsmoor Castle. Roger had dined
+with them, but had now gone back.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly&mdash;and boldly&mdash;Norah spoke.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span>
+"Do you see those three lighted windows
+on the ground floor at the left end of the
+house? That's his library, Helena. He sits
+there in the evening. Oh, I do wonder what
+he's been doing all this week!"</p>
+
+<p>"What does it matter?" asked the Marchesa
+coldly.</p>
+
+<p>"What will he propose, do you think?"</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Stillford thinks he may offer to pay
+me some small rent&mdash;more or less nominal&mdash;for
+a perpetual right&mdash;and that, if he
+does, I'd better accept."</p>
+
+<p>"That'll be rather a dull ending to it all."</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Stillford thinks it would be a favorable
+one for me."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't believe he means to pay you
+money. It'll be something"&mdash;she paused a
+moment&mdash;"something prettier than that."</p>
+
+<p>"What has prettiness to do with it, you
+child? With a right of way?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Prettiness has to do with you, though,
+Helena. You don't suppose he thinks only
+of that wretched path?"</p>
+
+<p>The flush came on the Marchesa's cheek.</p>
+
+<p>"He can hardly be said to have seen me,"
+she protested.</p>
+
+<p>"Then look your best when he does&mdash;for
+I'm sure he's dreamed of you."</p>
+
+<p>"Why do you say that?"</p>
+
+<p>Norah laughed. "Because he's a man who
+takes a lot of notice of pretty women&mdash;and
+he took so very little notice of me. That's
+why I think so, Helena."</p>
+
+<p>The Marchesa made no comment on the
+reason given. But now&mdash;at last and undoubtedly&mdash;she
+looked across at the windows
+of Scarsmoor.</p>
+
+<p>"We shall come to some business arrangement,
+I suppose&mdash;and then it'll all
+be over," she said.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>All over? The trouble and the enmity&mdash;the
+defiance and the fight&mdash;the excitement
+and the fun? The duel would be stayed, the
+combatants and their seconds would go
+their various ways across the diverging
+tracks of this great dissevering world.
+All would be over!</p>
+
+<p>"Then we shall have time to think of
+something else!" the Marchesa added.</p>
+
+<p>Norah smiled discreetly. Was not that
+something of an admission?</p>
+
+<p>In the library at Scarsmoor Lynborough
+was inditing the proposal which he intended
+to submit by his ambassadors on the morrow.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="Chapter_Twelve" id="Chapter_Twelve"></a><i>Chapter Twelve</i></h2>
+
+<h3>AN EMBASSAGE</h3>
+
+
+<p>The Marchesa's last words to Lady Norah
+betrayed the state of her mind. While the
+question of the path was pending, she had
+been unable to think of anything else; until
+it was settled she could think of nobody
+except of the man in whose hands the settlement
+lay. Whether Lynborough attracted
+or repelled, he at least occupied and filled
+her thoughts. She had come to recognize
+where she stood and to face the position.
+Stillford's steady pessimism left her no hope
+from an invocation of the law; Lynborough's
+dexterity and resource promised her no
+abiding victory&mdash;at best only precarious<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span>
+temporary successes&mdash;in a private continuance
+of the struggle. Worst of all&mdash;whilst
+she chafed or wept, he laughed!
+Certainly not to her critical friends, hardly
+even to her proud self, would she confess
+that she lay in her antagonist's mercy; but
+the feeling of that was in her heart. If so,
+he could humiliate her sorely.</p>
+
+<p>Could he spare her? Or would he? Try
+how she might, it was hard to perceive
+how he could spare her without abandoning
+his right. That she was sure he would not
+do; all she heard of him, every sharp intuition
+of him which she had, the mere glimpse
+of his face as he passed by on Sandy Nab,
+told her that.</p>
+
+<p>But if he consented to pay a small&mdash;a
+nominal&mdash;rent, would not her pride be
+spared? No. That would be victory for him;
+she would be compelled to surrender what<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span>
+she had haughtily refused, in return for
+something which she did not want and
+which was of no value. If that were a cloak
+for her pride, the fabric of it was terribly
+threadbare. Even such concession as lay in
+such an offer she had wrung from him by
+setting his friends against him; would that
+incline him to tenderness? The offer might
+leave his friends still unreconciled; what
+comfort was that to her when once the fight
+and the excitement of countering blow with
+blow were done&mdash;when all was over? And
+it was more likely that what seemed to her
+cruel would seem to Stabb and Roger
+reasonable&mdash;men had a terribly rigid sense
+of reason in business matters. They would
+return to their allegiance; her friends would
+be ranged on the same side; she would be
+alone&mdash;alone in humiliation and defeat.
+From that fate in the end only Lynborough<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span>
+himself could rescue her; only the man who
+threatened her with it could avert it. And
+how could even he, save by a surrender
+which he would not make? Yet if he found
+out a way?</p>
+
+<p>The thought of that possibility&mdash;though
+she could devise or imagine no means by
+which it might find accomplishment&mdash;carried
+her toward Lynborough in a rush
+of feeling. The idea&mdash;never wholly lost even
+in her moments of anger and dejection&mdash;came
+back&mdash;the idea that all the time he
+had been playing a game, that he did not
+want the wounds to be mortal, that in the
+end he did not hate. If he did not hate, he
+would not desire to hurt. But he desired to
+win. Could he win without hurting? Then
+there was a reward for him&mdash;applause for
+his cleverness, and gratitude for his chivalry.</p>
+
+<p>Stretching out her arms toward Scarsmoor<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span>
+Castle, she vowed that according to his deed
+she could hate or love Lord Lynborough.
+The next day was to decide that weighty
+question.</p>
+
+<p>The fateful morning arrived&mdash;the last
+day of the armistice&mdash;the twenty-third.
+The ladies were sitting on the lawn after
+breakfast when Stillford came out of the
+house with a quick step and an excited air.</p>
+
+<p>"Marchesa," he said, "the Embassy
+has arrived! Stabb and Wilbraham are at
+the front door, asking an audience of you.
+They bring the proposal!"</p>
+
+<p>The Marchesa laid down her book; Miss
+Gilletson made no effort to conceal her
+agitation.</p>
+
+<p>"Why didn't they come by the path?"
+cried Norah.</p>
+
+<p>"They couldn't very well; Lynborough's
+sent them in a carriage&mdash;with postilions<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span>
+and four horses," Stillford answered gravely.
+"The postilions appear to be amused, but
+the Ambassadors are exceedingly solemn."</p>
+
+<p>The Marchesa's spirits rose. If the piece
+were to be a comedy, she could play her part!
+The same idea was in Stillford's mind.
+"He can't mean to be very unpleasant if he
+plays the fool like this," he said, looking
+round on the company with a smile.</p>
+
+<p>"Admit the Ambassadors!" cried the
+Marchesa gaily.</p>
+
+<p>The Ambassadors were ushered on to the
+lawn. They advanced with a gravity befitting
+the occasion, and bowed low to the
+Marchesa. Roger carried a roll of paper of
+impressive dimensions. Stillford placed
+chairs for the Ambassadors and, at a sign
+from the Marchesa, they seated themselves.</p>
+
+<p>"What is your message?" asked the
+Marchesa. Suddenly nervousness and fear<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span>
+laid hold of her again; her voice shook a
+little.</p>
+
+<p>"We don't know," answered Stabb. "Give
+me the document, Roger."</p>
+
+<p>Roger Wilbraham handed him the scroll.</p>
+
+<p>"We are charged to deliver this to your
+Excellency's adviser, and to beg him to read
+it to you in our presence." He rose, delivered
+the scroll into Stillford's hands, and returned,
+majestic in his bulk, to his seat.</p>
+
+<p>"You neither of you know what's in it?"
+the Marchesa asked.</p>
+
+<p>They shook their heads.</p>
+
+<p>The Marchesa took hold of Norah's hand
+and said quietly, "Please read it to us, Mr.
+Stillford. I should like you all to hear."</p>
+
+<p>"That was also Lord Lynborough's desire,"
+said Roger Wilbraham.</p>
+
+<p>Stillford unrolled the paper. It was all in
+Lynborough's own hand&mdash;written large<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span>
+and with fair flourishes. In mockery of the
+institution he hated, he had cast it in a
+form which at all events aimed at being
+legal; too close scrutiny on that score perhaps
+it would not abide successfully.</p>
+
+<p>"Silence while the document is read!"
+said Stillford; and he proceeded to read it
+in a clear and deliberate voice:</p>
+
+<p>"'Sir Ambrose Athelstan Caverly, Baronet,
+Baron Lynborough of Lynborough in
+the County of Dorset and of Scarsmoor in
+the County of Yorkshire, unto her Excellency
+Helena Vittoria Maria Antonia, Marchesa
+di San Servolo, and unto All to
+whom these Presents Come, Greeting.
+Whereas the said Lord Lynborough and his
+predecessors in title have been ever entitled
+as of right to pass and repass along the path
+called Beach Path leading across the lands
+of Nab Grange from the road bounding the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span>
+same on the west to the seashore on the east
+thereof, and to use the said path by themselves,
+their agents and servants, at their
+pleasure, without let or interference from
+any person or persons whatsoever&mdash;&mdash;'"</p>
+
+<p>Stillford paused and looked at the Marchesa.
+The document did not begin in a
+conciliatory manner. It asserted the right
+to use Beach Path in the most uncompromising
+way.</p>
+
+<p>"Go on," commanded the Marchesa,
+a little flushed, still holding Norah's hand.</p>
+
+<p>"'And Whereas the said Lord Lynborough
+is desirous that his rights as above
+defined shall receive the recognition of the
+said Marchesa, which recognition has hitherto
+been withheld and refused by the said
+Marchesa: And Whereas great and manifold
+troubles have arisen from such refusal:
+And Whereas the said Lord Lynborough is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span>
+desirous of dwelling in peace and amity with
+the said Marchesa&mdash;&mdash;'"</p>
+
+<p>"There, Helena, you see he is!" cried
+Norah triumphantly.</p>
+
+<p>"I really must not be interrupted," Stillford
+protested. "'Now Therefore the said
+Lord Lynborough, moved thereunto by
+divers considerations and in chief by his
+said desire to dwell in amity and good-will,
+doth engage and undertake that, in consideration
+of his receiving a full, gracious, and
+amicable recognition of his right from the
+said Marchesa, he shall and will, year by
+year and once a year, to wit on the Feast of
+St. John Baptist, also known as Midsummer
+Day&mdash;&mdash;'"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, that's to-morrow!" exclaimed Violet
+Dufaure.</p>
+
+<p>Once more Stillford commanded silence.
+The Terms of Peace were not to be rudely<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span>
+interrupted just as they were reaching the
+most interesting point. For up to now
+nothing had come except a renewed assertion
+of Lynborough's right!</p>
+
+<p>"'That is to say the twenty-fourth day
+of June&mdash;repair in his own proper person,
+with or without attendants as shall seem
+to him good, to Nab Grange or such other
+place as may then and on each occasion be
+the abode and residence of the said Marchesa,
+and shall and will present himself
+in the presence of the said Marchesa at noon.
+And that he then shall and will do homage
+to the said Marchesa for such full, gracious,
+and amicable recognition as above mentioned
+by falling on his knee and kissing
+the hand of the said Marchesa. And if the
+said Lord Lynborough shall wilfully or by
+neglect omit so to present himself and so
+to pay his homage on any such Feast of St.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span>
+John Baptist, then his said right shall be of
+no effect and shall be suspended (And he
+hereby engages not to exercise the same)
+until he shall have purged his contempt or
+neglect by performing his homage on the
+next succeeding Feast. Provided Always
+that the said Marchesa shall and will,
+a sufficient time before the said Feast in each
+year, apprise and inform the said Lord
+Lynborough of her intended place of residence,
+in default whereof the said Lord Lynborough
+shall not be bound to pay his homage
+and shall suffer no diminution of his
+right by reason of the omission thereof.
+Provided Further and Finally that whensoever
+the said Lord Lynborough shall duly
+and on the due date as in these Presents
+stipulated present himself at Nab Grange
+or elsewhere the residence for the time being
+of the said Marchesa, and claim to be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span>
+admitted to the presence of the said Marchesa
+and to perform his homage as herein prescribed
+and ordered, the said Marchesa shall
+not and will not, on any pretext or for any
+cause whatsoever, deny or refuse to accept
+the said homage so duly proffered, but shall
+and will in all gracious condescension and
+neighborly friendship extend and give her
+hand to the said Lord Lynborough, to the
+end and purpose that, he rendering and she
+accepting his homage in all mutual trust and
+honorable confidence, Peace may reign
+between Nab Grange and Scarsmoor Castle
+so long as they both do stand. In Witness
+whereof the said Lord Lynborough has
+affixed his name on the Eve of the said
+Feast of St. John Baptist.</p>
+
+<p class="right">
+<span class="smcap">Lynborough</span>.'"<br />
+<br />
+</p>
+
+<p>Stillford ended his reading, and handed
+the scroll to the Marchesa with a bow.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span>
+She took it and looked at Lynborough's
+signature. Her cheeks were flushed, and
+her lips struggled not to smile. The rest were
+silent. She looked at Stillford, who smiled
+back at her and drew from his pocket&mdash;a
+stylographic pen.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," she said, and took it.</p>
+
+<p>She wrote below Lynborough's name:</p>
+
+<p>"In Witness whereof, in a desire for peace
+and amity, in all mutual trust and honorable
+confidence, the said Marchesa has
+affixed her name on this same Eve of the
+said Feast of St. John Baptist.</p>
+
+<p class="right">
+<span class="smcap">Helena di San Servolo</span>."<br />
+<br />
+</p>
+
+<p>She handed it back to Stillford. "Let it
+dry in the beautiful sunlight," she said.</p>
+
+<p>The Ambassadors rose to their feet. She
+rose too and went over to Stabb with
+outstretched hands. A broad smile spread
+over Stabb's spacious face. "It's just like<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span>
+Ambrose," he said to her as he took her
+hands. "He gets what he wants&mdash;but in the
+prettiest way!"</p>
+
+<p>She answered him in a low voice: "A
+very knightly way of saving a foolish woman's
+pride." She raised her voice. "Bid
+Lord Lynborough&mdash;aye, Sir Ambrose
+Athelstan Caverly, Baron Lynborough, attend
+here at Nab Grange to pay his homage
+to-morrow at noon." She looked round on
+them all, smiling now openly, the red in her
+cheeks all triumphant over her olive hue.
+"Say I will give him private audience to
+receive his homage and to ask his friendship."
+With that the Marchesa departed,
+somewhat suddenly, into the house.</p>
+
+<p>Amid much merriment and reciprocal
+congratulations the Ambassadors were honorably
+escorted back to their coach and
+four.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Keep your eye on the Castle to-night,"
+Roger Wilbraham whispered to Norah as
+he pressed her hand.</p>
+
+<p>They drove off, Stillford leading a gay
+"Hurrah!"</p>
+
+<p>At night indeed Scarsmoor Castle was a
+sight to see. Every window of its front
+blazed with light; rockets and all manner
+of amazing bright devices rose to heaven.
+All Fillby turned out to see the show; all
+Nab Grange was in the garden looking on.</p>
+
+<p>All save Helena herself. She had retreated
+to her own room; there she sat and
+watched alone. She was in a fever of feeling
+and could not rest. She twisted one hand
+round the other, she held up before her
+eyes the hand which was destined to receive
+homage on the morrow. Her eyes were
+bright, her cheeks flushed, her red lips
+trembled.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Alas, how this man knows his way to
+my heart!" she sighed.</p>
+
+<p>The blaze at Scarsmoor Castle died down.
+A kindly darkness fell. Under its friendly
+cover she kissed her hand to the Castle,
+murmuring "To-morrow!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="Chapter_Thirteen" id="Chapter_Thirteen"></a><i>Chapter Thirteen</i></h2>
+
+<h3>THE FEAST OF ST. JOHN BAPTIST</h3>
+
+
+<p>"As there's a heaven above us," wrote
+Lynborough that same night&mdash;having been,
+one would fain hope, telepathically conscious
+of the hand-kissing by the red lips, of the
+softly breathed "To-morrow!" (for if he
+were not, what becomes of Love's Magic?)&mdash;"As
+there's a heaven above us, I have
+succeeded! Her answer is more than a consent&mdash;it's
+an appreciation. The rogue knew
+how she stood: she is haughtily, daintily
+grateful. Does she know how near she drove
+me to the abominable thing? Almost had
+I&mdash;I, Ambrose Caverly&mdash;issued a writ!
+I should never, in all my life, have got over<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span>
+the feeling of being a bailiff! She has saved
+me by the rightness of her taste. 'Knightly'
+she called it to old Cromlech. Well, that was
+in the blood&mdash;it had been my own fault if
+I had lost it, no credit of mine if to some
+measure I have it still. But to find the
+recognition! I have lit up the country-side
+to-night to celebrate that rare discovery.</p>
+
+<p>"Rare&mdash;yes&mdash;yet not doubted. I knew
+it of her. I believe that I have broken all
+records&mdash;since the Renaissance at least.
+Love at first sight! Where's the merit in
+that? Given the sight be fine enough (a
+thing that I pray may not admit of doubt in
+the case of Helena), it is no exploit; it is
+rather to suffer the inevitable than to achieve
+the great. But unless the sight of a figure a
+hundred yards away&mdash;and of a back fifty&mdash;is
+to count against me as a practical
+inspection, I am so supremely lucky as never<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span>
+to have seen her! I have made her for myself&mdash;a
+few tags of description, a noting
+of the effect on Roger and on Cromlech,
+mildly (and very unimaginatively) aided
+my work, I admit&mdash;but for the most part
+and in all essentials, she, as I love her (for
+of course I love her, or no amount of Feast
+of St. John Baptist should have moved me
+from my path&mdash;take that for literal or for
+metaphorical as ye will!)&mdash;is of my own
+craftsmanship&mdash;work of my heart and
+brain, wrought just as I would have her&mdash;as
+I knew, through all delightful wanderings,
+that some day she must come to me.</p>
+
+<p>"Think then of my mood for to-morrow!
+With what feelings do I ring the bell (unless
+perchance it be a knocker)! With what
+sensations accost the butler! With what
+emotions enter the presence! Because if
+by chance I am wrong&mdash;! Upon which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span>
+awful doubt arises the question whether, if
+I be wrong, I can go back. I am plaguily
+the slave of putting the thing as prettily
+as it can be put (Thanks, Cromlech, for
+giving me the adverb&mdash;not so bad a touch
+for a Man of Tombs!), and, on my soul, I
+have put that homage of mine so prettily
+that one who was prudent would have addressed
+it to none other than a married lady&mdash;<i>vivente
+marito</i>, be it understood. But from
+my goddess her mortal mate is gone&mdash;and
+to explain&mdash;nay, not to explain (which
+would indeed tax every grace of style)&mdash;but
+to let it appear that the homage
+lingers, abides, and is confined within the
+letter of the bond&mdash;that would seem scarce
+'knightly.' Therefore, being (as all tell me)
+more of a fool than most men, and (as I
+soberly hope) not less of a gentleman, I
+stand thus. I love the Image I have made<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span>
+out of dim distant sight, prosaic shreds of
+catalogued description, a vividly creating
+mind, and&mdash;to be candid&mdash;the absolute
+necessity of amusing myself in the country.
+But the Woman I am to see to-morrow?
+Is she the Image? I shall know in the first
+moment of our encounter. If she is, all is
+well for me&mdash;for her it will be just a question
+of her dower of heavenly venturousness.
+If she is not&mdash;in my humble judgment,
+you, Ambrose Caverly, having put the thing
+with so excessive a prettiness, shall for your
+art's sake perish&mdash;you must, in short, if
+you would end this thing in the manner
+(creditable to yourself, Ambrose!) in which
+it has hitherto been conducted, willy-nilly,
+hot or cold, confirmed in divine dreams or
+slapped in the face by disenchanting fact&mdash;within
+a brief space of time, propose marriage
+to this lady. If there be any other course,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span>
+the gods send me scent of it this night! But
+if she should refuse? Reckon not on that.
+For the more she fall short of her Image, the
+more will she grasp at an outward showing
+of triumph&mdash;and the greatest outward
+triumph would not be in refusal.</p>
+
+<p>"In my human weakness I wish that&mdash;just
+for once&mdash;I had seen her! But in the
+strong spirit of the wine of life&mdash;whereof
+I have been and am an inveterate and most
+incurable bibber&mdash;I rejoice in that wonderful
+moment of mine to-morrow&mdash;when the
+door of the shrine opens, and I see the goddess
+before whom my offering must be laid.
+Be she giant or dwarf, be she black or white,
+have she hair or none&mdash;by the powers,
+if she wears a sack only, and is well advised
+to stick close to that, lest casting it should
+be a change for the worse&mdash;in any event
+the offering must be made. Even so the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span>
+Prince in the tales, making his vows to the
+Beast and not yet knowing if his spell shall
+transform it to the Beauty! In my stronger
+moments, so would I have it. Years of life
+shall I live in that moment to-morrow!
+If it end ill, no human being but myself
+shall know. If it end well, the world is not
+great enough to hold, nor the music of its
+spheres melodious enough to sound, my
+triumph!"</p>
+
+<p>It will be observed that Lord Lynborough,
+though indeed no novice in the cruel and
+tender passion, was appreciably excited
+on the Eve of the Feast of St. John Baptist.
+In view of so handsome a response, the
+Marchesa's kiss of the hand and her murmured
+"To-morrow" may pass excused of
+forwardness.</p>
+
+<p>It was, nevertheless, a gentleman to all
+seeming most cool and calm who presented<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span>
+himself at the doors of Nab Grange at
+eleven fifty-five the next morning. His Ambassadors
+had come in magnificence; humbly
+he walked&mdash;and not by Beach Path,
+since his homage was not yet paid&mdash;but
+round by the far-stretching road and up
+the main avenue most decorously. Stabb
+and Roger had cut across by the path&mdash;holding
+the Marchesa's leave and license
+so to do&mdash;and had joined an excited group
+which sat on chairs under sheltering trees.</p>
+
+<p>"I wish she hadn't made the audience
+private!" said Norah Mountliffey.</p>
+
+<p>"If ever a keyhole were justifiable&mdash;"
+sighed Violet Dufaure.</p>
+
+<p>"My dear, I'd box your ears myself,"
+Miss Gilletson brusquely interrupted.</p>
+
+<p>The Marchesa sat in a high arm-chair,
+upholstered in tarnished fading gold. The
+sun from the window shone on her hair;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span>
+her face was half in shadow. She rested
+her head on her left; hand the right lay on
+her knee. It was stripped of any ring&mdash;unadorned
+white. Her cheeks were pale&mdash;the
+olive reigned unchallenged; her lips
+were set tight, her eyes downcast. She made
+no movement when Lord Lynborough entered.</p>
+
+<p>He bowed low, but said nothing. He
+stood opposite to her some two yards away.
+The clock ticked. It wanted still a minute
+before noon struck. That was the minute
+of which Lynborough had raved and dreamed
+the night before. He had the fruit of it in
+full measure.</p>
+
+<p>The first stroke of twelve rang silvery
+from the clock. Lynborough advanced and
+fell upon his knee. She did not lift her eyes,
+but slowly raised her hand from her knee.
+He placed his hand under it, pressing it a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span>
+little upward and bowing his head to meet
+it half-way in its ascent. She felt his lips
+lightly brush the skin. His homage for
+Beach Path and his right therein was duly
+paid.</p>
+
+<p>Slowly he rose to his feet; slowly her eyes
+turned upward to his face. It was ablaze
+with a great triumph; the fire seemed to
+spread to her cheeks.</p>
+
+<p>"It's better than I dreamed or hoped,"
+he murmured.</p>
+
+<p>"What? To have peace between us?
+Yes, it's good."</p>
+
+<p>"I have never seen your face before."
+She made no answer. "Nor you mine?"
+he asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Once on Sandy Nab you passed by me.
+You didn't notice me&mdash;but, yes, I saw you."
+Her eyes were steadily on him now; the
+flush had ceased to deepen, nay, had re<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span>ceded,
+but abode still, tingeing the olive
+of her cheeks.</p>
+
+<p>"I have rendered my homage," he said.</p>
+
+<p>"It is accepted." Suddenly tears sprang
+to her eyes. "And you might have been so
+cruel to me!" she whispered.</p>
+
+<p>"To you? To you who carry the power
+of a world in your face?"</p>
+
+<p>The Marchesa was confused&mdash;as was,
+perhaps, hardly unnatural.</p>
+
+<p>"There are other things, besides gates
+and walls, and Norah's head, that you jump
+over, Lord Lynborough."</p>
+
+<p>"I lived a life while I stood waiting for the
+clock to strike. I have tried for life before&mdash;in
+that minute I found it." He seemed
+suddenly to awake as though from a dream.
+"But I beg your pardon. I have paid my
+dues. The bond gives me no right to linger."</p>
+
+<p>She rose with a light laugh&mdash;yet it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span>
+sounded nervous. "Is it good-by till next St.
+John Baptist's day?"</p>
+
+<p>"You would see me walking on Beach
+Path day by day."</p>
+
+<p>"I never call it Beach Path."</p>
+
+<p>"May it now be called&mdash;Helena's?"</p>
+
+<p>"Or will you stay and lunch with me to-day?
+And you might even pay homage
+again&mdash;say to-morrow&mdash;or&mdash;or some day
+in the week."</p>
+
+<p>"Lunch, most certainly. That commits
+me to nothing. Homage, Marchesa, is quite
+another matter."</p>
+
+<p>"Your chivalry is turning to bargaining,
+Lord Lynborough."</p>
+
+<p>"It was never anything else," he answered.</p>
+
+<p>"Homage is rendered in payment&mdash;that's
+why one says 'Whereas.'" His keen eager
+eyes of hazel raised once more the flood of
+subdued crimson in her face. "For every<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span>
+recognition of a right of mine, I will pay you
+homage according to the form prescribed for
+St. John Baptist's Feast."</p>
+
+<p>"Of what other rights do you ask recognition?"</p>
+
+<p>"There might be the right of welcoming
+you at Scarsmoor to-morrow?"</p>
+
+<p>She made him a little curtsy. "It is accorded&mdash;on
+the prescribed terms, my lord."</p>
+
+<p>"That will do for the twenty-fifth. There
+might be the right of escorting you home from
+Scarsmoor by the path called&mdash;Helena's?"</p>
+
+<p>"On the prescribed terms it is your lordship's."</p>
+
+<p>"What then of the right to see you daily,
+and day by day?"</p>
+
+<p>"If your leisure serves, my lord, I will
+endeavor to adjust mine&mdash;so long as we
+both remain at Fillby. But so that the homage
+is paid!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"But if you go away?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm bound to tell you of my whereabouts
+only on St. John Baptist's Feast."</p>
+
+<p>"The right to know it on other days&mdash;would
+that be recognized in return for a
+homage, Marchesa?"</p>
+
+<p>"One homage for so many letters?"</p>
+
+<p>"I had sooner there were no letters&mdash;and
+daily homages."</p>
+
+<p>"You take too many obligations&mdash;and
+too lightly."</p>
+
+<p>"For every one I gain the recognition of a
+right."</p>
+
+<p>"The richer you grow in rights then, the
+harder you must work!"</p>
+
+<p>"I would have so many rights accorded
+me as to be no better than a slave!" cried
+Lynborough. "Yet, if I have not one, still
+I have nothing."</p>
+
+<p>She spoke no word, but looked at him<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span>
+long and searchingly. She was not nervous
+now, but proud. Her look bade him weigh
+words; they had passed beyond the borders
+of merriment, beyond the bandying of
+challenges. Yet her eyes carried no prohibition;
+it was a warning only. She interposed
+no conventional check, no plea for
+time. She laid on him the responsibility
+for his speech; let him remember that he
+owed her homage.</p>
+
+<p>They grew curious and restless on the
+lawn; the private audience lasted long, the
+homage took much time in paying.</p>
+
+<p>"A marvelous thing has come to me,"
+said Lynborough, speaking slower than his
+wont, "and with it a great courage. I have
+seen my dream. This morning I came here
+not knowing whether I should see it. I
+don't speak of the face of my dream-image
+only, though I could speak till next St. John's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span>
+Day upon that. I speak to a soul. I think our
+souls have known one another longer, aye,
+and better than our faces."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I think it is so," she said quietly.
+"Yet who can tell so soon?"</p>
+
+<p>"There's a great gladness upon me because
+my dream came true."</p>
+
+<p>"Who can tell so soon?" she asked again.
+"It's strange to speak of it."</p>
+
+<p>"It may be that some day&mdash;yes, some
+day soon&mdash;in return for the homage of my
+lips on your hand, I would ask the recognition
+of my lip's right on your cheek."</p>
+
+<p>She came up to him and laid her hand on
+his arm. "Suffer me a little while, my lord,"
+she said. "You've swept into my life like a
+whirlwind; you would carry me by assault
+as though I were a rebellious city. Am I
+to be won before ever I am wooed?"</p>
+
+<p>"You sha'n't lack wooing," he said quick<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span>ly.
+"Yet haven't I wooed you already&mdash;as
+well in my quarrel as in my homage, in our
+strife as in the end of it?"</p>
+
+<p>"I think so, yes. Yet suffer me a little
+still."</p>
+
+<p>"If you doubt&mdash;" he cried.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't think I doubt. I linger." She
+gave her hand into his. "It's strange, but
+I cannot doubt."</p>
+
+<p>Lynborough sank again upon his knee and
+paid his homage. As he rose, she bent ever
+so slightly toward him; delicately he kissed
+her cheek.</p>
+
+<p>"I pray you," she whispered, "use gently
+what you took with that."</p>
+
+<p>"Here's a heart to my heart, and a spirit
+to my spirit&mdash;and a glad venture to us
+both!"</p>
+
+<p>"Come on to the lawn now, but tell them
+nothing."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Save that I have paid my homage, and
+received the recognition of my right?"</p>
+
+<p>"That, if you will&mdash;and that your path
+is to be&mdash;henceforward&mdash;Helena's."</p>
+
+<p>"I hope to have no need to travel far on
+the Feast of St. John!" cried Lynborough.</p>
+
+<p>They went out on the lawn. Nothing was
+asked, and nothing told, that day. In truth
+there appeared to be no need. For it seems
+as though Love were not always invisible,
+nor the twang of his bow so faint as to elude
+the ear. With joyous blood his glad wounds
+are red, and who will may tell the sufferers.
+Sympathy too lends insight; your fellow-sufferer
+knows your plight first. There were
+fellow-sufferers on the lawn that day&mdash;to
+whom, as to all good lovers, here's Godspeed.</p>
+
+<p>She went with him in the afternoon
+through the gardens, over the sunk fence,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span>
+across the meadows, till they came to the
+path. On it they walked together.</p>
+
+<p>"So is your right recognized, my lord,"
+she said.</p>
+
+<p>"We will walk together on Helena's
+Path," he answered, "until it leads us&mdash;still
+together&mdash;to the Boundless Sea."</p>
+
+
+<h3>THE END<br /></h3>
+
+
+
+
+<div class="notes">
+<p>TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:</p>
+
+
+<p>Minor typographical errors and inconsistencies have been silently
+corrected.</p>
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Helena's Path, by Anthony Hope
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Helena's Path, by Anthony Hope
+
+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: Helena's Path
+
+Author: Anthony Hope
+
+Release Date: July 27, 2011 [EBook #36876]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HELENA'S PATH ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Cathy Maxam, Juliet Sutherland and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+    Helena's Path
+
+    _By_
+
+    ANTHONY HOPE
+
+    AUTHOR OF DOUBLE HARNESS
+    TRISTRAM OF BLENT
+    ETC.
+
+    [Illustration]
+
+    GARDEN CITY      NEW YORK
+    DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY
+
+    1912
+
+
+    _Copyright, 1907, by Anthony Hope Hawkins_
+
+
+
+
+    CONTENTS
+
+
+    CHAPTER                                    PAGE
+
+        I AMBROSE, LORD LYNBOROUGH                3
+
+       II LARGELY TOPOGRAPHICAL                  15
+
+      III OF LAW AND NATURAL RIGHTS              33
+
+       IV THE MESSAGE OF A PADLOCK               52
+
+        V THE BEGINNING OF WAR                   70
+
+       VI EXERCISE BEFORE BREAKFAST              90
+
+      VII ANOTHER WEDGE!                        110
+
+     VIII THE MARCHESA MOVES                    127
+
+       IX LYNBOROUGH DROPS A CATCH              148
+
+        X IN THE LAST RESORT                    171
+
+       XI AN ARMISTICE                          186
+
+      XII AN EMBASSAGE                          206
+
+     XIII THE FEAST OF ST. JOHN BAPTIST         223
+
+
+
+
+HELENA'S PATH
+
+
+
+
+_Chapter One_
+
+AMBROSE, LORD LYNBOROUGH
+
+
+Common opinion said that Lord Lynborough ought never to have had a
+peerage and forty thousand a year; he ought to have had a pound a week
+and a back bedroom in Bloomsbury. Then he would have become an eminent
+man; as it was, he turned out only a singularly erratic individual.
+
+So much for common opinion. Let no more be heard of its dull utilitarian
+judgements! There are plenty of eminent men--at the moment, it is
+believed, no less than seventy Cabinet and ex-Cabinet Ministers (or
+thereabouts)--to say nothing of Bishops, Judges, and the British
+Academy,--and all this in a nook of the world! (And the world too is a
+point!) Lynborough was something much more uncommon; it is not, however,
+quite easy to say what. Let the question be postponed; perhaps the story
+itself will answer it.
+
+He started life--or was started in it--in a series of surroundings of
+unimpeachable orthodoxy--Eton, Christ Church, the Grenadier Guards. He
+left each of these schools of mental culture and bodily discipline, not
+under a cloud--that metaphor would be ludicrously inept--but in an
+explosion. That, having been thus shot out of the first, he managed to
+enter the second--that, having been shot out of the second, he walked
+placidly into the third--that, having been shot out of the third, he
+suffered no apparent damage from his repeated propulsions--these are
+matters explicable only by a secret knowledge of British institutions.
+His father was strong, his mother came of stock even stronger; he
+himself--Ambrose Caverly as he then was--was very popular, and
+extraordinarily handsome in his unusual outlandish style.
+
+His father being still alive--and, though devoted to him, by now
+apprehensive of his doings--his means were for the next few years
+limited. Yet he contrived to employ himself. He took a soup-kitchen and
+ran it; he took a yacht and sank it; he took a public-house, ruined it,
+and got himself severely fined for watering the beer in the Temperance
+interest. This injustice rankled in him deeply, and seems to have
+permanently influenced his development. For a time he forsook
+the world and joined a sect of persons who called themselves
+"Theo-philanthropists"--and surely no man could call himself much more
+than that? Returning to mundane affairs, he refused to pay his rates,
+stood for Parliament in the Socialist interest, and, being defeated,
+declared himself a practical follower of Count Tolstoi. His father
+advising a short holiday, he went off and narrowly escaped being shot
+somewhere in the Balkans, owing to his having taken too keen an interest
+in local politics. (He ought to have been shot; he was clear--and even
+vehement--on that point in a letter which he wrote to _The Times_.) Then
+he sent for Leonard Stabb, disappeared in company with that gentleman,
+and was no more seen for some years.
+
+He could always send for Stabb, so faithful was that learned student's
+affection for him. A few years Ambrose Caverly's senior, Stabb had
+emerged late and painfully from a humble origin and a local grammar
+school, had gone up to Oxford as a non-collegiate man, had gained a
+first-class and a fellowship, and had settled down to a life of
+research. Early in his career he became known by the sobriquet of
+"Cromlech Stabb"--even his unlearned friends would call him "Cromlech"
+oftener than by any other name. His elaborate monograph on cromlechs had
+earned him the title; subsequently he extended his researches to other
+relics of ancient religions--or ancient forms of religion, as he always
+preferred to put it; "there being," he would add, with the simplicity of
+erudition beaming through his spectacles on any auditor, orthodox or
+other, "of course, only one religion." He was a very large stout man;
+his spectacles were large too. He was very strong, but by no means
+mobile. Ambrose's father regarded Stabb's companionship as a certain
+safeguard to his heir. The validity of this idea is doubtful. Students
+have so much curiosity--and so many diverse scenes and various types of
+humanity can minister to that appetite of the mind.
+
+Occasional rumors about Ambrose Caverly reached his native shores; he
+was heard of in Morocco, located in Spain, familiar in North and in
+South America. Once he was not heard of for a year; his father and
+friends concluded that he must be dead--or in prison. Happily the latter
+explanation proved correct. Once more he and the law had come to
+loggerheads; when he emerged from confinement he swore never to employ
+on his own account an instrument so hateful.
+
+"A gentleman should fight his own battles, Cromlech," he cried to his
+friend. "I did no more than put a bullet in his arm--in a fair
+encounter--and he let me go to prison!"
+
+"Monstrous!" Stabb agreed with a smile. He had passed the year in a
+dirty little inn by the prison gate--among scoundrels, but fortunately
+in the vicinity of some mounds distinctly prehistoric.
+
+Old Lord Lynborough's death occurred suddenly and unexpectedly, at a
+moment when Ambrose and his companion could not be found. They were
+somewhere in Peru--Stabb among the Incas, Ambrose probably in less
+ancient company. It was six months before the news reached them.
+
+"I must go home and take up my responsibilities, Cromlech," said the new
+Lord Lynborough.
+
+"You really think you'd better?" queried Stabb doubtfully.
+
+"It was my father's wish."
+
+"Oh, well--! But you'll be thought odd over there, Ambrose."
+
+"Odd? I odd? What the deuce is there odd about me, Cromlech?"
+
+"Everything." The investigator stuck his cheroot back in his mouth.
+
+Lynborough considered dispassionately--as he fain would hope. "I don't
+see it."
+
+That was the difficulty. Stabb was well aware of it. A man who is odd,
+and knows it, may be proud, but he will be careful; he may swagger, but
+he will take precautions. Lynborough had no idea that he was odd; he
+followed his nature--in all its impulses and in all its whims--with
+equal fidelity and simplicity. This is not to say that he was never
+amused at himself; every intelligent observer is amused at himself
+pretty often; but he did not doubt merely because he was amused. He took
+his entertainment over his own doings as a bonus life offered. A great
+sincerity of action and of feeling was his predominant characteristic.
+
+"Besides, if I'm odd," he went on with a laugh, "it won't be noticed.
+I'm going to bury myself at Scarsmoor for a couple of years at least.
+I'm thinking of writing an autobiography. You'll come with me,
+Cromlech?"
+
+"I must be totally undisturbed," Stabb stipulated. "I've a great deal of
+material to get into shape."
+
+"There'll be nobody there but myself--and a secretary, I daresay."
+
+"A secretary? What's that for?"
+
+"To write the book, of course."
+
+"Oh, I see," said Stabb, smiling in a slow fat fashion. "You won't write
+your autobiography yourself?"
+
+"Not unless I find it very engrossing."
+
+"Well, I'll come," said Stabb.
+
+So home they came--an unusual-looking pair--Stabb with his towering
+bulky frame, his big goggles, his huge head with its scanty black locks
+encircling a face like a harvest moon--Lynborough, tall, too, but lean
+as a lath, with tiny feet and hands, a rare elegance of carriage, a
+crown of chestnut hair, a long straight nose, a waving mustache, a chin
+pointed like a needle and scarcely thickened to the eye by the
+close-cropped, short, pointed beard he wore. His bright hazel eyes
+gleamed out from his face with an attractive restlessness that caught
+away a stranger's first attention even from the rare beauty of the lines
+of his head and face; it was regularity over-refined, sharpened almost
+to an outline of itself. But his appearance tempted him to no excesses
+of costume; he had always despised that facile path to a barren
+eccentricity. On every occasion he wore what all men of breeding were
+wearing, yet invested the prescribed costume with the individuality of
+his character: this, it seems, is as near as the secret of dressing well
+can be tracked.
+
+His manner was not always deemed so free from affectation; it was,
+perhaps, a little more self-conscious; it was touched with a foreign
+courtliness, and he employed, on occasions of any ceremony or in
+intercourse with ladies, a certain formality of speech; it was said of
+him by an observant woman that he seemed to be thinking in a language
+more ornate and picturesque than his tongue employed. He was content to
+say the apt thing, not striving after wit; he was more prone to hide a
+joke than to tell it; he would ignore a victory and laugh at a defeat;
+yet he followed up the one and never sat down under the other, unless it
+were inflicted by one he loved. He liked to puzzle, but took no
+conscious pains to amuse.
+
+Thus he returned to his "responsibilities." Cromlech Stabb was wondering
+what that dignified word would prove to describe.
+
+
+
+
+_Chapter Two_
+
+LARGELY TOPOGRAPHICAL
+
+
+Miss Gilletson had been studying the local paper, which appeared every
+Saturday and reached Nab Grange on the following morning. She uttered an
+exclamation, looked up from her small breakfast-table, and called over
+to the Marchesa's small breakfast-table.
+
+"Helena, I see that Lord Lynborough arrived at the Castle on Friday!"
+
+"Did he, Jennie?" returned the Marchesa, with no show of interest. "Have
+an egg, Colonel?" The latter words were addressed to her companion at
+table, Colonel Wenman, a handsome but bald-headed man of about forty.
+
+"'Lord Lynborough, accompanied by his friend Mr. Leonard Stabb, the
+well-known authority on prehistoric remains, and Mr. Roger Wilbraham,
+his private secretary. His lordship's household had preceded him to the
+Castle.'"
+
+Lady Norah Mountliffey--who sat with Miss Gilletson--was in the habit of
+saying what she thought. What she said now was: "Thank goodness!" and
+she said it rather loudly.
+
+"You gentlemen haven't been amusing Norah," observed the Marchesa to the
+Colonel.
+
+"I hoped that I, at least, was engaged on another task--though, alas, a
+harder one!" he answered in a low tone and with a glance of respectful
+homage.
+
+"If you refer to me, you've been admirably successful," the Marchesa
+assured him graciously--only with the graciousness there mingled that
+touch of mockery which always made the Colonel rather ill at ease.
+"Amuse" is, moreover, a word rich in shades of meaning.
+
+Miss Gilletson was frowning thoughtfully. "Helena can't call on him--and
+I don't suppose he'll call on her," she said to Norah.
+
+"He'll get to know her if he wants to."
+
+"I might call on him," suggested the Colonel. "He was in the service,
+you know, and that--er--makes a bond. Queer fellow he was, by Jove!"
+
+Captain Irons and Mr. Stillford came in from riding, late for breakfast.
+They completed the party at table, for Violet Dufaure always took the
+first meal of the day in bed. Irons was a fine young man, still in the
+twenties, very fair and very bronzed. He had seen fighting and was
+great at polo. Stillford, though a man of peace (if a solicitor may so
+be called), was by no means inferior in physique. A cadet of a good
+county family, he was noted in the hunting field and as a long-distance
+swimmer. He had come to Nab Grange to confer with the Marchesa on her
+affairs, but, proving himself an acquisition to the party, had been
+pressed to stay on as a guest.
+
+The men began to bandy stories of Lynborough from one table to the
+other. Wenman knew the London gossip, Stillford the local traditions:
+but neither had seen the hero of their tales for many years. The
+anecdotes delighted Norah Mountliffey, and caused Miss Gilletson's hands
+to fly up in horror. Nevertheless it was Miss Gilletson who said,
+"Perhaps we shall see him at church to-day."
+
+"Not likely!" Stillford opined. "And--er--is anybody going?"
+
+The pause which habitually follows this question ensued upon it now.
+Neither the Marchesa nor Lady Norah would go--they were both of the Old
+Church. Miss Dufaure was unlikely to go, by reason of fatigue. Miss
+Gilletson would, of course, go, so would Colonel Wenman--but that was so
+well known that they didn't speak.
+
+"Any ladies with Lynborough's party, I wonder!" Captain Irons hazarded.
+"I think I'll go! Stillford, you ought to go to church--family solicitor
+and all that, eh?"
+
+A message suddenly arrived from Miss Dufaure, to say that she felt
+better and proposed to attend church--could she be sent?
+
+"The carriage is going anyhow," said Miss Gilletson a trifle stiffly.
+
+"Yes, I suppose I ought," Stillford agreed. "We'll drive there and walk
+back?"
+
+"Right you are!" said the Captain.
+
+By following the party from Nab Grange to Fillby parish church, a
+partial idea of the locality would be gained; but perhaps it is better
+to face the complete task at once. Idle tales suit idle readers; a
+history such as this may legitimately demand from those who study it
+some degree of mental application.
+
+If, then, the traveler lands from the North Sea (which is the only sea
+he can land from) he will find himself on a sandy beach, dipping rapidly
+to deep water and well adapted for bathing. As he stands facing inland,
+the sands stretch in a long line southerly on his left; on his right
+rises the bold bluff of Sandy Nab with its swelling outline, its
+grass-covered dunes, and its sparse firs; directly in front of him,
+abutting on the beach, is the high wall inclosing the Grange property; a
+gate in the middle gives access to the grounds. The Grange faces south,
+and lies in the shelter of Sandy Nab. In front of it are
+pleasure-grounds, then a sunk fence, then spacious meadow-lands. The
+property is about a mile and a half (rather more than less) in length,
+to half-a-mile in breadth. Besides the Grange there is a small
+farmhouse, or bailiff's house, in the southwest corner of the estate. On
+the north the boundary consists of moorlands, to the east (as has been
+seen) of the beach, to the west and south of a public road. At the end
+of the Grange walls this road turns to the right, inland, and passes by
+Fillby village; it then develops into the highroad to Easthorpe with its
+market, shops, and station, ten miles away. Instead, however, of
+pursuing this longer route, the traveler from the Grange grounds may
+reach Fillby and Easthorpe sooner by crossing the road on the west, and
+traversing the Scarsmoor Castle property, across which runs a broad
+carriage road, open to the public. He will first--after entering Lord
+Lynborough's gates--pass over a bridge which spans a little river, often
+nearly dry, but liable to be suddenly flooded by a rainfall in the
+hills. Thus he enters a beautiful demesne, rich in wood and undergrowth,
+in hill and valley, in pleasant rides and winding drives. The Castle
+itself--an ancient gray building, square and massive, stands on an
+eminence in the northwest extremity of the property; the ground drops
+rapidly in front of it, and it commands a view of Nab Grange and the sea
+beyond, being in its turn easily visible from either of these points.
+The road above mentioned, on leaving Lynborough's park, runs across the
+moors in a southwesterly line to Fillby, a little village of some three
+hundred souls. All around and behind this, stretching to Easthorpe, are
+great rolling moors, rich in beauty as in opportunities for sport, yet
+cutting off the little settlement of village, Castle, and Grange from
+the outer world by an isolation more complete than the mere distance
+would in these days seem to entail. The church, two or three little
+shops, and one policeman, sum up Fillby's resources: anything more, for
+soul's comfort, for body's supply or protection, must come across the
+moors from Easthorpe.
+
+One point remains--reserved to the end by reason of its importance. A
+gate has been mentioned as opening on to the beach from the grounds of
+Nab Grange. He who enters at that gate and makes for the Grange follows
+the path for about two hundred yards in a straight line, and then takes
+a curving turn to the right, which in time brings him to the front door
+of the house. But the path goes on--growing indeed narrower, ultimately
+becoming a mere grass-grown track, yet persisting quite plain to
+see--straight across the meadows, about a hundred yards beyond the sunk
+fence which bounds the Grange gardens, and in full view from the Grange
+windows; and it desists not from its course till it reaches the rough
+stone wall which divides the Grange estate from the highroad on the
+west. This wall it reaches at a point directly opposite to the Scarsmoor
+lodge; in the wall there is a gate, through which the traveler must pass
+to gain the road.
+
+There is a gate--and there had always been a gate; that much at least is
+undisputed. It will, of course, be obvious that if the residents at the
+Castle desired to reach the beach for the purpose of bathing or other
+diversions, and proposed to go on their feet, incomparably their best,
+shortest, and most convenient access thereto lay through this gate and
+along the path which crossed the Grange property and issued through the
+Grange gate on to the seashore. To go round by the road would take at
+least three times as long. Now the season was the month of June; Lord
+Lynborough was a man tenacious of his rights--and uncommonly fond of
+bathing.
+
+On the other hand, it might well be that the Marchesa di San
+Servolo--the present owner of Nab Grange--would prefer that strangers
+should not pass across her property, in full view and hail of her
+windows, without her permission and consent. That this, indeed, was the
+lady's attitude might be gathered from the fact that, on this Sunday
+morning in June, Captain Irons and Mr. Stillford, walking back through
+the Scarsmoor grounds from Fillby church as they had proposed, found the
+gate leading from the road into the Grange meadows securely padlocked.
+Having ignored this possibility, they had to climb, incidentally
+displacing, but carefully replacing, a number of prickly furze branches
+which the zeal of the Marchesa's bailiff had arranged along the top rail
+of the gate.
+
+"Boys been coming in?" asked Irons.
+
+"It may be that," said Stillford, smiling as he arranged the prickly
+defenses to the best advantage.
+
+The Grange expedition to church had to confess to having seen nothing of
+the Castle party--and in so far it was dubbed a failure. There was
+indeed a decorous row of servants in the household seat, but the square
+oaken pew in the chancel, with its brass rods and red curtains in front,
+and its fireplace at the back, stood empty. The two men reported having
+met, as they walked home through Scarsmoor, a very large fat man with a
+face which they described variously, one likening it to the sinking sun
+on a misty day, the other to a copper saucepan.
+
+"Not Lord Lynborough, I do trust!" shuddered little Violet Dufaure. She
+and Miss Gilletson had driven home by the road, regaining the Grange by
+the south gate and the main drive.
+
+Stillford was by the Marchesa. He spoke to her softly, covered by the
+general conversation. "You might have told us to take a key!" he said
+reproachfully. "That gorse is very dangerous to a man's Sunday
+clothes."
+
+"It looks--businesslike, doesn't it?" she smiled.
+
+"Oh, uncommon! When did you have it done?"
+
+"The day before yesterday. I wanted there to be no mistake from the very
+first. That's the best way to prevent any unpleasantness."
+
+"Possibly." Stillford sounded doubtful. "Going to have a notice-board,
+Marchesa?"
+
+"He will hardly make that necessary, will he?"
+
+"Well, I told you that in my judgment your right to shut it against him
+is very doubtful."
+
+"You told me a lot of things I didn't understand," she retorted rather
+pettishly.
+
+He shrugged his shoulders with a laugh. No good lay in anticipating
+trouble. Lord Lynborough might take no notice.
+
+In the afternoon the Marchesa's guests played golf on a rather makeshift
+nine-hole course laid out in the meadows. Miss Gilletson slept. The
+Marchesa herself mounted the top of Sandy Nab, and reviewed her
+situation. The Colonel would doubtless have liked to accompany her, but
+he was not thereto invited.
+
+Helena Vittoria Maria Antonia, Marchesa di San Servolo, was now in her
+twenty-fourth year. Born of an Italian father and an English mother, she
+had bestowed her hand on her paternal country, but her heart remained in
+her mother's. The Marchese took her as his second wife and his last
+pecuniary resource; in both capacities she soothed his declining years.
+Happily for her--and not unhappily for the world at large--these were
+few. He had not time to absorb her youth or to spend more than a small
+portion of her inheritance. She was left a widow--stepmother of adult
+Italian offspring--owner for life of an Apennine fortress. She liked the
+fortress much, but disliked the stepchildren (the youngest was of her
+own age) more. England--her mother's home--presented itself in the light
+of a refuge. In short, she had grave doubts about ever returning to
+Italy.
+
+Nab Grange was in the market. Ancestrally a possession of the Caverlys
+(for centuries a noble but unennobled family in those parts), it had
+served for the family's dower-house, till a bad race-meeting had induced
+the squire of the day to sell it to a Mr. Cross of Leeds. The Crosses
+held it for seventy years. Then the executors of the last Cross sold it
+to the Marchesa. This final transaction happened a year before
+Lynborough came home. The "Beach Path" had, as above recorded, been
+closed only for two days.
+
+The path was not just now in the Marchesa's thoughts. Nothing very
+definite was. Rather, as her eyes ranged from moor to sea, from the
+splendid uniformity of the unclouded sky to the ravishing variety of
+many-tinted earth, from the green of the Grange meadows (the one spot of
+rich emerald on the near coast-line, owing its hues to Sandy Nab's
+kindly shelter) to the gray mass of Scarsmoor Castle--there was in her
+heart that great mixture of content and longing that youth and--(what
+put bluntly amounts to)--a fine day are apt to raise. And youth allied
+with beauty becomes self-assertive, a claimant against the world, a
+plaintiff against facts before High Heaven's tribunal. The Marchesa was
+infinitely delighted with Nab Grange--graciously content with
+Nature--not ill-pleased with herself--but, in fine, somewhat
+discontented with her company. That was herself? Not precisely, though,
+at the moment, objectively. She was wondering whether her house-party
+was all that her youth and her beauty--to say nothing of her past
+endurance of the Marchese--entitled her to claim and to enjoy.
+
+Then suddenly across her vision, cutting the sky-line, seeming to divide
+for a moment heaven above from earth beneath, passed a tall meager
+figure, and a head of lines clean as if etched by a master's needle. The
+profile stood as carved in fine ivory; glints of color flashed from hair
+and beard. The man softly sang a love song as he walked--but he never
+looked toward the Marchesa.
+
+She sat up suddenly. "Could that be Lord Lynborough?" she thought--and
+smiled.
+
+
+
+
+_Chapter Three_
+
+OF LAW AND NATURAL RIGHTS
+
+
+Lynborough sat on the terrace which ran along the front of the Castle
+and looked down, over Nab Grange, to the sea. With him were Leonard
+Stabb and Roger Wilbraham. The latter was a rather short, slight man of
+dark complexion; although a light-weight he was very wiry and a fine
+boxer. His intellectual gifts corresponded well with his physical
+equipment; an acute ready mind was apt to deal with every-day problems
+and pressing necessities; it had little turn either for speculation or
+for fancy. He had dreams neither about the past, like Stabb, nor about
+present things, like Lynborough. His was, in a word, the practical
+spirit, and Lynborough could not have chosen a better right-hand man.
+
+They were all smoking; a silence had rested long over the party. At last
+Lynborough spoke.
+
+"There's always," he said, "something seductive in looking at a house
+when you know nothing about the people who live in it."
+
+"But I know a good deal about them," Wilbraham interposed with a laugh.
+"Coltson's been pumping all the village, and I've had the benefit of
+it." Coltson was Lynborough's own man, an old soldier who had been with
+him nearly fifteen years and had accompanied him on all his travels and
+excursions.
+
+Lynborough paid no heed; he was not the man to be put off his
+reflections by intrusive facts.
+
+"The blank wall of a strange house is like the old green curtain at the
+theater. It may rise for you any moment and show you--what? Now what is
+there at Nab Grange?"
+
+"A lot of country bumpkins, I expect," growled Stabb.
+
+"No, no," Wilbraham protested. "I'll tell you, if you like----"
+
+"What's there?" Lynborough pursued. "I don't know. You don't know--no,
+you don't, Roger, and you probably wouldn't even if you were inside. But
+I like not knowing--I don't want to know. We won't visit at the Grange,
+I think. We will just idealize it, Cromlech." He cast his queer elusive
+smile at his friend.
+
+"Bosh!" said Stabb. "There's sure to be a woman there--and I'll be bound
+she'll call on you!"
+
+"She'll call on me? Why?"
+
+"Because you're a lord," said Stabb, scorning any more personal form of
+flattery.
+
+"That fortuitous circumstance should, in my judgment, rather afford me
+protection."
+
+"If you come to that, she's somebody herself." Wilbraham's knowledge
+would bubble out, for all the want of encouragement.
+
+"Everybody's somebody," murmured Lynborough--"and it is a very odd
+arrangement. Can't be regarded as permanent, eh, Cromlech? Immortality
+by merit seems a better idea. And by merit I mean originality. Well--I
+sha'n't know the Grange, but I like to look at it. The way I picture
+her----"
+
+"Picture whom?" asked Stabb.
+
+"Why, the Lady of the Grange, to be sure----"
+
+"Tut, tut, who's thinking of the woman?--if there is a woman at all."
+
+"I am thinking of the woman, Cromlech, and I've a perfect right to think
+of her. At least, if not of that woman, of a woman--whose like I've
+never met."
+
+"She must be of an unusual type," opined Stabb with a reflective smile.
+
+"She is, Cromlech. Shall I describe her?"
+
+"I expect you must."
+
+"Yes, at this moment--with the evening just this color--and the Grange
+down there--and the sea, Cromlech, so remarkably large, I'm afraid I
+must. She is, of course, tall and slender; she has, of course, a
+rippling laugh; her eyes are, of course, deep and dreamy, yet lighting
+to a sparkle when one challenges. All this may be presupposed. It's her
+tint, Cromlech, her color--that's what's in my mind to-night; that, you
+will find, is her most distinguishing, her most wonderful
+characteristic."
+
+"That's just what the Vicar told Coltson! At least he said that the
+Marchesa had a most extraordinary complexion." Wilbraham had got
+something out at last.
+
+"Roger, you bring me back to earth. You substitute the Vicar's
+impression for my imagination. Is that kind?"
+
+"It seems such a funny coincidence."
+
+"Supposing it to be a mere coincidence--no doubt! But I've always known
+that I had to meet that complexion somewhere. If here--so much the
+better!"
+
+"I have a great doubt about that," said Leonard Stabb.
+
+"I can get over it, Cromlech! At least consider that."
+
+"But you're not going to know her!" laughed Wilbraham.
+
+"I shall probably see her as we walk down to bathe by Beach Path."
+
+A deferential voice spoke from behind his chair. "I beg your pardon, my
+lord, but Beach Path is closed." Coltson had brought Lynborough his
+cigar-case and laid it down on a table by him as he communicated this
+intelligence.
+
+"Closed, Coltson?"
+
+"Yes, my lord. There's a padlock on the gate, and a--er--barricade of
+furze. And the gardeners tell me they were warned off yesterday."
+
+"My gardeners warned off Beach Path?"
+
+"Yes, my lord."
+
+"By whose orders?"
+
+"Her Excellency's, my lord."
+
+"That's the Marchesa--Marchesa di San Servolo," Wilbraham supplied.
+
+"Yes, that's the name, sir," said Coltson respectfully.
+
+"What about her complexion now, Ambrose?" chuckled Stabb.
+
+"The Marchesa di San Servolo? Is that right, Coltson?"
+
+"Perfectly correct, my lord. Italian, I understand, my lord."
+
+"Excellent, excellent! She has closed my Beach Path? I think I have
+reflected enough for to-night. I'll go in and write a letter." He rose,
+smiled upon Stabb, who himself was grinning broadly, and walked through
+an open window into the house.
+
+"Now you may see something happen," said Leonard Stabb.
+
+"What's the matter? Is it a public path?" asked Wilbraham.
+
+With a shrug Stabb denied all knowledge--and, probably, all interest.
+Coltson, who had lingered behind his master, undertook to reply.
+
+"Not exactly public, as I understand, sir. But the Castle has always
+used it. Green--that's the head-gardener--tells me so, at least."
+
+"By legal right, do you mean?" Wilbraham had been called to the Bar,
+although he had never practised. No situation gives rise to greater
+confidence on legal problems.
+
+"I don't think you'll find that his lordship will trouble much about
+that, sir," was Coltson's answer, as he picked up the cigar-case again
+and hurried into the library with it.
+
+"What does the man mean by that?" asked Wilbraham scornfully. "It's a
+purely legal question--Lynborough must trouble about it." He rose and
+addressed Stabb somewhat as though that gentleman were the Court. "Not a
+public right of way? We don't argue that? Then it's a case of dominant
+and servient tenement--a right of way by user as of right, or by a lost
+grant. That--or nothing!"
+
+"I daresay," muttered Stabb very absently.
+
+"Then what does Coltson mean----?"
+
+"Coltson knows Ambrose--you don't. Ambrose will never go to law--but
+he'll go to bathe."
+
+"But she'll go to law if he goes to bathe!" cried the lawyer.
+
+Stabb blinked lazily, and seemed to loom enormous over his cigar. "I
+daresay--if she's got a good case," said he. "Do you know, Wilbraham, I
+don't much care whether she does or not? But in regard to her
+complexion----"
+
+"What the devil does her complexion matter?" shouted Wilbraham.
+
+"The human side of a thing always matters," observed Leonard Stabb.
+"For instance--pray sit down, Wilbraham--standing up and talking loud
+prove nothing, if people would only believe it--the permanence of
+hierarchical systems may be historically observed to bear a direct
+relation to the emoluments."
+
+"Would you mind telling me your opinion on two points, Stabb? We can go
+on with that argument of yours afterward."
+
+"Say on, Wilbraham."
+
+"Is Lynborough in his right senses?"
+
+"The point is doubtful."
+
+"Are you in yours?"
+
+Stabb reflected. "I am sane--but very highly specialized," was his
+conclusion.
+
+Wilbraham wrinkled his brow. "All the same, right of way or no right of
+way is purely a legal question," he persisted.
+
+"I think you're highly specialized too," said Stabb. "But you'd better
+keep quiet and see it through, you know. There may be some fun--it will
+serve to amuse the Archdeacon when you write." Wilbraham's father was a
+highly esteemed dignitary of the order mentioned.
+
+Lynborough came out again, smoking a cigar. His manner was noticeably
+more alert: his brow was unclouded, his whole mien tranquil and placid.
+
+"I've put it all right," he observed. "I've written her a civil letter.
+Will you men bathe to-morrow?"
+
+They both assented to the proposition.
+
+"Very well. We'll start at eight. We may as well walk. By Beach Path
+it's only about half-a-mile."
+
+"But the path's stopped, Ambrose," Stabb objected.
+
+"I've asked her to have the obstruction removed before eight o'clock,"
+Lynborough explained.
+
+"If it isn't?" asked Roger Wilbraham.
+
+"We have hands," answered Lynborough, looking at his own very small
+ones.
+
+"Wilbraham wants to know why you don't go to law, Ambrose."
+
+Lord Lynborough never shrank from explaining his views and convictions.
+
+"The law disgusts me. So does my experience of it. You remember the
+beer, Cromlech? Nobody ever acted more wisely or from better motives.
+And if I made money--as I did, till the customers left off coming--why
+not? I was unobtrusively doing good. Then Juanita's affair! I acted as a
+gentleman is bound to act. Result--a year's imprisonment! I lay stress
+on these personal experiences, but not too great stress. The law, Roger,
+always considers what you have had and what you now have--never what
+you ought to have. Take that path! It happens to be a fact that my
+grandfather, and my father, and I have always used that path. That's
+important by law, I daresay----"
+
+"Certainly, Lord Lynborough."
+
+"Just what would be important by law!" commented Lynborough. "And I have
+made use of the fact in my letter to the Marchesa. But in my own mind I
+stand on reason and natural right. Is it reasonable that I, living
+half-a-mile from my bathing, should have to walk two miles to get to it?
+Plainly not. Isn't it the natural right of the owner of Scarsmoor to
+have that path open through Nab Grange? Plainly yes. That, Roger,
+although, as I say, not the shape in which I have put the matter before
+the Marchesa--because she, being a woman, would be unappreciative of
+pure reason--is really the way in which the question presents itself to
+my mind--and, I'm sure, to Cromlech's?"
+
+"Not the least in the world to mine," said Stabb. "However, Ambrose, the
+young man thinks us both mad."
+
+"You do, Roger?" His smile persuaded to an affirmative reply.
+
+"I'm afraid so, Lord Lynborough."
+
+"No 'Lord,' if you love me! Why do you think me mad? Cromlech, of
+course, is mad, so we needn't bother about him."
+
+"You're not--not practical," stammered Roger.
+
+"Oh, I don't know, really I don't know. You'll see that I shall get that
+path open. And in the end I did get that public-house closed. And
+Juanita's husband had to leave the country, owing to the heat of local
+feeling--aroused entirely by me. Juanita stayed behind and, after due
+formalities, married again most happily. I'm not altogether inclined to
+call myself unpractical. Roger!" He turned quickly to his secretary.
+"Your father's what they call a High Churchman, isn't he?"
+
+"Yes--and so am I," said Roger.
+
+"He has his Church. He puts that above the State, doesn't he? He
+wouldn't obey the State against the Church? He wouldn't do what the
+Church said was wrong because the State said it was right?"
+
+"How could he? Of course he wouldn't," answered Roger.
+
+"Well, I have my Church--inside here." He touched his breast. "I stand
+where your father does. Why am I more mad than the Archdeacon, Roger?"
+
+"But there's all the difference!"
+
+"Of course there is," said Stabb. "All the difference that there is
+between being able to do it and not being able to do it--and I know of
+none so profound."
+
+"There's no difference at all," declared Lynborough. "Therefore--as a
+good son, no less than as a good friend--you will come and bathe with me
+to-morrow?"
+
+"Oh, I'll come and bathe, by all means, Lynborough."
+
+"By all means! Well said, young man. By all means, that is, which are
+becoming in opposing a lady. What precisely those may be we well
+consider when we see the strength of her opposition."
+
+"That doesn't sound so very unpractical, after all," Stabb suggested to
+Roger.
+
+Lynborough took his stand before Stabb, hands in pockets, smiling down
+at the bulk of his friend.
+
+"O Cromlech, Haunter of Tombs," he said, "Cromlech, Lover of Men long
+Dead, there is a possible--indeed a probable--chance--there is a divine
+hope--that Life may breathe here on this coast, that the blood may run
+quick, that the world may move, that our old friend Fortune may smile,
+and trick, and juggle, and favor us once more. This, Cromlech, to a man
+who had determined to reform, who came home to assume--what was it? Oh
+yes--responsibilities!--this is most extraordinary luck. Never shall it
+be said that Ambrose Caverly, being harnessed and carrying a bow, turned
+himself back in the day of battle!"
+
+He swayed himself to and fro on his heels, and broke into merry
+laughter.
+
+"She'll get the letter to-night, Cromlech. I've sent Coltson down with
+it--he proceeds decorously by the highroad and the main approach. But
+she'll get it. Cromlech, will she read it with a beating heart? Will she
+read it with a flushing cheek? And if so, Cromlech, what, I ask you,
+will be the particular shade of that particular flush?"
+
+"Oh, the sweetness of the game!" said he.
+
+Over Nab Grange the stars seemed to twinkle roguishly.
+
+
+
+
+_Chapter Four_
+
+THE MESSAGE OF A PADLOCK
+
+
+     Lord Lynborough presents his compliments to her Excellency the
+     Marchesa di San Servolo. Lord Lynborough has learnt, with
+     surprise and regret, that his servants have within the last two
+     days been warned off Beach Path, and that a padlock and other
+     obstacles have been placed on the gate leading to the path, by
+     her Excellency's orders. Lord Lynborough and his predecessors
+     have enjoyed the use of this path by themselves, their agents
+     and servants, for many years back--certainly for fifty, as Lord
+     Lynborough knows from his father and from old servants, and
+     Lord Lynborough is not disposed to acquiesce in any obstruction
+     being raised to his continued use of it. He must therefore
+     request her Excellency to have the kindness to order that the
+     padlock and other obstacles shall be removed, and he will be
+     obliged by this being done before eight o'clock to-morrow
+     morning--at which time Lord Lynborough intends to proceed by
+     Beach Path to the sea in order to bathe. Scarsmoor Castle; 13th
+     June.
+
+The reception of this letter proved an agreeable incident of an
+otherwise rather dull Sunday evening at Nab Grange. The Marchesa had
+been bored; the Colonel was sulky. Miss Gilletson had forbidden cards;
+her conscience would not allow herself, nor her feelings of envy permit
+other people, to play on the Sabbath. Lady Norah and Violet Dufaure were
+somewhat at cross-purposes, each preferring to talk to Stillford and
+endeavoring, under a false show of amity, to foist Captain Irons on to
+the other.
+
+"Listen to this!" cried the Marchesa vivaciously. She read it out. "He
+doesn't beat about the bush, does he? I'm to surrender before eight
+o'clock to-morrow morning!"
+
+"Sounds rather a peremptory sort of a chap!" observed Colonel Wenman.
+
+"I," remarked Lady Norah, "shouldn't so much as answer him, Helena."
+
+"I shall certainly answer him and tell him that he'll trespass on my
+property at his peril," said the Marchesa haughtily. "Isn't that the
+right way to put it, Mr. Stillford?"
+
+"If it would be a trespass, that might be one way to put it," was
+Stillford's professionally cautious advice. "But as I ventured to tell
+you when you determined to put on the padlock, the rights in the matter
+are not quite as clear as we could wish."
+
+"When I bought this place, I bought a private estate--a private estate,
+Mr. Stillford--for myself--not a short cut for Lord Lynborough! Am I to
+put up a notice for him, 'This Way to the Bathing-Machines'?"
+
+"I wouldn't stand it for a moment." Captain Irons sounded bellicose.
+
+Violet Dufaure was amicably inclined.
+
+"You might give him leave to walk through. It would be a bore for him to
+go round by the road every time."
+
+"Certainly I might give him leave if he asked for it," retorted the
+Marchesa rather sharply. "But he doesn't. He orders me to open my
+gate--and tells me he means to bathe! As if I cared whether he bathed or
+not! What is it to me, I ask you, Violet, whether the man bathes or
+not?"
+
+"I beg your pardon, Marchesa, but aren't you getting a little off the
+point?" Stillford intervened deferentially.
+
+"No, I'm not. I never get off the point, Mr. Stillford. Do I, Colonel
+Wenman?"
+
+"I've never known you to do it in my life, Marchesa." There was, in
+fact, as Lynborough had ventured to anticipate, a flush on the
+Marchesa's cheek, and the Colonel knew his place.
+
+"There, Mr. Stillford!" she cried triumphantly. Then she swept--the
+expression is really applicable--across the room to her writing-table.
+"I shall be courteous, but quite decisive," she announced over her
+shoulder as she sat down.
+
+Stillford stood by the fire, smiling doubtfully. Evidently it was no use
+trying to stop the Marchesa; she had insisted on locking the gate, and
+she would persist in keeping it locked till she was forced, by process
+of law or otherwise, to open it again. But if the Lords of Scarsmoor
+Castle really had used it without interruption for fifty years (as Lord
+Lynborough asserted)--well, the Marchesa's rights were at least in a
+precarious position.
+
+The Marchesa came back with her letter in her hand.
+
+"'The Marchesa di San Servolo,'" she read out to an admiring audience,
+"'presents her compliments to Lord Lynborough. The Marchesa has no
+intention of removing the padlock and other obstacles which have been
+placed on the gate to prevent trespassing--either by Lord Lynborough or
+by anybody else. The Marchesa is not concerned to know Lord Lynborough's
+plans in regard to bathing or otherwise. Nab Grange; 13th June.'"
+
+The Marchesa looked round on her friends with a satisfied air.
+
+"I call that good," she remarked. "Don't you, Norah?"
+
+"I don't like the last sentence."
+
+"Oh yes! Why, that'll make him angrier than anything else! Please ring
+the bell for me, Mr. Stillford; it's just behind you."
+
+The butler came back.
+
+"Who brought Lord Lynborough's letter?" asked the Marchesa.
+
+"I don't know who it is, your Excellency--one of the upper servants at
+the Castle, I think."
+
+"How did he come to the house?"
+
+"By the drive--from the south gate--I believe, your Excellency."
+
+"I'm glad of that," she declared, looking positively dangerous. "Tell
+him to go back the same way, and not by the--by what Lord Lynborough
+chooses to call 'Beach Path.' Here's a letter for him to take."
+
+"Very good, your Excellency." The butler received the letter and
+withdrew.
+
+"Yes," said Lady Norah, "rather funny he should call it Beach Path,
+isn't it?"
+
+"I don't know whether it's funny or not, Norah, but I do know that I
+don't care what he calls it. He may call it Piccadilly if he likes, but
+it's my path all the same." As she spoke she looked, somewhat defiantly,
+at Mr. Stillford.
+
+Violet Dufaure, whose delicate frame held an indomitable and indeed
+pugnacious spirit, appealed to Stillford; "Can't Helena have him taken
+up if he trespasses?"
+
+"Well, hardly, Miss Dufaure. The remedy would lie in the civil courts."
+
+"Shall I bring an action against him? Is that it? Is that right?" cried
+the Marchesa.
+
+"That's the ticket, eh, Stillford?" asked the Colonel.
+
+Stillford's position was difficult; he had the greatest doubt about his
+client's case.
+
+"Suppose you leave him to bring the action?" he suggested. "When he
+does, we can fully consider our position."
+
+"But if he insists on using the path to-morrow?"
+
+"He'll hardly do that," Stillford persuaded her. "You'll probably get a
+letter from him, asking for the name of your solicitor. You will give
+him my name; I shall obtain the name of his solicitor, and we shall
+settle it between us--amicably, I hope, but in any case without further
+personal trouble to you, Marchesa."
+
+"Oh!" said the Marchesa blankly. "That's how it will be, will it?"
+
+"That's the usual course--the proper way of doing the thing."
+
+"It may be proper; it sounds very dull, Mr. Stillford. What if he does
+try to use the path to-morrow--'in order to bathe' as he's good enough
+to tell me?"
+
+"If you're right about the path, then you've the right to stop him,"
+Stillford answered rather reluctantly. "If you do stop him, that, of
+course, raises the question in a concrete form. You will offer a formal
+resistance. He will make a formal protest. Then the lawyers step in."
+
+"We always end with the lawyers--and my lawyer doesn't seem sure I'm
+right!"
+
+"Well, I'm not sure," said Stillford bluntly. "It's impossible to be
+sure at this stage of the case."
+
+"For all I see, he may use my path to-morrow!" The Marchesa was
+justifying her boast that she could stick to a point.
+
+"Now that you've lodged your objection, that won't matter much legally."
+
+"It will annoy me intensely," the Marchesa complained.
+
+"Then we'll stop him," declared Colonel Wenman valorously.
+
+"Politely--but firmly," added Captain Irons.
+
+"And what do you say, Mr. Stillford?"
+
+"I'll go with these fellows anyhow--and see that they don't overstep the
+law. No more than the strictly necessary force, Colonel!"
+
+"I begin to think that the law is rather stupid," said the Marchesa. She
+thought it stupid; Lynborough held it iniquitous; the law was at a
+discount, and its majesty little reverenced, that night.
+
+Ultimately, however, Stillford persuaded the angry lady to--as he
+tactfully put it--give Lynborough a chance. "See what he does first. If
+he crosses the path now, after warning, your case is clear. Write to him
+again then, and tell him that, if he persists in trespassing, your
+servants have orders to interfere."
+
+"That lets him bathe to-morrow!" Once more the Marchesa returned to her
+point--a very sore one.
+
+"Just for once, it really doesn't matter!" Stillford urged.
+
+Reluctantly she acquiesced; the others were rather relieved--not because
+they objected to a fight, but because eight in the morning was rather
+early to start one. Breakfast at the Grange was at nine-thirty, and,
+though the men generally went down for a dip, they went much later than
+Lord Lynborough proposed to go.
+
+"He shall have one chance of withdrawing gracefully," the Marchesa
+finally decided.
+
+Stillford was unfeignedly glad to hear her say so; he had, from a
+professional point of view, no desire for a conflict. Inquiries which he
+had made in Fillby--both from men in Scarsmoor Castle employ and from
+independent persons--had convinced him that Lynborough's case was
+strong. For many years--through the time of two Lynboroughs before the
+present at Scarsmoor, and through the time of three Crosses (the
+predecessors of the Marchesa) at Nab Grange, Scarsmoor Castle had
+without doubt asserted this dominant right over Nab Grange. It had been
+claimed and exercised openly--and, so far as he could discover, without
+protest or opposition. The period, as he reckoned it, would prove to be
+long enough to satisfy the law as to prescription; it was very unlikely
+that any document existed--or anyhow could be found--which would serve
+to explain away the presumption which uses such as this gave. In fine,
+the Marchesa's legal adviser was of opinion that in a legal fight the
+Marchesa would be beaten. His own hope lay in compromise; if friendly
+relations could be established, there would be a chance of a
+compromise. He was sure that the Marchesa would readily grant as a
+favor--and would possibly give in return for a nominal payment--all that
+Lynborough asked. That would be the best way out of the difficulty. "Let
+us temporize, and be conciliatory," thought the man of law.
+
+Alas, neither conciliation nor dilatoriness was in Lord Lynborough's
+line! He read the Marchesa's letter with appreciation and pleasure. He
+admired the curtness of its intimation, and the lofty haughtiness with
+which the writer dismissed the subject of his bathing. But he treated
+the document--it cannot be said that he did wrong--as a plain defiance.
+It appeared to him that no further declaration of war was necessary; he
+was not concerned to consider evidence nor to weigh his case, as
+Stillford wanted to weigh her case. This for two reasons: first,
+because he was entirely sure that he was right; secondly because he had
+no intention of bringing the question to trial. Lynborough knew but one
+tribunal; he had pointed out its local habitation to Roger Wilbraham.
+
+Accordingly it fell out that conciliatory counsels and Fabian tactics at
+Nab Grange received a very severe--perhaps indeed a fatal--shock the
+next morning.
+
+At about nine o'clock the Marchesa was sitting in her dressing-gown by
+the open window, reading her correspondence and sipping an early cup of
+tea--she had become quite English in her habits. Her maid reentered the
+room, carrying in her hand a small parcel. "For your Excellency," she
+said. "A man has just left it at the door." She put the parcel down on
+the marble top of the dressing-table.
+
+"What is it?" asked the Marchesa indolently.
+
+"I don't know, your Excellency. It's hard, and very heavy for its size."
+
+Laying down the letter which she had been perusing, the Marchesa took up
+the parcel and cut the string which bound it. With a metallic clink
+there fell on her dressing-table--a padlock! To it was fastened a piece
+of paper, bearing these words: "Padlock found attached to gate leading
+to Beach Path. Detached by order of Lord Lynborough. With Lord
+Lynborough's compliments."
+
+Now, too, Lynborough might have got his flush--if he could have been
+there to see it!
+
+"Bring me my field-glasses!" she cried.
+
+The window commanded a view of the gardens, of the meadows beyond the
+sunk fence, of the path--Beach Path as that man was pleased to call
+it!--and of the gate. At the last-named object the enraged Marchesa
+directed her gaze. The barricade of furze branches was gone! The gate
+hung open upon its hinges!
+
+While she still looked, three figures came across the lens. A very large
+stout shape--a short spare form--a tall, lithe, very lean figure. They
+were just reaching the gate, coming from the direction of the sea. The
+two first were strangers to her; the third she had seen for a moment the
+afternoon before on Sandy Nab. It was Lynborough himself, beyond a
+doubt. The others must be friends--she cared not about them. But to sit
+here with the padlock before her, and see Lynborough pass through the
+gate--a meeker woman than she had surely been moved to wrath! He had
+bathed--as he had said he would. And he had sent her the padlock. That
+was what came of listening to conciliatory counsels, of letting herself
+give ear to dilatory persuasions!
+
+"War!" declared the Marchesa. "War--war--war! And if he's not careful, I
+won't confine it to the path either!" She seemed to dream of conquests,
+perhaps to reckon resources, whereof Mr. Stillford, her legal adviser,
+had taken no account.
+
+She carried the padlock down to breakfast with her; it was to her as a
+Fiery Cross; it summoned her and her array to battle. She exhibited it
+to her guests.
+
+"Now, gentlemen, I'm in your hands!" said she. "Is that man to walk over
+my property for his miserable bathing to-morrow?"
+
+He would have been a bold man who, at that moment, would have answered
+her with a "Yes."
+
+
+
+
+_Chapter Five_
+
+THE BEGINNING OF WAR
+
+
+An enviable characteristic of Lord Lynborough's was that, when he had
+laid the fuse, he could wait patiently for the explosion. (That last
+word tends to recur in connection with him.) Provided he knew that his
+adventure and his joke were coming, he occupied the interval
+profitably--which is to say, as agreeably as he could. Having launched
+the padlock--his symbolical ultimatum--and asserted his right, he spent
+the morning in dictating to Roger Wilbraham a full, particular, and
+veracious account of his early differences with the Dean of Christ
+Church. Roger found his task entertaining, for Lynborough's mimicry of
+his distinguished opponent was excellent. Stabb meanwhile was among the
+tombs in an adjacent apartment.
+
+This studious tranquillity was disturbed by the announcement of a call
+from Mr. Stillford. Not without difficulty he had persuaded the Marchesa
+to let him reconnoiter the ground--to try, if it seemed desirable, the
+effect of a bit of "bluff"--at any rate to discover, if he could,
+something of the enemy's plan of campaign. Stillford was, in truth, not
+a little afraid of a lawsuit!
+
+Lynborough denied himself to no man, and received with courtesy every
+man who came. But his face grew grim and his manner distant when
+Stillford discounted the favorable effect produced by his appearance and
+manner--also by his name, well known in the county--by confessing that
+he called in the capacity of the Marchesa's solicitor.
+
+"A solicitor?" said Lynborough, slightly raising his brows.
+
+"Yes. The Marchesa does me the honor to place her confidence in me; and
+it occurs to me that, before this unfortunate dispute----"
+
+"Why unfortunate?" interrupted Lynborough with an air of some surprise.
+
+"Surely it is--between neighbors? The Castle and the Grange should be
+friends." His cunning suggestion elicited no response. "It occurred to
+me," he continued, somewhat less glibly, "that, before further annoyance
+or expense was caused, it might be well if I talked matters over with
+your lordship's solicitor."
+
+"Sir," said Lynborough, "saving your presence--which, I must beg you to
+remember, was not invited by me--I don't like solicitors. I have no
+solicitor. I shall never have a solicitor. You can't talk with a
+non-existent person."
+
+"But proceedings are the natural--the almost inevitable--result of such
+a situation as your action has created, Lord Lynborough. My client can't
+be flouted, she can't have her indubitable rights outraged----"
+
+"Do you think they're indubitable?" Lynborough put in, with a sudden
+quick flash of his eyes.
+
+For an instant Stillford hesitated. Then he made his orthodox reply. "As
+I am instructed, they certainly are."
+
+"Ah!" said Lynborough dryly.
+
+"No professional man could say more than that, Lord Lynborough."
+
+"And they all say just as much! If I say anything you don't like, again
+remember that this interview is not of my seeking, Mr. Stillford."
+
+Stillford waxed a trifle sarcastic. "You'll conduct your case in
+person?" he asked.
+
+"If you hale me to court, I shall. Otherwise there's no question of a
+case."
+
+This time Stillford's eyes brightened; yet still he doubted Lynborough's
+meaning.
+
+"We shouldn't hesitate to take our case into court."
+
+"Since you're wrong, you'd probably win," said Lynborough, with a smile.
+"But I'd make it cost you the devil of a lot of money. That, at least,
+the law can do--I'm not aware that it can do much else. But as far as
+I'm concerned, I should as soon appeal to the Pope of Rome in this
+matter as to a law-court--sooner in fact."
+
+Stillford grew more confidently happy--and more amazed at Lynborough.
+
+"But you've no right to--er--assert rights if you don't intend to
+support them."
+
+"I do intend to support them, Mr. Stillford. That you'll very soon find
+out."
+
+"By force?" Stillford himself was gratified by the shocked solemnity
+which he achieved in this question.
+
+"If so, your side has no prejudice against legal proceedings. Prisons
+are not strange to me----"
+
+"What?" Stillford was a little startled. He had not heard all the
+stories about Lord Lynborough.
+
+"I say, prisons are not strange to me. If necessary, I can do a month. I
+am, however, not altogether a novice in the somewhat degrading art of
+getting the other man to hit first. Then he goes to prison, doesn't he?
+Just like the law! As if that had anything to do with the merits!"
+
+Stillford kept his eye on the point valuable to him. "By supporting your
+claim I intended to convey supporting it by legal action."
+
+"Oh, the cunning of this world, the cunning of this world, Roger!" He
+flung himself into an arm-chair, laughing. Stillford was already seated.
+"Take a cigarette, Mr. Stillford. You want to know whether I'm going to
+law or not, don't you? Well, I'm not. Is there anything else you want to
+know? Oh, by the way, we don't abstain from the law because we don't
+know the law. Permit me--Mr. Stillford, solicitor--Mr. Roger Wilbraham,
+of the Middle Temple, Esquire, barrister-at-law. Had I known you were
+coming, Roger should have worn his wig. No, no, we know the law--but we
+hate it."
+
+Stillford was jubilant at a substantial gain--the appeal to law lay
+within the Marchesa's choice now; and that was in his view a great
+advantage. But he was legitimately irritated by Lynborough's sneers at
+his profession.
+
+"So do most of the people who belong to--the people to whom prisons are
+not strange, Lord Lynborough."
+
+"Apostles--and so on?" asked Lynborough airily.
+
+"I hardly recognize your lordship as belonging to
+that--er--er--category."
+
+"That's the worst of it--nobody will," Lynborough admitted candidly. A
+note of sincere, if whimsical, regret sounded in his voice. "I've been
+trying for fifteen years. Yet some day I may be known as St. Ambrose!"
+His tones fell to despondency again. "St. Ambrose the Less, though--yes,
+I'm afraid the Less. Apostles--even Saints--are much handicapped in
+these days, Mr. Stillford."
+
+Stillford rose to his feet. "You've no more to say to me, Lord
+Lynborough?"
+
+"I don't know that I ever had anything to say to you, Mr. Stillford. You
+must have gathered before now that I intend to use Beach Path."
+
+"My client intends to prevent you."
+
+"Yes?--Well, you're three able-bodied men down there--so my man tells
+me--you, and the Colonel, and the Captain. And we're three up here. It
+seems to me fair enough."
+
+"You don't really contemplate settling the matter by personal conflict?"
+He was half amused, yet genuinely stricken in his habits of thought.
+
+"Entirely a question for your side. We shall use the path." Lynborough
+cocked his head on one side, looking up at the sturdy lawyer with a
+mischievous amusement. "I shall harry you, Mr. Stillford--day and night
+I shall harry you. If you mean to keep me off that path, vigils will be
+your portion. And you won't succeed."
+
+"I make a last appeal to your lordship. The matter could, I believe, be
+adjusted on an amicable basis. The Marchesa could be prevailed upon to
+grant permission----"
+
+"I'd just as soon ask her permission to breathe," interrupted
+Lynborough.
+
+"Then my mission is at an end."
+
+"I congratulate you."
+
+"I beg your pardon?"
+
+"Well, you've found out the chief thing you wanted to know, haven't you?
+If you'd asked it point-blank, we should have saved a lot of time.
+Good-by, Mr. Stillford. Roger, the bell's in reach of your hand."
+
+"You're pleased to be amused at my expense?" Stillford had grown huffy.
+
+"No--only don't think you've been clever at mine," Lynborough retorted
+placidly.
+
+So they parted. Lynborough went back to his Dean, Stillford to the
+Marchesa. Still ruffled in his plumes, feeling that he had been chaffed
+and had made no adequate reply, yet still happy in the solid, the
+important fact which he had ascertained, he made his report to his
+client. He refrained from openly congratulating her on not being
+challenged to a legal fight; he contented himself with observing that it
+was convenient to be able to choose her own time to take proceedings.
+
+Lady Norah was with the Marchesa. They both listened attentively and
+questioned closely. Not the substantial points alone attracted their
+interest; Stillford was constantly asked--"How did he look when he said
+that?" He had no other answer than "Oh--well--er--rather queer." He left
+them, having received directions to rebarricade the gate as solidly and
+as offensively as possible; a board warning off trespassers was also to
+be erected.
+
+Although not apt at a description of his interlocutor, yet Stillford
+seemed to have conveyed an impression.
+
+"I think he must be delightful," said Norah thoughtfully, when the two
+ladies were left together. "I'm sure he's just the sort of a man I
+should fall in love with, Helena."
+
+As a rule the Marchesa admired and applauded Norah's candor, praising it
+for a certain patrician flavor--Norah spoke her mind, let the crowd
+think what it would! On this occasion she was somehow less pleased; she
+was even a little startled. She was conscious that any man with whom
+Norah was gracious enough to fall in love would be subjected to no
+ordinary assault; the Irish coloring is bad to beat, and Norah had it to
+perfection; moreover, the aforesaid candor makes matters move ahead.
+
+"After all, it's my path he's trespassing on, Norah," the Marchesa
+remonstrated.
+
+They both began to laugh. "The wretch is as handsome as--as a god,"
+sighed Helena.
+
+"You've seen him?" eagerly questioned Norah; and the glimpse--that
+tantalizing glimpse--on Sandy Nab was confessed to.
+
+The Marchesa sprang up, clenching her fist. "Norah, I should like to
+have that man at my feet, and then to trample on him! Oh, it's not only
+the path! I believe he's laughing at me all the time!"
+
+"He's never seen you. Perhaps if he did he wouldn't laugh. And perhaps
+you wouldn't trample on him either."
+
+"Ah, but I would!" She tossed her head impatiently. "Well, if you want
+to meet him. I expect you can do it--on my path to-morrow!"
+
+This talk left the Marchesa vaguely vexed. Her feeling could not be
+called jealousy; nothing can hardly be jealous of nothing, and even as
+her acquaintance with Lynborough amounted to nothing, Lady Norah's also
+was represented by a cipher. But why should Norah want to know him? It
+was the Marchesa's path--by consequence it was the Marchesa's quarrel.
+Where did Norah stand in the matter? The Marchesa had perhaps been
+constructing a little drama. Norah took leave to introduce a new
+character!
+
+And not Norah alone, as it appeared at dinner. Little Violet Dufaure,
+whose appealing ways were notoriously successful with the emotionally
+weaker sex, took her seat at table with a demurely triumphant air.
+Captain Irons reproached her, with polite gallantry, for having deserted
+the croquet lawn after tea.
+
+"Oh, I went for a walk to Fillby--through Scarsmoor, you know."
+
+"Through Scarsmoor, Violet?" The Marchesa sounded rather startled again.
+
+"It's a public road, you know, Helena. Isn't it, Mr. Stillford?"
+
+Stillford admitted that it was. "All the same, perhaps the less we go
+there at the present moment----"
+
+"Oh, but Lord Lynborough asked me to come again and to go wherever I
+liked--not to keep to the stupid road."
+
+Absolute silence reigned. Violet looked round with a smile which
+conveyed a general appeal for sympathy; there was, perhaps, special
+reference to Miss Gilletson as the guardian of propriety, and to the
+Marchesa as the owner of the disputed path.
+
+"You see, I took Nellie, and the dear always does run away. She ran
+after a rabbit. I ran after her, of course. The rabbit ran into a hole,
+and I ran into Lord Lynborough. Helena, he's charming!"
+
+"I'm thoroughly tired of Lord Lynborough," said the Marchesa icily.
+
+"He must have known I was staying with you, I think; but he never so
+much as mentioned you. He just ignored you--the whole thing, I mean.
+Wasn't it tactful?"
+
+Tactful it might have been; it did not appear to gratify the Marchesa.
+
+"What a wonderful air there is about a--a _grand seigneio_!" pursued
+Violet reflectively. "Such a difference it makes!"
+
+That remark did not gratify any of the gentlemen present; it implied a
+contrast, although it might not definitely assert one.
+
+"It is such a pity that you've quarreled about that silly path!"
+
+"Oh! oh! Miss Dufaure!"--"I say come, Miss Dufaure!"--"Er--really, Miss
+Dufaure!"--these three remonstrances may be distributed indifferently
+among the three men. They felt that there was a risk of treason in the
+camp.
+
+The Marchesa assumed her grandest manner; it was medieval--it was
+Titianesque.
+
+"Fortunately, as it seems, Violet, I do not rely on your help to
+maintain my fights in regard to the path. Pray meet Lord Lynborough as
+often as you please, but spare me any unnecessary mention of his name."
+
+"I didn't mean any harm. It was all Nellie's fault."
+
+The Marchesa's reply--if such it can be called--was delivered _sotto
+voce_, yet was distinctly audible. It was also brief. She said
+"_Nellie_!" Nellie was, of course, Miss Dufaure's dog.
+
+Night fell upon an apparently peaceful land. Yet Violet was an absentee
+from the Marchesa's dressing-room that night, and even between Norah and
+her hostess the conversation showed a tendency to flag. Norah, for all
+her courage, dared not mention the name of Lynborough, and Helena most
+plainly would not. Yet what else was there to talk about? It had come to
+that point even so early in the war!
+
+Meanwhile, up at Scarsmoor Castle, Lynborough, in exceedingly high
+spirits, talked to Leonard Stabb.
+
+"Yes, Cromlech," he said, "a pretty girl, a very pretty girl if you like
+that _petite_ insinuating style. For myself I prefer something a shade
+more--what shall we call it?"
+
+"Don't care a hang," muttered Stabb.
+
+"A trifle more in the grand manner, perhaps, Cromlech. And she hadn't
+anything like the complexion. I knew at once that it couldn't be the
+Marchesa. Do you bathe to-morrow morning?"
+
+"And get my head broken?"
+
+"Just stand still, and let them throw themselves against you, Cromlech.
+Roger!--Oh, he's gone to bed; stupid thing to do--that! Cromlech, old
+chap, I'm enjoying myself immensely."
+
+He just touched his old friend's shoulder as he passed by: the caress
+was almost imperceptible. Stabb turned his broad red face round to him
+and laughed ponderously.
+
+"Oh, and you understand!" cried Lynborough.
+
+"I have never myself objected to a bit of fun with the girls," said
+Stabb.
+
+Lynborough sank into a chair murmuring delightedly, "You're priceless,
+Cromlech!"
+
+
+
+
+_Chapter Six_
+
+EXERCISE BEFORE BREAKFAST
+
+
+"Life--" (The extract is from Lynborough's diary, dated this same 14th
+of June)--"may be considered as a process (Cromlech's view, conducting
+to the tomb)--a program (as, I am persuaded, Roger conceives it, marking
+off each stage thereof with a duly guaranteed stamp of performance)--or
+as a progress--in which light I myself prefer to envisage it.
+Process--program--progress; the words, with my above-avowed preference,
+sound unimpeachably orthodox. Once I had a Bishop ancestor. He crops
+out.
+
+"Yet I don't mean what he does. I don't believe in growing better in
+the common sense--that is, in an increasing power to resist what tempts
+you, to refrain from doing what you want. That ideal seems to me, more
+and more, to start from the wrong end. No man refrains from doing what
+he wants to do. In the end the contradiction--the illogicality--is
+complete. You learn to want more wisely--that's all. Train desire, for
+you can never chain it.
+
+"I'm engaged here and now on what is to all appearance the most trivial
+of businesses. I play the spiteful boy--she is an obstinate peevish
+girl. There are other girls too--one an insinuating tiny minx, who would
+wheedle a backward glance out of Simon Stylites as he remounted his
+pillar--and, by the sun in heaven, will get little more from this child
+of Mother Earth! There's another, I hear--Irish!--And Irish is near my
+heart. But behind her--set in the uncertain radiance of my
+imagination--lies her Excellency. Heaven knows why! Save that it is
+gloriously paradoxical to meet a foreign Excellency in this spot, and to
+get to most justifiable, most delightful, loggerheads with her
+immediately. I have conceived Machiavellian devices. I will lure away
+her friends. I will isolate her, humiliate her, beat her in the fight.
+There may be some black eyes--some bruised hearts--but I shall do it.
+Why? I have always been gentle before. But so I feel toward her. And
+therefore I am afraid. This is the foeman for my steel, I think--I have
+my doubts but that she'll beat me in the end.
+
+"When I talk like this, Cromlech chuckles, loves me as a show, despises
+me as a mind. Roger--young Roger Fitz-Archdeacon--is all an incredulous
+amazement. I don't wonder. There is nothing so small and nothing so
+great--nothing so primitive and not a thing so complex--nothing so
+unimportant and so engrossing as this 'duel of the sexes.' A proves it a
+trifle, and is held great. B reckons it all-supreme, and becomes
+popular. C (a woman) describes the Hunter Man. D (a man) descants of the
+Pursuit by Woman. The oldest thing is the most canvassed and the least
+comprehended. But there's a reputation--and I suppose money--in it for
+anybody who can string phrases. There's blood-red excitement for
+everybody who can feel. Yet I've played my part in other affairs--not so
+much in dull old England, where you work five years to become a Member
+of Parliament, and five years more in order to get kicked out again--but
+in places where in a night you rise or fall--in five minutes order the
+shooting-squad or face it--boil the cook or are stuffed into the pot
+yourself. (Cromlech, this is not exact scientific statement!) Yet
+always--everywhere--the woman! And why? On my honor, I don't know. What
+in the end is she?
+
+"I adjourn the question--and put a broader one. What am I? The human
+being as such? If I'm a vegetable, am I not a mistake? If I'm an animal,
+am I not a cruelty? If I'm a soul, am I not misplaced? I'd say 'Yes' to
+all this, save that I enjoy myself so much. Because I have forty
+thousand a year? Hardly. I've had nothing, and been as completely out of
+reach of getting anything as the veriest pauper that ever existed--and
+yet I've had the deuce of a fine existence the while. I think there's
+only one solid blunder been made about man--he oughtn't to have been
+able to think. It wastes time. It makes many people unhappy. That's not
+my case. I like it. It just wastes time.
+
+"That insinuating minx, possessed of a convenient dog and an
+ingratiating manner, insinuated to-day that I was handsome. Well, she's
+pretty, and I suppose we're both better off for it. It is an
+introduction. But to myself I don't seem very handsome. I have my
+pride--I look a gentleman. But I look a queer foreign fish. I found
+myself envying the British robustness of that fine young chap who is so
+misguided as to be a lawyer.
+
+"Ah, why do I object to lawyers? Tolstoi!--I used to say--or, at the
+risk of advanced intellects not recognizing one's allusions, one could
+go further back. But that is, in the end, all gammon. Every real
+conviction springs from personal experience. I hate the law because it
+interfered with me. I'm not aware of any better reason. So I'm going on
+without it--unless somebody tries to steal my forty thousand, of course.
+Ambrose, thou art a humbug--or, more precisely, thou canst not avoid
+being a human individual!"
+
+Lord Lynborough completed the entry in his diary--he was tolerably well
+aware that he might just as well not have written it--and cast his eyes
+toward the window of the library. The stars were bright; a crescent moon
+decorated, without illuminating, the sky. The regular recurrent beat of
+the sea on the shore, traversing the interval in night's silence, struck
+on his ear. "If God knew Time, that might be His clock," said he.
+"Listen to its inexorable, peaceable, gentle, formidable stroke!"
+
+His sleep that night was short and broken. A fitful excitement was on
+his spirit: the glory of the summer morning wooed his restlessness. He
+would take his swim alone, and early. At six o'clock he slipped out of
+the house and made for Beach Path. The fortified gate was too strong for
+his unaided efforts. Roger Wilbraham had told him that, if the way were
+impeded, he had a right to "deviate." He deviated now, lightly vaulting
+over the four-foot-high stone wall. None was there to hinder him, and,
+with emotions appropriate to the occasion, he passed Nab Grange and
+gained the beach. When once he was in the water, the emotions went away.
+
+They were to return--or, at any rate, to be succeeded by their brethren.
+After he had dressed, he sat down and smoked a cigarette as he regarded
+the smiling sea. This situation was so agreeable that he prolonged it
+for full half-an-hour; then a sudden longing for Coltson's coffee came
+over him. He jumped up briskly and made for the Grange gate.
+
+He had left it open--it was shut now. None had been nigh when he passed
+through. Now a young woman in a white frock leant her elbows comfortably
+on its top rail and rested her pretty chin upon her hands. Lady Norah's
+blue eyes looked at him serenely from beneath black lashes of noticeable
+length--at any rate Lynborough noticed their length.
+
+Lynborough walked up to the gate. With one hand he removed his hat, with
+the other he laid a tentative hand on the latch. Norah did not move or
+even smile.
+
+"I beg your pardon, madam," said Lynborough, "but if it does not
+incommode you, would you have the great kindness to permit me to open
+the gate?"
+
+"Oh, I'm sorry; but this is a private path leading to Nab Grange. I
+suppose you're a stranger in these parts?"
+
+"My name is Lynborough. I live at Scarsmoor there."
+
+"Are you Lord Lynborough?" Norah sounded exceedingly interested. "_The_
+Lord Lynborough?"
+
+"There's only one, so far as I'm aware," the owner of the title
+answered.
+
+"I mean the one who has done all those--those--well, those funny
+things?"
+
+"I rejoice if the recital of them has caused you any amusement. And now,
+if you will permit me----"
+
+"Oh, but I can't! Helena would never forgive me. I'm a friend of hers,
+you know--of the Marchesa di San Servolo. Really you can't come through
+here."
+
+"Do you think you can stop me?"
+
+"There isn't room for you to get over as long as I stand here--and the
+wall's too high to climb, isn't it?"
+
+Lynborough studied the wall; it was twice the height of the wall on the
+other side; it might be possible to scale, but difficult and laborious;
+nor would he look imposing while struggling at the feat.
+
+"You'll have to go round by the road," remarked Norah, breaking into a
+smile.
+
+Lynborough was enjoying the conversation just as much as she was--but he
+wanted two things; one was victory, the other coffee.
+
+"Can't I persuade you to move?" he said imploringly. "I really don't
+want to have to resort to more startling measures."
+
+"You surely wouldn't use force against a girl, Lord Lynborough!"
+
+"I said startling measures--not violent ones," he reminded her. "Are
+your nerves good?"
+
+"Excellent, thank you."
+
+"You mean to stand where you are?"
+
+"Yes--till you've gone away." Now she laughed openly at him. Lynborough
+delighted in the merry sound and the flash of her white teeth.
+
+"It's a splendid morning, isn't it?" he asked. "I should think you stand
+about five feet five, don't you? By the way, whom have I the pleasure of
+conversing with?"
+
+"My name is Norah Mountliffey."
+
+"Ah, I knew your father very well." He drew back a few steps. "So you
+must excuse an old family friend for telling you that you make a
+charming picture at that gate. If I had a camera--Just as you are,
+please!" He held up his hand, as though to pose her.
+
+"Am I quite right?" she asked, humoring the joke, with her merry
+mischievous eyes set on Lynborough's face as she leaned over the top of
+the gate.
+
+"Quite right. Now, please! Don't move!"
+
+"Oh, I've no intention of moving," laughed Norah mockingly.
+
+She kept her word; perhaps she was too surprised to do anything else.
+For Lynborough, clapping his hat on firmly, with a dart and a spring
+flew over her head.
+
+Then she wheeled round--to see him standing two yards from her, his hat
+in his hand again, bowing apologetically.
+
+"Forgive me for getting between you and the sunshine for a moment," he
+said. "But I thought I could still do five feet five; and you weren't
+standing upright either. I've done within an inch of six feet, you know.
+And now I'm afraid I must reluctantly ask you to excuse me. I thank you
+for the pleasure of this conversation." He bowed, put on his hat,
+turned, and began to walk away along Beach Path.
+
+"You got the better of me that time, but you've not done with me yet,"
+she cried, starting after him.
+
+He turned and looked over his shoulder: save for his eyes his face was
+quite grave. He quickened his pace to a very rapid walk. Norah found
+that she must run, or fall behind. She began to run. Again that gravely
+derisory face turned upon her. She blushed, and fell suddenly to
+wondering whether in running she looked absurd. She fell to a walk.
+Lynborough seemed to know. Without looking round again, he abated his
+pace.
+
+"Oh, I can't catch you if you won't stop!" she cried.
+
+"My friend and secretary, Roger Wilbraham, tells me that I have no right
+to stop," Lynborough explained, looking round again, but not standing
+still. "I have only the right to pass and repass. I'm repassing now.
+He's a barrister, and he says that's the law. I daresay it is--but I
+regret that it prevents me from obliging you, Lady Norah."
+
+"Well, I'm not going to make a fool of myself by running after you,"
+said Norah crossly.
+
+Lynborough walked slowly on; Norah followed; they reached the turn of
+the path towards the Grange hall door. They reached it--and passed
+it--both of them. Lynborough turned once more--with a surprised lift of
+his brows.
+
+"At least I can see you safe off the premises!" laughed Norah, and with
+a quick dart forward she reduced the distance between them to
+half-a-yard. Lynborough seemed to have no objection; proximity made
+conversation easier; he moved slowly on.
+
+Norah seemed defeated--but suddenly she saw her chance, and hailed it
+with a cry. The Marchesa's bailiff--John Goodenough--was approaching the
+path from the house situated at the southwest corner of the meadow. Her
+cry of his name caught his attention--as well as Lynborough's. The
+latter walked a little quicker. John Goodenough hurried up. Lynborough
+walked steadily on.
+
+"Stop him, John!" cried Norah, her eyes sparkling with new excitement.
+"You know her Excellency's orders? This is Lord Lynborough!"
+
+"His lordship! Aye, it is. I beg your pardon, my lord, but--I'm very
+sorry to interfere with your lordship, but----"
+
+"You're in my way, Goodenough." For John had got across his path, and
+barred progress. "Of course I must stand still if you impede my steps,
+but I do it under protest. I only want to repass."
+
+"You can't come this way, my lord. I'm sorry, but it's her Excellency's
+strict orders. You must go back, my lord."
+
+"I am going back--or I was till you stopped me."
+
+"Back to where you came from, my lord."
+
+"I came from Scarsmoor and I'm going back there, Goodenough."
+
+"Where you came from last, my lord."
+
+"No, no, Goodenough. At all events, her Excellency has no right to drive
+me into the sea." Lynborough's tone was plaintively expostulatory.
+
+"Then if you won't go back, my lord, here we stay!" said John,
+bewildered but faithfully obstinate.
+
+"Just your tactics!" Lynborough observed to Norah, a keen spectator of
+the scene. "But I'm not so patient of them from Goodenough."
+
+"I don't know that you were very patient with me."
+
+"Goodenough, if you use sufficient force I shall, of course, be
+prevented from continuing on my way. Nothing short of that, however,
+will stop me. And pray take care that the force is sufficient--neither
+more nor less than sufficient, Goodenough."
+
+"I don't want to use no violence to your lordship. Well now, if I lay my
+hand on your lordship's shoulder, will that do to satisfy your
+lordship?"
+
+"I don't know until you try it."
+
+John's face brightened. "I reckon that's the way out. I reckon that's
+law, my lord. I puts my hand on your lordship's shoulder like that----"
+
+He suited the action to the word. In an instant Lynborough's long lithe
+arms were round him, Lynborough's supple lean leg twisted about his.
+Gently, as though he had been a little baby, Lynborough laid the sturdy
+fellow on the grass.
+
+For all she could do, Norah Mountliffey cried "Bravo!" and clapped her
+hands. Goodenough sat up, scratched his head, and laughed feebly.
+
+"Force not quite sufficient, Goodenough," cried Lynborough gaily. "Now I
+repass!"
+
+He lifted his hat to Norah, then waved his hand. In her open impulsive
+way she kissed hers back to him as he turned away.
+
+By one of those accidents peculiar to tragedy, the Marchesa's maid,
+performing her toilet at an upper window, saw this nefarious and
+traitorous deed!
+
+"Swimming--jumping--wrestling! A good morning's exercise! And all
+before those lazy chaps, Roger and Cromlech, are out of bed!"
+
+So saying, Lord Lynborough vaulted the wall again in high good humor.
+
+
+
+
+_Chapter Seven_
+
+ANOTHER WEDGE!
+
+
+Deprived of their leader's inspiration, the other two representatives of
+Scarsmoor did not brave the Passage Perilous to the sea that morning.
+Lynborough was well content to forego further aggression for the moment.
+His words declared his satisfaction----
+
+"I have driven a wedge--another wedge--into the Marchesa's phalanx. Yes,
+I think I may say a second wedge. Disaffection has made its entry into
+Nab Grange, Cromlech. The process of isolation has begun. Perhaps after
+lunch we will resume operations."
+
+But fortune was to give him an opportunity even before lunch. It
+appeared that Stabb had sniffed out the existence of two old brasses in
+Fillby Church; he was determined to inspect them at the earliest
+possible moment. Lynborough courteously offered to accompany him, and
+they set out together about eleven o'clock.
+
+No incident marked their way. Lynborough rang up the parish clerk at his
+house, presented Stabb to that important functionary, and bespoke for
+him every consideration. Then he leaned against the outside of the
+churchyard wall, peacefully smoking a cigarette.
+
+On the opposite side of the village street stood the Lynborough Arms.
+The inn was kept by a very superior man, who had retired to this
+comparative leisure after some years of service as butler with
+Lynborough's father. This excellent person, perceiving Lynborough,
+crossed the road and invited him to partake of a glass of ale in memory
+of old days. Readily acquiescing, Lynborough crossed the road, sat down
+with the landlord on a bench by the porch, and began to discuss local
+affairs over the beer.
+
+"I suppose you haven't kept up your cricket since you've been in foreign
+parts, my lord?" asked Dawson, the landlord, after some conversation
+which need not occupy this narrative. "We're playing a team from
+Easthorpe to-morrow, and we're very short."
+
+"Haven't played for nearly fifteen years, Dawson. But I tell you what--I
+daresay my friend Mr. Wilbraham will play. Mr. Stabb's no use."
+
+"Every one helps," said Dawson. "We've got two of the gentlemen from the
+Grange--Mr. Stillford, a good bat, and Captain Irons, who can bowl a
+bit--or so John Goodenough tells me."
+
+Lynborough's eyes had grown alert. "Well, I used to bowl a bit, too. If
+you're really hard up for a man, Dawson--really at a loss, you
+know--I'll play. It'll be better than going into the field short, won't
+it?"
+
+Dawson was profuse in his thanks. Lynborough listened patiently.
+
+"I tell you what I should like to do, Dawson," he said. "I should like
+to stand the lunch."
+
+It was the turn of Dawson's eyes to grow alert. They did. Dawson
+supplied the lunch. The club's finances were slender, and its ideas
+correspondingly modest. But if Lord Lynborough "stood" the lunch----!
+
+"And to do it really well," added that nobleman. "A sort of little feast
+to celebrate my homecoming. The two teams--and perhaps a dozen places
+for friends--ladies, the Vicar, and so on, eh, Dawson? Do you see the
+idea?"
+
+Dawson saw the idea much more clearly than he saw most ideas. Almost
+corporeally he beheld the groaning board.
+
+"On such an occasion, Dawson, we shouldn't quarrel about figures."
+
+"Your lordship's always most liberal," Dawson acknowledged in tones
+which showed some trace of emotion.
+
+"Put the matter in hand at once. But look here, I don't want it talked
+about. Just tell the secretary of the club--that's enough. Keep the tent
+empty till the moment comes. Then display your triumph! It'll be a
+pleasant little surprise for everybody, won't it?"
+
+Dawson thought it would; at any rate it was one for him.
+
+At this instant an elderly lady of demure appearance was observed, to
+walk up to the lych-gate and enter the churchyard. Lynborough inquired
+of his companion who she was.
+
+"That's Miss Gilletson from the Grange, my lord--the Marchesa's
+companion."
+
+"Is it?" said Lynborough softly. "Oh, is it indeed?" He rose from his
+seat. "Good-by, Dawson. Mind--a dead secret, and a rattling good lunch!"
+
+"I'll attend to it, my lord," Dawson assured him with the utmost
+cheerfulness. Never had Dawson invested a glass of beer to better
+profit!
+
+Lynborough threw away his cigar and entered the sacred precincts. His
+brain was very busy. "Another wedge!" he was saying to himself. "Another
+wedge!"
+
+The lady had gone into the church. Lynborough went in too. He came
+first on Stabb--on his hands and knees, examining one of the old brasses
+and making copious notes in a pocket-book.
+
+"Have you seen a lady come in, Cromlech?" asked Lord Lynborough.
+
+"No, I haven't," said Cromlech, now producing a yard measure and
+proceeding to ascertain the dimensions of the brass.
+
+"You wouldn't, if it were Venus herself," replied Lynborough pleasantly.
+"Well, I must look for her on my own account."
+
+He found her in the neighborhood of his family monuments which, with his
+family pew, crowded the little chancel of the church. She was not
+employed in devotions, but was arranging some flowers in a
+vase--doubtless a pious offering. Somewhat at a loss how to open the
+conversation, Lynborough dropped his hat--or rather gave it a dexterous
+jerk, so that it fell at the lady's feet. Miss Gilletson started
+violently, and Lord Lynborough humbly apologized. Thence he glided into
+conversation, first about the flowers, then about the tombs. On the
+latter subject he was exceedingly interesting and informing.
+
+"Dear, dear! Married the Duke of Dexminster's daughter, did he?" said
+Miss Gilletson, considerably thrilled. "She's not buried here, is she?"
+
+"No, she's not," said Lynborough, suppressing the fact that the lady had
+run away after six months of married life. "And my own father's not
+buried here, either; he chose my mother's family place in Devonshire. I
+thought it rather a pity."
+
+"Your own father?" Miss Gilletson gasped.
+
+"Oh, I forgot you didn't know me," he said, laughing. "I'm Lord
+Lynborough, you know. That's how I come to be so well up in all this.
+And I tell you what--I should like to show you some of our Scarsmoor
+roses on your way home."
+
+"Oh, but if you're Lord Lynborough, I--I really couldn't----"
+
+"Who's to know anything about it, unless you choose, Miss Gilletson?" he
+asked with his ingratiating smile and his merry twinkle. "There's
+nothing so pleasant as a secret shared with a lady!"
+
+It was a long time since a handsome man had shared a secret with Miss
+Gilletson. Who knows, indeed, whether such a thing had ever happened? Or
+whether Miss Gilletson had once just dreamed that some day it might--and
+had gone on dreaming for long, long days, till even the dream had slowly
+and sadly faded away? For sometimes it does happen like that.
+Lynborough meant nothing--but no possible effort (supposing he made it)
+could enable him to look as if he meant nothing. One thing at least he
+did mean--to make himself very pleasant to Miss Gilletson.
+
+Interested knave! It is impossible to avoid that reflection. Yet let
+ladies in their turn ask themselves if they are over-scrupulous in their
+treatment of one man when their affections are set upon another.
+
+He showed Miss Gilletson all the family tombs. He escorted her from the
+church. Under renewed vows of secrecy he induced her to enter Scarsmoor.
+Once in the gardens, the good lady was lost. They had no such roses at
+Nab Grange! Lynborough insisted on sending an enormous bouquet to the
+Vicar's wife in Miss Gilletson's name--and Miss Gilletson grew merry as
+she pictured the mystification of the Vicar's wife. For Miss Gilletson
+herself he superintended the selection of a nosegay of the choicest
+blooms; they laughed again together when she hid them in a large bag she
+carried--destined for the tea and tobacco which represented her little
+charities. Then--after pausing for one private word in his gardener's
+ear, which caused a boy to be sent off post-haste to the stables--he led
+her to the road, and in vain implored her to honor his house by setting
+foot in it. There the fear of the Marchesa or (it is pleasanter to
+think) some revival of the sense of youth, bred by Lynborough's
+deferential courtliness, prevailed. They came together through his lodge
+gates; and Miss Gilletson's face suddenly fell.
+
+"That wretched gate!" she cried. "It's locked--and I haven't got the
+key."
+
+"No more have I, I'm sorry to say," said Lynborough. He, on his part,
+had forgotten nothing.
+
+"It's nearly two miles round by the road--and so hot and dusty!--Really
+Helena does cut off her nose to spite her face!" Though, in truth, it
+appeared rather to be Miss Gilletson's nose the Marchesa had cut off.
+
+A commiserating gravity sat on Lord Lynborough's attentive countenance.
+
+"If I were younger, I'd climb that wall," declared Miss Gilletson. "As
+it is--well, but for your lovely flowers, I'd better have gone the other
+way after all."
+
+"I don't want you to feel that," said he, almost tenderly.
+
+"I must walk!"
+
+"Oh no, you needn't," said Lynborough.
+
+As he spoke, there issued from the gates behind them a luxurious
+victoria, drawn by two admirable horses. It came to a stand by
+Lynborough, the coachman touching his hat, the footman leaping to the
+ground.
+
+"Just take Miss Gilletson to the Grange, Williams. Stop a little way
+short of the house. She wants to walk through the garden."
+
+"Very good, my lord."
+
+"Put up the hood, Charles. The sun's very hot for Miss Gilletson."
+
+"Yes, my lord."
+
+"Nobody'll see you if you get out a hundred yards from the door--and
+it's really better than tramping the road on a day like this. Of course,
+if Beach Path were open--!" He shrugged his shoulders ever so slightly.
+
+Fear of the Marchesa struggled in Miss Gilletson's heart with the horror
+of the hot and tiring walk--with the seduction of the shady, softly
+rolling, speedy carriage.
+
+"If I met Helena!" she whispered; and the whisper was an admission of
+reciprocal confidence.
+
+"It's the chance of that against the certainty of the tramp!"
+
+"She didn't come down to breakfast this morning----"
+
+"Ah, didn't she?" Lynborough made a note for his Intelligence
+Department.
+
+"Perhaps she isn't up yet! I--I think I'll take the risk."
+
+Lynborough assisted her into the carriage.
+
+"I hope we shall meet again," he said, with no small _empressement_.
+
+"I'm afraid not," answered Miss Gilletson dolefully. "You see,
+Helena----"
+
+"Yes, yes; but ladies have their moods. Anyhow you won't think too
+hardly of me, will you? I'm not altogether an ogre."
+
+There was a pretty faint blush on Miss Gilletson's cheek as she gave him
+her hand. "An ogre! No, dear Lord Lynborough," she murmured.
+
+"A wedge!" said Lynborough, as he watched her drive away.
+
+He was triumphant with what he had achieved--he was full of hope for
+what he had planned. If he reckoned right, the loyalty of the ladies at
+Nab Grange to the mistress thereof was tottering, if it had not fallen.
+His relations with the men awaited the result of the cricket match. Yet
+neither his triumph nor his hope could in the nature of the case exist
+without an intermixture of remorse. He hurt--or tried to hurt--what he
+would please--and hoped to please. His mood was mixed, and his smile not
+altogether mirthful as he stood looking at the fast-receding carriage.
+
+Then suddenly, for the first time, he saw his enemy. Distantly--afar
+off! Yet without a doubt it was she. As he turned and cast his eyes over
+the forbidden path--the path whose seclusion he had violated, bold in
+his right--a white figure came to the sunk fence and stood there,
+looking not toward where he stood, but up to his castle on the hill.
+Lynborough edged near to the barricaded gate--a new padlock and new
+_chevaux-de-frise_ of prickly branches guarded it. The latter, high as
+his head, screened him completely; he peered through the interstices in
+absolute security.
+
+The white figure stood on the little bridge which led over the sunk
+fence into the meadow. He could see neither feature nor color; only the
+slender shape caught and chained his eye. Tall she was, and slender, as
+his mocking forecast had prophesied. More than that he could not see.
+
+Well, he did see one more thing. This beautiful shape, after a few
+minutes of what must be presumed to be meditation, raised its arm and
+shook its fist with decision at Scarsmoor Castle; then it turned and
+walked straight back to the Grange.
+
+There was no sort of possibility of mistaking the nature or the meaning
+of the gesture.
+
+It had the result of stifling Lynborough's softer mood, of reviving his
+pugnacity. "She must do more than that, if she's to win!" said he.
+
+
+
+
+_Chapter Eight_
+
+THE MARCHESA MOVES
+
+
+After her demonstration against Scarsmoor Castle, the Marchesa went in
+to lunch. But there were objects of her wrath nearer home also. She
+received Norah's salute--they had not met before, that morning--with icy
+coldness.
+
+"I'm better, thank you," she said, "but you must be feeling
+tired--having been up so very early in the morning! And
+you--Violet--have you been over to Scarsmoor again?"
+
+Violet had heard from Norah all about the latter's morning adventure.
+They exchanged uneasy glances. Yet they were prepared to back one
+another up. The men looked more frightened; men are frightened when
+women quarrel.
+
+"One of you," continued the Marchesa accusingly, "pursues Lord
+Lynborough to his own threshold--the other flirts with him in my own
+meadow! Rather peculiar signs of friendship for me under the present
+circumstances--don't you think so, Colonel Wenman?"
+
+The Colonel thought so--though he would have greatly preferred to be at
+liberty to entertain--or at least to express--no opinion on so thorny a
+point.
+
+"Flirt with him? What do you mean?" But Norah's protest lacked the ring
+of honest indignation.
+
+"Kissing one's hand to a mere stranger----"
+
+"How do you know that? You were in bed."
+
+"Carlotta saw you from her window. You don't deny it?"
+
+"No, I don't," said Norah, perceiving the uselessness of such a course.
+"In fact, I glory in it. I had a splendid time with Lord Lynborough. Oh,
+I did try to keep him out for you--but he jumped over my head."
+
+Sensation among the gentlemen! Increased scorn on the Marchesa's face!
+
+"And when I got John Goodenough to help me, he just laid John down on
+the grass as--as I lay that spoon on the table! He's splendid, Helena!"
+
+"He seems a good sort of chap," said Irons thoughtfully.
+
+The Marchesa looked at Wenman.
+
+"Nothing to be said for the fellow, nothing at all," declared the
+Colonel hastily.
+
+"Thank you, Colonel Wenman. I'm glad I have one friend left anyhow. Oh,
+besides you, Mr. Stillford, of course. Oh, and you, dear old Jennie, of
+course. You wouldn't forsake me, would you?"
+
+The tone of affection was calculated to gratify Miss Gilletson. But
+against it had to be set the curious and amused gaze of Norah and
+Violet. Seen by these two ladies in the act of descending from a stylish
+(and coroneted) victoria in the drive of Nab Grange, Miss Gilletson had,
+pardonably perhaps, broken down rather severely in cross-examination.
+She had been so very proud of the roses--so very full of Lord
+Lynborough's graces! She was conscious now that the pair held her in
+their hands and were demanding courage from her.
+
+"Forsake you, dearest Helena? Of course not! There's no question of that
+with any of us."
+
+"Yes--there is--with those of you who make friends with that wretch at
+Scarsmoor!"
+
+"Really, Helena, you shouldn't be so--so vehement. I'm not sure it's
+ladylike. It's absurd to call Lord Lynborough a wretch." The pale faint
+flush again adorned her fading cheeks. "I never met a man more
+thoroughly a gentleman."
+
+"You never met--" began the Marchesa in petrified tones. "Then you have
+met--?" Again her words died away.
+
+Miss Gilletson took her courage in both hands.
+
+"Circumstances threw us together. I behaved as a lady does under such
+circumstances, Helena. And Lord Lynborough was, under the circumstances,
+most charming, courteous, and considerate." She gathered more courage as
+she proceeded. "And really it's highly inconvenient having that gate
+locked, Helena. I had to come all the way round by the road."
+
+"I'm sorry if you find yourself fatigued," said the Marchesa with formal
+civility.
+
+"I'm not fatigued, thank you, Helena. I should have been terribly--but
+for Lord Lynborough's kindness in sending me home in his carriage."
+
+A pause followed. Then Norah and Violet began to giggle.
+
+"It was so funny this morning!" said Norah--and boldly launched on a
+full story of her adventure. She held the attention of the table. The
+Marchesa sat in gloomy silence. Violet chimed in with more reminiscences
+of her visit to Scarsmoor; Miss Gilletson contributed new items,
+including that matter of the roses. Norah ended triumphantly with a
+eulogy on Lynborough's extraordinary physical powers. Captain Irons
+listened with concealed interest. Even Colonel Wenman ventured to opine
+that the enemy was worth fighting. Stillford imitated his hostess's
+silence, but he was watching her closely. Would her courage--or her
+obstinacy--break down under these assaults, this lukewarmness, these
+desertions? In his heart, fearful of that lawsuit, he hoped so.
+
+"I shall prosecute him for assaulting Goodenough," the Marchesa
+announced.
+
+"Goodenough touched him first!" cried Norah.
+
+"That doesn't matter, since I'm in the right. He had no business to be
+there. That's the law, isn't it, Mr. Stillford? Will he be sent to
+prison or only heavily fined?"
+
+"Well--er--I'm rather afraid--neither, Marchesa. You see, he'll plead
+his right, and the Bench would refer us to our civil remedy and dismiss
+the summons. At least that's my opinion."
+
+"Of course that's right," pronounced Norah in an authoritative tone.
+
+"If that's the English law," observed the Marchesa, rising from the
+table, "I greatly regret that I ever settled in England."
+
+"What are you going to do this afternoon, Helena? Going to play
+tennis--or croquet?"
+
+"I'm going for a walk, thank you, Violet." She paused for a moment and
+then added, "By myself."
+
+"Oh, mayn't I have the privilege--?" began the Colonel.
+
+"Not to-day, thank you, Colonel Wenman. I--I have a great deal to think
+about. We shall meet again at tea--unless you're all going to tea at
+Scarsmoor Castle!" With this Parthian shot she left them.
+
+She had indeed much to think of--and her reflections were not cast in a
+cheerful mold. She had underrated her enemy. It had seemed sufficient to
+lock the gate and to forbid Lynborough's entry. These easy measures had
+appeared to leave him no resource save blank violence: in that
+confidence she had sat still and done nothing. He had been at work--not
+by blank violence, but by cunning devices and subtle machinations. He
+had made a base use of his personal fascinations, of his athletic gifts,
+even of his lordly domain, his garden of roses, and his carriage. She
+perceived his strategy; she saw now how he had driven in his wedges. Her
+ladies had already gone over to his side; even her men were shaken.
+Stillford had always been lukewarm; Irons was fluttering round
+Lynborough's flame; Wenman might still be hers--but an isolation
+mitigated only by Colonel Wenman seemed an isolation not mitigated in
+the least. When she had looked forward to a fight, it had not been to
+such a fight as this. An enthusiastic, hilarious, united Nab Grange was
+to have hurled laughing defiance at Scarsmoor Castle. Now more than half
+Nab Grange laughed--but its laughter was not at the Castle; its
+laughter, its pitying amusement, was directed at her; Lynborough's
+triumphant campaign drew all admiration. He had told Stillford that he
+would harry her; he was harrying her to his heart's content--and to a
+very soreness in hers.
+
+For the path--hateful Beach Path which her feet at this moment
+trod--became now no more than an occasion for battle, a symbol of
+strife. The greater issue stood out. It was that this man had
+peremptorily challenged her to a fight--and was beating her! And he won
+his victory, not by male violence in spite of male stupidity, but by
+just the arts and the cunning which should have been her own weapons. To
+her he left the blunt, the inept, the stupid and violent methods. He
+chose the more refined, and wielded them like a master. It was a
+position to which the Marchesa's experience had not accustomed her--one
+to which her spirit was by no means attuned.
+
+What was his end--that end whose approach seemed even now clearly
+indicated? It was to convict her at once of cowardice and of
+pig-headedness, to exhibit her as afraid to bring him to book by law,
+and yet too churlish to cede him his rights. He would get all her
+friends to think that about her. Then she would be left alone--to fight
+a lost battle all alone.
+
+Was he right in his charge? Did it truly describe her conduct? For any
+truth there might be in it, she declared that he was himself to blame.
+He had forced the fight on her by his audacious demand for instant
+surrender; he had given her no fair time for consideration, no
+opportunity for a dignified retreat. He had offered her no choice save
+between ignominy and defiance. If she chose defiance, his rather than
+hers was the blame.
+
+Suddenly--across these dismal broodings--there shot a new idea. _Fas est
+et ab hoste doceri_; she did not put it in Latin, but it came to the
+same thing--Couldn't she pay Lynborough back in his own coin? She had
+her resources--perhaps she had been letting them lie idle! Lord
+Lynborough did not live alone at Scarsmoor. If there were women open to
+his wiles at the Grange, were there no men open to hers at Scarsmoor?
+The idea was illuminating; she accorded it place in her thoughts.
+
+She was just by the gate. She took out her key, opened the padlock,
+closed the gate behind her, but did not lock it, walked on to the road,
+and surveyed the territory of Scarsmoor.
+
+Fate helps those who help themselves: her new courage of brain and heart
+had its reward. She had not been there above a minute when Roger
+Wilbraham came out from the Scarsmoor gates.
+
+Lynborough had, he considered, done enough for one day. He was awaiting
+the results of to-morrow's manoeuvers anent the cricket match. But he
+amused himself after lunch by proffering to Roger a wager that he would
+not succeed in traversing Beach Path from end to end, and back again,
+alone, by his own unassisted efforts, and without being driven to
+ignominious flight. Without a moment's hesitation Roger accepted. "I
+shall just wait till the coast's clear," he said.
+
+"Ah, but they'll see you from the windows! They will be on the lookout,"
+Lynborough retorted.
+
+The Marchesa had strolled a little way down the road. She was walking
+back toward the gate when Roger first came in sight. He did not see her
+until after he had reached the gate. There he stood a moment,
+considering at what point to attack it--for the barricade was
+formidable. He came to the same conclusion as Lynborough had reached
+earlier in the day. "Oh, I'll jump the wall," he said.
+
+"The gate isn't locked," remarked a charming voice just behind him.
+
+He turned round with a start and saw--he had no doubt whom she was. The
+Marchesa's tall slender figure stood before him--all in white, crowned
+by a large, yet simple, white hat; her pale olive cheeks were tinged
+with underlying red (the flush of which Lynborough had dreamed!); her
+dark eyes rested on the young man with a kindly languid interest; her
+very red lips showed no smile, yet seemed to have one in ready ambush.
+Roger was overcome; he blushed and stood silent before the vision.
+
+"I expect you're going to bathe? Of course this is the shortest way, and
+I shall be so glad if you'll use it. I'm going to the Grange myself, so
+I can put you on your way."
+
+Roger was honest. "I--I'm staying at the Castle."
+
+"I'll tell somebody to be on the lookout and open the gate for you when
+you come back," said she.
+
+If Norah was no match for Lynborough, Roger was none for the Marchesa's
+practised art.
+
+"You're--you're awfully kind. I--I shall be delighted, of course."
+
+The Marchesa passed through the gate. Roger followed. She handed him the
+key.
+
+"Will you please lock the padlock? It's not--safe--to leave the gate
+open."
+
+Her smile had come into the open--it was on the red lips now! For all
+his agitation Roger was not blind to its meaning. His hand was to lock
+the gate against his friend and chief! But the smile and the eyes
+commanded. He obeyed.
+
+It was the first really satisfactory moment which the contest had
+brought to the Marchesa--some small instalment of consolation for the
+treason of her friends.
+
+Roger had been honestly in love once with a guileless maiden--who had
+promptly and quite unguilefully refused him; his experience did not at
+all fit him to cope with the Marchesa. She, of course, was merciless:
+was he not of the hated house? As an individual, however, he appeared to
+be comely and agreeable.
+
+They walked on side by side--not very quickly. The Marchesa's eyes were
+now downcast. Roger was able to steal a glance at her profile; he could
+compare it to nothing less than a Roman Empress on an ancient silver
+coin.
+
+"I suppose you've been taught to think me a very rude and unneighborly
+person, haven't you, Mr. Wilbraham? At least I suppose you're Mr.
+Wilbraham? You don't look old enough to be that learned Mr. Stabb the
+Vicar told me about. Though he said Mr. Stabb was absolutely
+delightful--how I should love to know him, if only--!" She broke off,
+sighing deeply.
+
+"Yes, my name's Wilbraham. I'm Lynborough's secretary. But--er--I don't
+think anything of that sort about you. And--and I've never heard
+Lynborough say anything--er--unkind."
+
+"Oh, Lord Lynborough!" She gave a charming little shrug, accompanied
+with what Roger, from his novel-reading, conceived to be a _moue_.
+
+"Of course I--I know that you--you think you're right," he stammered.
+
+She stopped on the path. "Yes, I do think I'm right, Mr. Wilbraham. But
+that's not it. If it were merely a question of right, it would be
+unneighborly to insist. I'm not hurt by Lord Lynborough's using this
+path. But I'm hurt by Lord Lynborough's discourtesy. In my country women
+are treated with respect--even sometimes (she gave a bitter little
+laugh) with deference. That doesn't seem to occur to Lord Lynborough."
+
+"Well, you know----"
+
+"Oh, I can't let you say a word against him, whatever you may be obliged
+to think. In your position--as his friend--that would be disloyal; and
+the one thing I dislike is disloyalty. Only I was anxious"--she turned
+and faced him--"that you should understand my position--and that Mr.
+Stabb should too. I shall be very glad if you and Mr. Stabb will use the
+path whenever you like. If the gate's locked you can manage the wall!"
+
+"I'm--I'm most awfully obliged to you--er--Marchesa--but you see----"
+
+"No more need be said about that, Mr. Wilbraham. You're heartily
+welcome. Lord Lynborough would have been heartily welcome too, if he
+would have approached me properly. I was open to discussion. I received
+orders. I don't take orders--not even from Lord Lynborough."
+
+She looked splendid--so Roger thought. The underlying red dyed the olive
+to a brighter hue; her eyes were very proud; the red lips shut
+decisively. Just like a Roman Empress! Then her face underwent a rapid
+transformation; the lips parted, the eyes laughed, the cheeks faded to
+hues less stormy, yet not less beautiful. (These are recorded as Mr.
+Wilbraham's impressions.) Lightly she laid the tips of her fingers on
+his arm for just a moment.
+
+"There--don't let's talk any more about disagreeable things," she said.
+"It's too beautiful an afternoon. Can you spare just five minutes? The
+strawberries are splendid! I want some--and it's so hot to pick them for
+one's self!"
+
+Roger paused, twisting the towel round his neck.
+
+"Only five minutes!" pleaded--yes, pleaded--the beautiful Marchesa.
+"Then you can go and have your swim in peace."
+
+It was a question whether poor Roger was to do anything more in peace
+that day--but he went and picked the strawberries.
+
+
+
+
+_Chapter Nine_
+
+LYNBOROUGH DROPS A CATCH
+
+
+"Something has happened!" (So Lynborough records the same evening.) "I
+don't know precisely what--but I think that the enemy is at last in
+motion. I'm glad. I was being too successful. I had begun to laugh at
+her--and that only. I prefer the admixture of another element of
+emotion. All that ostensibly appears is that I have lost five shillings
+to Roger. 'You did it?' I asked. 'Certainly,' said Roger. 'I went at my
+ease and came back at my ease, and--' I interrupted, 'Nobody stopped
+you?' 'Nobody made any objection,' said Roger. 'You took your time,'
+says I. 'You were away three hours!' 'The water was very pleasant this
+afternoon,' says Roger. Hum! I hand over my two half-crowns, which Roger
+pockets with a most peculiar sort of smile. There that incident appears
+to end--with a comment from me that the Marchesa's garrison is not very
+alert. Another smile--not less peculiar--from Roger! _Hum!_
+
+"Then Cromlech! I trust Cromlech as myself--that is, as far as I can see
+him. He has no secrets from me--that I know of; I have none from
+him--which would be at all likely to interest him. Yet, soon after
+Roger's return, Cromlech goes out! And they had been alone together for
+some minutes, as I happen to have observed. Cromlech is away an hour and
+a half! If I were not a man of honor, I would have trained the telescope
+on to him. I refrained. Where was Cromlech? At the church, he told me.
+I accept his word--but the church has had a curious effect upon him.
+Sometimes he is silent, sulky, reflective, embarrassed--constantly
+rubbing the place where his hair ought to be--not altogether too civil
+to me either. Anon, sits with a fat happy smile on his face! Has he
+found a new tomb? No; he'd tell me about a new tomb. What has happened
+to Cromlech?
+
+"At first sight Violet--the insinuating one--would account for the
+phenomena. Or Norah's eyes and lashes? Yet I hesitate. Woman, of course,
+it is, with both of them. Violet might make men pleased with themselves;
+Norah could make them merry and happy. Yet these two are not so much
+pleased with themselves--rather they are pleased with events; they are
+not merry--they are thoughtful. And I think they are resentful. I
+believe the hostile squadron has weighed anchor. In these great results,
+achieved so quickly, demanding on my part such an effort in reply, I see
+the Marchesa's touch! I have my own opinion as to what has happened to
+Roger and to Cromlech. Well, we shall see--to-morrow is the cricket
+match!"
+
+"_Later._ I had closed this record; I was preparing to go to bed
+(wishing to bathe early to-morrow) when I found that I had forgotten to
+bring up my book. Coltson had gone to bed--or out--anyhow, away. I went
+down myself. The library door stood ajar; I had on my slippers; a light
+burned still; Cromlech and Roger were up. As I approached--with an
+involuntary noiselessness (I really couldn't be expected to think of
+coughing, in my own house and with no ladies about)--I overheard this
+remarkable, most significant, most important conversation:
+
+"_Cromlech_: 'On my soul, there were tears in her eyes!'
+
+"_Roger_: 'Stabb, can we as gentlemen--?'
+
+"Then, as I presume, the shuffle of my slippers became audible. I went
+in; both drank whisky-and-soda in a hurried fashion. I took my book from
+the table. Naught said I. Their confusion was obvious. I cast on them
+one of my looks; Roger blushed, Stabb shuffled his feet. I left them.
+
+"'Tears in her eyes!' 'Can we as gentlemen?'
+
+"The Marchesa moves slowly, but she moves in force!"
+
+It is unnecessary to pursue the diary further; for his
+lordship--forgetful apparently of the borne of bed, to which he had
+originally destined himself--launches into a variety of speculations as
+to the Nature of Love. Among other questions, he puts to himself the
+following concerning Love: (1) Is it Inevitable? (2) Is it Agreeable?
+(3) Is it Universal? (4) Is it Wise? (5) Is it Remunerative? (6) Is it
+Momentary? (7) Is it Sempiternal? (8) Is it Voluntary? (9) Is it
+Conditioned? (10) Is it Remediable? (11) Is it Religious? (There's a
+note here--"Consult Cromlech")--(12) May it be expected to survive the
+Advance of Civilization? (13) Why does it exist at all? (14) Is it
+Ridiculous?
+
+It is not to be inferred that Lord Lynborough answers these questions.
+He is, like a wise man, content to propound them. If, however, he had
+answered them, it might have been worth while to transcribe the diary.
+
+"Can we as gentlemen--?"--Roger had put the question. It waited
+unanswered till Lynborough had taken his book and returned to record
+its utterance--together with the speculations to which that utterance
+gave rise. Stabb weighed it carefully, rubbing his bald head, according
+to the habit which his friend had animadverted upon.
+
+"If such a glorious creature--" cried Roger.
+
+"If a thoroughly intelligent and most sympathetic woman--" said Stabb.
+
+"Thinks that she has a right, why, she probably has one!"
+
+"At any rate her view is entitled to respect--to a courteous hearing."
+
+"Lynborough does appear to have been a shade--er----"
+
+"Ambrose is a spoiled child, bless him! She took a wonderful interest in
+my brasses. I don't know what brought her to the church."
+
+"She waited herself to let me through that beastly gate again!"
+
+"She drove me round herself to our gates. Wouldn't come through
+Scarsmoor!"
+
+They both sighed. They both thought of telling the other something--but
+on second thoughts refrained.
+
+"I suppose we'd better go to bed. Shall you bathe to-morrow morning?"
+
+"With Ambrose? No, I sha'n't, Wilbraham."
+
+"No more shall I. Good-night, Stabb. You'll--think it over?"
+
+Stabb grunted inarticulately. Roger drew the blind aside for a moment,
+looked down on Nab Grange, saw a light in one window--and went to bed.
+The window was, in objective fact (if there be such a thing), Colonel
+Wenman's. No matter. There nothing is but thinking makes it so. The
+Colonel was sitting up, writing a persuasive letter to his tailor. He
+served emotions that he did not feel; it is a not uncommon lot.
+
+Lynborough's passing and repassing to and from his bathing were
+uninterrupted next morning. Nab Grange seemed wrapped in slumber; only
+Goodenough saw him, and Goodenough did not think it advisable to
+interrupt his ordinary avocations. But an air of constraint--even of
+mystery--marked both Stabb and Roger at breakfast. The cricket match was
+naturally the topic--though Stabb declared that he took little interest
+in it and should probably not be there.
+
+"There'll be some lunch, I suppose," said Lynborough carelessly. "You'd
+better have lunch there--it'd be dull for you all by yourself here,
+Cromlech."
+
+After apparent consideration Stabb conceded that he might take luncheon
+on the cricket ground; Roger, as a member of the Fillby team, would, of
+course, do likewise.
+
+The game was played in a large field, pleasantly surrounded by a belt of
+trees, and lying behind the Lynborough Arms. Besides Roger and
+Lynborough, Stillford and Irons represented Fillby. Easthorpe
+Polytechnic came in full force, save for an umpire. Colonel Wenman, who
+had walked up with his friends, was pressed into this honorable and
+responsible service, landlord Dawson officiating at the other end.
+Lynborough's second gardener, a noted fast bowler, was Fillby's captain;
+Easthorpe was under the command of a curate who had played several times
+for his University, although he had not actually achieved his "blue."
+Easthorpe won the toss and took first innings.
+
+The second gardener, aware of his employer's turn of speed, sent Lord
+Lynborough to field "in the country." That gentleman was well content;
+few balls came his way and he was at leisure to contemplate the exterior
+of the luncheon tent--he had already inspected the interior thereof with
+sedulous care and high contentment--and to speculate on the probable
+happenings of the luncheon hour. So engrossed was he that only a
+rapturous cheer, which rang out from the field and the spectators,
+apprised him of the fact that the second gardener had yorked the
+redoubtable curate with the first ball of his second over! Young
+Woodwell came in; he was known as a mighty hitter; Lynborough was
+signaled to take his position yet deeper in the field. Young Woodwell
+immediately got to business--but he kept the ball low. Lynborough had,
+however, the satisfaction of saving several "boundaries." Roger, keeping
+wicket, observed his chief's exertions with some satisfaction. Other
+wickets fell rapidly--but young Woodwell's score rapidly mounted up. If
+he could stay in, they would make a hundred--and Fillby looked with just
+apprehension on a score like that. The second gardener, who had given
+himself a brief rest, took the ball again with an air of determination.
+
+"Peters doesn't seem to remember that I also bowl," reflected Lord
+Lynborough.
+
+The next moment he was glad of this omission. Young Woodwell was playing
+for safety now--his fifty loomed ahead! Lynborough had time for a glance
+round. He saw Stabb saunter on to the field; then--just behind where he
+stood when the second gardener was bowling from the Lynborough Arms end
+of the field--a wagonette drove up. Four ladies descended. A bench was
+placed at their disposal, and the two menservants at once began to make
+preparations for lunch, aided therein by the ostler from the Lynborough
+Arms, who rigged up a table on trestles under a spreading tree.
+
+Lord Lynborough's reputation as a sportsman inevitably suffers from this
+portion of the narrative. Yet extenuating circumstances may fairly be
+pleaded. He was deeply interested in the four ladies who sat behind him
+on the bench; he was vitally concerned in the question of the lunch. As
+he walked back, between the overs, to his position, he could see that
+places were being set for some half-dozen people. Would there be
+half-a-dozen there? As he stood, watching, or trying to watch, young
+Woodwell's dangerous bat, he overheard fragments of conversation wafted
+from the bench. The ladies were too far from him to allow of their faces
+being clearly seen, but it was not hard to recognize their figures.
+
+The last man in had joined young Woodwell. That hero's score was
+forty-eight, the total ninety-three. The second gardener was tempting
+the Easthorpe champion with an occasional slow ball; up to now young
+Woodwell had declined to hit at these deceivers.
+
+Suddenly Lynborough heard the ladies' voices quite plainly. They--or
+some of them--had left the bench and come nearer to the boundary.
+Irresistibly drawn by curiosity, for an instant he turned his head. At
+the same instant the second gardener delivered a slow ball--a specious
+ball. This time young Woodwell fell into the snare. He jumped out and
+opened his shoulders to it. He hit it--but he hit it into the air. It
+soared over the bowler's head and came traveling through high heaven
+toward Lord Lynborough.
+
+"Look out!" cried the second gardener. Lynborough's head spun round
+again--but his nerves were shaken. His eyes seemed rather in the back of
+his head, trying to see the Marchesa's face, than fixed on the ball that
+was coming toward him. He was in no mood for bringing off a safe catch!
+
+Silence reigned, the ball began to drop. Lynborough had an instant to
+wait for it. He tried to think of the ball and the ball only.
+
+It fell--it fell into his hands; he caught it--fumbled it--caught
+it--fumbled it again--and at last dropped it on the grass! "Oh!" went in
+a long-drawn expostulation round the field; and Lynborough heard a voice
+say plainly:
+
+"Who is that stupid clumsy man?" The voice was the Marchesa's.
+
+He wheeled round sharply--but her back was turned. He had not seen her
+face after all!
+
+"Over!" was called. Lynborough apologized abjectly to the second
+gardener.
+
+"The sun was in my eyes, Peters, and dazzled me," he pleaded.
+
+"Looks to _me_ as if the sun was shining the other way, my lord," said
+Peters dryly. And so, in physical fact, it was.
+
+In Peters' next over Lynborough atoned--for young Woodwell had got his
+fifty and grown reckless. A one-handed catch, wide on his left side,
+made the welkin ring with applause. The luncheon bell rang too--for the
+innings was finished. Score 101. Last man out 52. Jim (office-boy at
+Polytechnic) not out 0. Young Woodwell received a merited ovation--and
+Lord Lynborough hurried to the luncheon tent. The Marchesa, with an
+exceedingly dignified mien, repaired to her table under the spreading
+oak.
+
+Mr. Dawson had done himself more than justice; the repast was
+magnificent. When Stillford and Irons saw it, they became more sure than
+ever what their duty was, more convinced still that the Marchesa would
+understand. Colonel Wenman became less sure what his duty
+was--previously it had appeared to him that it was to lunch with the
+Marchesa. But the Marchesa had spoken of a few sandwiches and perhaps a
+bottle of claret. Stillford told him that, as umpire, he ought to lunch
+with the teams. Irons declared it would look "deuced standoffish" if he
+didn't. Lynborough, who appeared to act as deputy-landlord to Mr.
+Dawson, pressed him into a chair with a friendly hand.
+
+"Well, she'll have the ladies with her, won't she?" said the Colonel,
+his last scruple vanishing before a large jug of hock-cup, artfully
+iced. The Nab Grange contingent fell to.
+
+Just then--when they were irrevocably committed to this feast--the flap
+of the tent was drawn back, and Lady Norah's face appeared. Behind her
+stood Violet and Miss Gilletson. Lynborough ran forward to meet them.
+
+"Here we are, Lord Lynborough," said Norah. "The Marchesa was so kind,
+she told us to do just as we liked, and we thought it would be such fun
+to lunch with the cricketers."
+
+"The cricketers are immensely honored. Let me introduce you to our
+captain, Mr. Peters. You must sit by him, you know. And, Miss Dufaure,
+will you sit by Mr. Jeffreys?--he's their captain--Miss Dufaure--Mr.
+Jeffreys. You, Miss Gilletson, must sit between Mr. Dawson and me. Now
+we're right--What, Colonel Wenman?--What's the matter?"
+
+Wenman had risen from his place. "The--the Marchesa!" he said. "We--we
+can't leave her to lunch alone!"
+
+Lady Norah broke in again. "Oh, Helena expressly said that she didn't
+expect the gentlemen. She knows what the custom is, you see."
+
+The Marchesa had, no doubt, made all these speeches. It may, however, be
+doubted whether Norah reproduced exactly the manner, and the spirit, in
+which she made them. But the iced hock-cup settled the Colonel. With a
+relieved sigh he resumed his place. The business of the moment went on
+briskly for a quarter of an hour.
+
+Mr. Dawson rose, glass in hand. "Ladies and gentlemen," said he, "I'm no
+hand at a speech, but I give you the health of our kind neighbor and
+good host to-day--Lord Lynborough. Here's to his lordship!"
+
+"I--I didn't know he was giving the lunch!" whispered Colonel Wenman.
+
+"Is it his lunch?" said Irons, nudging Stillford.
+
+Stillford laughed. "It looks like it. And we can hardly throw him over
+the hedge after this!"
+
+"Well, he seems to be a jolly good chap," said Captain Irons.
+
+Lynborough bowed his acknowledgments, and flirted with Miss Gilletson;
+his face wore a contented smile. Here they all were--and the Marchesa
+lunched alone on the other side of the field! Here indeed was a new
+wedge! Here was the isolation at which his diabolical schemes had aimed.
+He had captured Nab Grange! Bag and baggage they had come over--and left
+their chieftainess deserted.
+
+Then suddenly--in the midst of his triumph--in the midst too of a
+certain not ungenerous commiseration which he felt that he could extend
+to a defeated enemy and to beauty in distress--he became vaguely aware
+of a gap in his company. Stabb was not there! Yet Stabb had come upon
+the ground. He searched the company again. No, Stabb was not there.
+Moreover--a fact the second search revealed--Roger Wilbraham was not
+there. Roger was certainly not there; yet, whatever Stabb might do,
+Roger would never miss lunch!
+
+Lynborough's eyes grew thoughtful; he pursed up his lips. Miss
+Gilletson noticed that he became silent.
+
+He could bear the suspense no longer. On a pretext of looking for more
+bottled beer, he rose and walked to the door of the tent.
+
+Under the spreading tree the Marchesa lunched--not in isolation, not in
+gloom. She had company--and, even as he appeared, a merry peal of
+laughter was wafted by a favoring breeze across the field of battle.
+Stabb's ponderous figure, Roger Wilbraham's highly recognizable
+"blazer," told the truth plainly.
+
+Lord Lynborough was not the only expert in the art of driving wedges!
+
+"Well played, Helena!" he said under his breath.
+
+The rest of the cricket match interested him very little. Successful
+beyond their expectations, Fillby won by five runs (Wilbraham not out
+thirty-seven)--but Lynborough's score did not swell the victorious
+total. In Easthorpe's second innings--which could not affect the
+result--Peters let him bowl, and he got young Woodwell's wicket. That
+was a distinction; yet, looking at the day as a whole, he had scored
+less than he expected.
+
+
+
+
+_Chapter Ten_
+
+IN THE LAST RESORT!
+
+
+It will have been perceived by now that Lord Lynborough delighted in a
+fight. He revelled in being opposed; the man who withstood him to the
+face gave him such pleasure as to beget in his mind certainly gratitude,
+perhaps affection, or at least a predisposition thereto. There was
+nothing he liked so much as an even battle--unless, by chance, it were
+the scales seeming to incline a little against him. Then his spirits
+rose highest, his courage was most buoyant, his kindliness most sunny.
+
+The benefit of this disposition accrued to the Marchesa; for by her
+sudden counterattack she had at least redressed the balance of the
+campaign. He could not be sure that she had not done more. The ladies of
+her party were his--he reckoned confidently on that; but the men he
+could not count as more than neutral at the best; Wenman, anyhow, could
+easily be whistled back to the Marchesa's heel. But in his own house, he
+admitted at once, she had secured for him open hostility, for herself
+the warmest of partisanship. The meaning of her lunch was too plain to
+doubt. No wonder her opposition to her own deserters had been so faint;
+no wonder she had so readily, even if so scornfully, afforded them the
+pretext--the barren verbal permission--that they had required. She had
+not wanted them--no, not even the Colonel himself! She had wanted to be
+alone with Roger and with Stabb--and to complete the work of her
+blandishments on those guileless, tenderhearted, and susceptible
+persons. Lynborough admired, applauded, and promised himself
+considerable entertainment at dinner.
+
+How was the Marchesa, in her turn, bearing her domestic isolation, the
+internal disaffection at Nab Grange? He flattered himself that she would
+not be finding in it such pleasure as his whimsical temper reaped from
+the corresponding position of affairs at Scarsmoor.
+
+There he was right. At Nab Grange the atmosphere was not cheerful. Not
+to want a thing by no means implies an admission that you do not want
+it; that is elementary diplomacy. Rather do you insist that you want it
+very much; if you do not get it, there is a grievance--and a grievance
+is a mighty handy article of barter. The Marchesa knew all that.
+
+The deserters were severely lashed. The Marchesa had said that she did
+not expect Colonel Wenman; ought she to have sent a message to say that
+she was pining for him--must that be wrung from her before he would
+condescend to come? She had said that she knew the custom with regard to
+lunch at cricket matches; was that to say that she expected it to be
+observed to her manifest and public humiliation? She had told Miss
+Gilletson and the girls to please themselves; of course she wished them
+to do that always. Yet it might be a wound to find that their pleasure
+lay in abandoning their friend and hostess, in consorting with her
+arch-enemy, and giving him a triumph.
+
+"Well, what do you say about Wilbraham and Stabb?" cried the trampled
+Colonel.
+
+"I say that they're gentlemen," retorted the Marchesa. "They saw the
+position I was in--and they saved me from humiliation."
+
+That was enough for the men; men are, after all, poor fighters. It was
+not, however, enough for Lady Norah Mountliffey--a woman--and an
+Irishwoman to boot!
+
+"Are you really asking us to believe that you hadn't arranged it with
+them beforehand?" she inquired scornfully.
+
+"Oh, I don't ask you to believe anything I say," returned the Marchesa,
+dexterously avoiding saying anything on the point suggested.
+
+"The truth is, you're being very absurd, Helena," Norah pursued. "If
+you've got a right, go to law with Lord Lynborough and make him respect
+it. If you haven't got a right, why go on making yourself ridiculous and
+all the rest of us very uncomfortable?"
+
+It was obvious that the Marchesa might reply that any guest of hers who
+felt himself or herself uncomfortable at Nab Grange had, in his or her
+own hand, the easy remedy. She did not do that. She did a thing more
+disconcerting still. Though the mutton had only just been put on the
+table, she pushed back her chair, rose to her feet, and fled from the
+room very hastily.
+
+Miss Gilletson sprang up. But Norah was beforehand with her.
+
+"No! I said it. I'm the one to go. Who could think she'd take it like
+that?" Norah's own blue eyes were less bright than usual as she hurried
+after her wounded friend. The rest ate on in dreary conscience-stricken
+silence. At last Stillford spoke.
+
+"Don't urge her to go to law," he said. "I'm pretty sure she'd be
+beaten."
+
+"Then she ought to give in--and apologize to Lord Lynborough," said
+Miss Gilletson decisively. "That would be right--and, I will add,
+Christian."
+
+"Humble Pie ain't very good eating," commented Captain Irons.
+
+Neither the Marchesa nor Norah came back. The meal wended along its slow
+and melancholy course to a mirthless weary conclusion. Colonel Wenman
+began to look on the repose of bachelorhood with a kinder eye, on its
+loneliness with a more tolerant disposition. He went so far as to
+remember that, if the worst came to the worst, he had another invitation
+for the following week.
+
+The Spirit of Discord (The tragic atmosphere now gathering justifies
+these figures of speech--the chronicler must rise to the occasion of a
+heroine in tears), having wrought her fell work at Nab Grange, now
+winged her way to the towers of Scarsmoor Castle.
+
+Dinner had passed off quite as Lynborough anticipated; he had enjoyed
+himself exceedingly. Whenever the temporary absence of the servants
+allowed, he had rallied his friends on their susceptibility to beauty,
+on their readiness to fail him under its lures, on their clumsy attempts
+at concealment of their growing intimacy, and their confidential
+relations, with the fascinating mistress of Nab Grange. He too had been
+told to take his case into the Courts or to drop his claim--and had
+laughed triumphantly at the advice. He had laughed when Stabb said that
+he really could not pursue his work in the midst of such distractions,
+that his mind was too perturbed for scientific thought. He had laughed
+lightly and good-humoredly even when (as they were left alone over
+coffee) Roger Wilbraham, going suddenly a little white, said he thought
+that persecuting a lady was no fit amusement for a gentleman.
+Lynborough did not suppose that the Marchesa--with the battle of the day
+at least drawn, if not decided in her favor--could be regarded as the
+subject of persecution--and he did recognize that young fellows, under
+certain spells, spoke hotly and were not to be held to serious account.
+He was smiling still when, with a forced remark about the heat, the pair
+went out together to smoke on the terrace. He had some letters to read,
+and for the moment dismissed the matter from his mind.
+
+In ten minutes young Roger Wilbraham returned; his manner was quiet now,
+but his face still rather pale. He came up to the table by which
+Lynborough sat.
+
+"Holding the position I do in your house, Lord Lynborough," he said, "I
+had no right to use the words I used this evening at dinner. I
+apologize for them. But, on the other hand, I have no wish to hold a
+position which prevents me from using those words when they represent
+what I think. I beg you to accept my resignation, and I shall be greatly
+obliged if you can arrange to relieve me of my duties as soon as
+possible."
+
+Lynborough heard him without interruption; with grave impassive face,
+with surprise, pity, and a secret amusement. Even if he were right, he
+was so solemn over it!
+
+The young man waited for no answer. With the merest indication of a bow,
+he left Lynborough alone, and passed on into the house.
+
+"Well, now!" said Lord Lynborough, rising and lighting a cigar. "This
+Marchesa! Well, now!"
+
+Stabb's heavy form came lumbering in from the terrace; he seemed to move
+more heavily than ever, as though his bulk were even unusually inert.
+He plumped down into a chair and looked up at Lynborough's graceful
+figure.
+
+"I meant what I said at dinner, Ambrose. I wasn't joking, though I
+suppose you thought I was. All this affair may amuse you--it worries me.
+I can't settle to work. If you'll be so kind as to send me over to
+Easthorpe to-morrow, I'll be off--back to Oxford."
+
+"Cromlech, old boy!"
+
+"Yes, I know. But I--I don't want to stay, Ambrose. I'm
+not--comfortable." His great face set in a heavy, disconsolate, wrinkled
+frown.
+
+Lord Lynborough pursed his lips in a momentary whistle, then put his
+cigar back into his mouth, and walked out on to the terrace.
+
+"This Marchesa!" said he again. "This very remarkable Marchesa! Her
+_riposte_ is admirable. Really I venture to hope that I, in my turn,
+have very seriously disturbed her household!"
+
+He walked to the edge of the terrace, and stood there musing. Sandy Nab
+loomed up, dimly the sea rose and fell, twinkled and sank into darkness.
+It talked too--talked to Lynborough with a soft, low, quiet voice; it
+seemed (to his absurdly whimsical imagination) as though some lovely
+woman gently stroked his brow and whispered to him. He liked to
+encourage such freaks of fancy.
+
+Cromlech couldn't go. That was absurd.
+
+And the young fellow? So much a gentleman! Lynborough had liked the
+terms of his apology no less than the firmness of his protest. "It's the
+first time, I think, that I've been told that I'm no gentleman," he
+reflected with amusement. But Roger had been pale when he said it.
+Imaginatively Lynborough assumed his place. "A brave boy," he said. "And
+that dear old knight-errant of a Cromlech!"
+
+A space--room indeed and room enough--for the softer emotions--so much
+Lynborough was ever inclined to allow. But to acquiesce in this state of
+things as final--that was to admit defeat at the hands of the Marchesa.
+It was to concede that one day had changed the whole complexion of the
+fight.
+
+"Cromlech sha'n't go--the boy sha'n't go--and I'll still use the path,"
+he thought. "Not that I really care about the path, you know." He
+paused. "Well, yes, I do care about it--for bathing in the morning." He
+hardened his heart against the Marchesa. She chose to fight; the fortune
+of war must be hers. He turned his eyes down to Nab Grange. Lights
+burned there--were her guests demanding to be sent to Easthorpe? Why,
+no! As he looked, Lynborough came to the conclusion that she had reduced
+them all to order--that they would be whipped back to heel--that his
+manoeuvers (and his lunch!) had probably been wasted. He was beaten
+then?
+
+He scorned the conclusion. But if he were not--the result was deadlock!
+Then still he was beaten; for unless Helena (he called her that) owned
+his right, his right was to him as nothing.
+
+"I have made myself a champion of my sex," he said. "Shall I be beaten?"
+
+In that moment--with all the pang of forsaking an old conviction--of
+disowning that stronger tie, the loved embrace of an ancient and
+perversely championed prejudice--he declared that any price must be
+paid for victory.
+
+"Heaven forgive me, but, sooner than be beaten, I'll go to law with
+her!" he cried.
+
+A face appeared from between two bushes--a voice spoke from the edge of
+the terrace.
+
+"I thought you might be interested to hear----"
+
+"Lady Norah?"
+
+"Yes, it's me--to hear that you've made her cry--and very bitterly."
+
+
+
+
+_Chapter Eleven_
+
+AN ARMISTICE
+
+
+Lord Lynborough walked down to the edge of the terrace; Lady Norah stood
+half hidden in the shrubbery.
+
+"And that, I suppose, ought to end the matter?" he asked. "I ought at
+once to abandon all my pretensions and to give up my path?"
+
+"I just thought you might like to know it," said Norah.
+
+"Actually I believe I do like to know it--though what Roger would say to
+me about that I really can't imagine. You're mistaking my character,
+Lady Norah. I'm not the hero of this piece. There are several gentlemen
+from among whom you can choose one for that effective part. Lots of
+candidates for it! But I'm the villain. Consequently you must be
+prepared for my receiving your news with devilish glee."
+
+"Well, you haven't seen it--and I have."
+
+"Well put!" he allowed. "How did it happen?"
+
+"Over something I said to her--something horrid."
+
+"Well, then, why am I--?" Lynborough's hands expostulated eloquently.
+
+"But you were the real reason, of course. She thinks you've turned us
+all against her; she says it's so mean to get her own friends to turn
+against her."
+
+"Does she now?" asked Lord Lynborough with a thoughtful smile.
+
+Norah too smiled faintly. "She says she's not angry with us--she's just
+sorry for us--because she understands----"
+
+"What?"
+
+"I mean she says she--she can imagine--" Norah's smile grew a little
+more pronounced. "I'm not sure she'd like me to repeat that," said
+Norah. "And of course she doesn't know I'm here at all--and you must
+never tell her."
+
+"Of course it's all my fault. Still, as a matter of curiosity, what did
+you say to her?"
+
+"I said that, if she had a good case, she ought to go to law; and, if
+she hadn't, she ought to stop making herself ridiculous and the rest of
+us uncomfortable."
+
+"You spoke with the general assent of the company?"
+
+"I said what I thought--yes, I think they all agreed--but she took
+it--well, in the way I've told you, you know."
+
+Lady Norah had, in the course of conversation, insensibly advanced on to
+the terrace. She stood there now beside Lynborough.
+
+"How do you think I'm taking it?" he asked. "Doesn't my fortitude wring
+applause from you?"
+
+"Taking what?"
+
+"Exactly the same thing from my friends. They tell me to go to law if
+I've got a case--and at any rate to stop persecuting a lady. And they've
+both given me warning."
+
+"Mr. Stabb and Mr. Wilbraham? They're going away?"
+
+"So it appears. Carry back those tidings. Won't they dry the Marchesa's
+tears?"
+
+Norah looked at him with a smile. "Well, it is pretty clever of her,
+isn't it?" she said. "I didn't think she'd got along as quickly as
+that!" Norah's voice was full of an honest and undisguised admiration.
+
+"It's a little unreasonable of her to cry under the circumstances. I'm
+not crying, Lady Norah."
+
+"I expect you're rather disgusted, though, aren't you?" she suggested.
+
+"I'm a little vexed at having to surrender--for the moment--a principle
+which I've held dear--at having to give my enemies an occasion for
+mockery. But I must bow to my friends' wishes. I can't lose them under
+such painful circumstances. No, I must yield, Lady Norah."
+
+"You're going to give up the path?" she cried, not sure whether she were
+pleased or not with his determination.
+
+"Dear me, no! I'm going to law about it."
+
+Open dismay was betrayed in her exclamation: "Oh, but what will Mr.
+Stillford say to that?"
+
+Lynborough laughed. Norah saw her mistake--but she made no attempt to
+remedy it. She took up another line of tactics. "It would all come right
+if only you knew one another! She's the most wonderful woman in the
+world, Lord Lynborough. And you----"
+
+"Well, what of me?" he asked in deceitful gravity.
+
+Norah parried, with a hasty little laugh; "Just ask Miss Gilletson
+that!"
+
+Lynborough smiled for a moment, then took a turn along the terrace, and
+came back to her.
+
+"You must tell her that you've seen me----"
+
+"I couldn't do that!"
+
+"You must--or here the matter ends, and I shall be forced to go to
+law--ugh! Tell her you've seen me, and that I'm open to reason----"
+
+"Lord Lynborough! How can I tell her that?"
+
+"That I'm open to reason, and that I propose an armistice. Not
+peace--not yet, anyhow--but an armistice. I undertake not to exercise my
+right over Beach Path for a week from to-day, and before the end of that
+week I will submit a proposal to the Marchesa."
+
+Norah saw a gleam of hope. "Very well. I don't know what she'll say to
+me, but I'll tell her that. Thank you. You'll make it a--a pleasant
+proposal?"
+
+"I haven't had time to consider the proposal yet. She must inform me
+to-morrow morning whether she accepts the armistice."
+
+He suddenly turned to the house, and shouted up to a window above his
+head, "Roger!"
+
+The window was open. Roger Wilbraham put his head out.
+
+"Come down," said Lynborough. "Here's somebody wants to see you."
+
+"I never said I did, Lord Lynborough."
+
+"Let him take you home. He wants cheering up."
+
+"I like him very much. He won't really leave you, will he?"
+
+"I want you to persuade him to stay during the armistice. I'm too proud
+to ask him for myself. I shall think very little of you, however, if he
+doesn't."
+
+Roger appeared. Lynborough told him that Lady Norah required an escort
+back to Nab Grange; for obvious reasons he himself was obliged to
+relinquish the pleasure; Roger, he felt sure, would be charmed to take
+his place. Roger was somewhat puzzled by the turn of events, but
+delighted with his mission.
+
+Lynborough saw them off, went into the library, sat down at his
+writing-table, and laid paper before him. But he sat idle for many
+minutes. Stabb came in, his arms full of books.
+
+"I think I left some of my stuff here," he said, avoiding Lynborough's
+eye. "I'm just getting it together."
+
+"Drop that lot too. You're not going to-morrow, Cromlech, there's an
+armistice."
+
+Stabb put his books down on the table, and came up to him with
+outstretched hand. Lynborough leaned back, his hands clasped behind his
+head.
+
+"Wait for a week," he said. "We may, Cromlech, arrive at an
+accommodation. Meanwhile, for that week, I do not use the path."
+
+"I've been feeling pretty badly, Ambrose."
+
+"Yes, I don't think it's safe to expose you to the charms of beauty." He
+looked at his friend in good-natured mockery. "Return to your tombs in
+peace."
+
+The next morning he received a communication from Nab Grange. It ran as
+follows:
+
+"The Marchesa di San Servolo presents her compliments to Lord
+Lynborough. The Marchesa will be prepared to consider any proposal put
+forward by Lord Lynborough, and will place no hindrance in the way of
+Lord Lynborough's using the path across her property if it suits his
+convenience to do so in the meantime."
+
+"No, no!" said Lynborough, as he took a sheet of paper.
+
+"Lord Lynborough presents his compliments to her Excellency the Marchesa
+di San Servolo. Lord Lynborough will take an early opportunity of
+submitting his proposal to the Marchesa di San Servolo. He is obliged
+for the Marchesa di San Servolo's suggestion that he should in the
+meantime use Beach Path, but cannot consent to do so except in the
+exercise of his right. He will therefore not use Beach Path during the
+ensuing week."
+
+"And now to pave the way for my proposal!" he thought. For the proposal,
+which had assumed a position so important in the relations between the
+Marchesa and himself, was to be of such a nature that a grave question
+arose how best the way should be paved for it.
+
+The obvious course was to set his spies to work--he could command plenty
+of friendly help among the Nab Grange garrison--learn the Marchesa's
+probable movements, throw himself in her way, contrive an acquaintance,
+make himself as pleasant as he could, establish relations of amity, of
+cordiality, even of friendship and of intimacy. That might prepare the
+way, and incline her to accept the proposal--to take the jest--it was
+little more in hard reality--in the spirit in which he put it forward,
+and so to end her resistance.
+
+That seemed the reasonable method--the plain and rational line of
+advance. Accordingly Lynborough disliked and distrusted it. He saw
+another way--more full of risk, more hazardous in its result, making an
+even greater demand on his confidence in himself, perhaps also on the
+qualities with which his imagination credited the Marchesa. But, on the
+other hand, this alternative was far richer in surprise, in dash--as it
+seemed to him, in gallantry and a touch of romance. It was far more
+medieval, more picturesque, more in keeping with the actual proposal
+itself. For the actual proposal was one which, Lynborough flattered
+himself, might well have come from a powerful yet chivalrous baron of
+old days to a beautiful queen who claimed a suzerainty which not her
+power, but only her beauty, could command or enforce.
+
+"It suits my humor, and I'll do it!" he said. "She sha'n't see me, and I
+won't see her. The first she shall hear from me shall be the proposal;
+the first time we meet shall be on the twenty-fourth--or never! A week
+from to-day--the twenty-fourth."
+
+Now the twenty-fourth of June is, as all the world knows (or an almanac
+will inform the heathen), the Feast of St. John Baptist also called
+Midsummer Day.
+
+So he disappeared from the view of Nab Grange and the inhabitants
+thereof. He never left his own grounds; even within them he shunned the
+public road; his beloved sea-bathing he abandoned. Nay, more, he
+strictly charged Roger Wilbraham, who often during this week of
+armistice went to play golf or tennis at the Grange, to say nothing of
+him; the same instructions were laid on Stabb in case on his excursions
+amidst the tombs, he should meet any member of the Marchesa's party. So
+far as the thing could be done, Lord Lynborough obliterated himself.
+
+It was playing a high stake on a risky hand. Plainly it assumed an
+interest in himself on the part of the Marchesa--an interest so strong
+that absence and mystery (if perchance he achieved a flavor of that
+attraction!) would foster and nourish it more than presence and
+friendship could conduce to its increase. She might think nothing about
+him during the week! Impossible surely--with all that had gone before,
+and with his proposal to come at the end! But if it were so--why, so he
+was content. "In that case, she's a woman of no imagination, of no taste
+in the picturesque," he said.
+
+For five days the Marchesa gave no sign, no clue to her feelings which
+the anxious watchers could detect. She did indeed suffer Colonel Wenman
+to depart all forlorn, most unsuccessful and uncomforted--save by the
+company of his brother-in-arms, Captain Irons; and he was not cheerful
+either, having failed notably in certain designs on Miss Dufaure which
+he had been pursuing, but whereunto more pressing matters have not
+allowed of attention being given. But Lord Lynborough she never
+mentioned--not to Miss Gilletson, nor even to Norah. She seemed to have
+regained her tranquillity; her wrath at least was over; she was very
+friendly to all the ladies; she was markedly cordial to Roger Wilbraham
+on his visits. But she asked him nothing of Lord Lynborough--and, if she
+ever looked from the window toward Scarsmoor Castle, none--not even her
+observant maid--saw her do it.
+
+Yet Cupid was in the Grange--and very busy. There were signs, not to be
+misunderstood, that Violet had not for handsome Stillford the scorn she
+had bestowed on unfortunate Irons; and Roger, humbly and distantly
+worshiping the Marchesa, deeming her far as a queen beyond his reach,
+rested his eyes and solaced his spirit with the less awe-inspiring
+charms, the more accessible comradeship, of Norah Mountliffey. Norah, as
+her custom was, flirted hard, yet in her delicate fashion. Though she
+had not begun to ask herself about the end yet, she was well amused, and
+by no means insensible to Roger's attractions. Only she was preoccupied
+with Helena--and Lord Lynborough. Till that riddle was solved, she could
+not turn seriously to her own affairs.
+
+On the night of the twenty-second she walked with the Marchesa in the
+gardens of the Grange after dinner. Helena was very silent; yet to Norah
+the silence did not seem empty. Over against them, on its high hill,
+stood Scarsmoor Castle. Roger had dined with them, but had now gone
+back.
+
+Suddenly--and boldly--Norah spoke. "Do you see those three lighted
+windows on the ground floor at the left end of the house? That's his
+library, Helena. He sits there in the evening. Oh, I do wonder what he's
+been doing all this week!"
+
+"What does it matter?" asked the Marchesa coldly.
+
+"What will he propose, do you think?"
+
+"Mr. Stillford thinks he may offer to pay me some small rent--more or
+less nominal--for a perpetual right--and that, if he does, I'd better
+accept."
+
+"That'll be rather a dull ending to it all."
+
+"Mr. Stillford thinks it would be a favorable one for me."
+
+"I don't believe he means to pay you money. It'll be something"--she
+paused a moment--"something prettier than that."
+
+"What has prettiness to do with it, you child? With a right of way?"
+
+"Prettiness has to do with you, though, Helena. You don't suppose he
+thinks only of that wretched path?"
+
+The flush came on the Marchesa's cheek.
+
+"He can hardly be said to have seen me," she protested.
+
+"Then look your best when he does--for I'm sure he's dreamed of you."
+
+"Why do you say that?"
+
+Norah laughed. "Because he's a man who takes a lot of notice of pretty
+women--and he took so very little notice of me. That's why I think so,
+Helena."
+
+The Marchesa made no comment on the reason given. But now--at last and
+undoubtedly--she looked across at the windows of Scarsmoor.
+
+"We shall come to some business arrangement, I suppose--and then it'll
+all be over," she said.
+
+All over? The trouble and the enmity--the defiance and the fight--the
+excitement and the fun? The duel would be stayed, the combatants and
+their seconds would go their various ways across the diverging tracks of
+this great dissevering world. All would be over!
+
+"Then we shall have time to think of something else!" the Marchesa
+added.
+
+Norah smiled discreetly. Was not that something of an admission?
+
+In the library at Scarsmoor Lynborough was inditing the proposal which
+he intended to submit by his ambassadors on the morrow.
+
+
+
+
+_Chapter Twelve_
+
+AN EMBASSAGE
+
+
+The Marchesa's last words to Lady Norah betrayed the state of her mind.
+While the question of the path was pending, she had been unable to think
+of anything else; until it was settled she could think of nobody except
+of the man in whose hands the settlement lay. Whether Lynborough
+attracted or repelled, he at least occupied and filled her thoughts. She
+had come to recognize where she stood and to face the position.
+Stillford's steady pessimism left her no hope from an invocation of the
+law; Lynborough's dexterity and resource promised her no abiding
+victory--at best only precarious temporary successes--in a private
+continuance of the struggle. Worst of all--whilst she chafed or wept, he
+laughed! Certainly not to her critical friends, hardly even to her proud
+self, would she confess that she lay in her antagonist's mercy; but the
+feeling of that was in her heart. If so, he could humiliate her sorely.
+
+Could he spare her? Or would he? Try how she might, it was hard to
+perceive how he could spare her without abandoning his right. That she
+was sure he would not do; all she heard of him, every sharp intuition of
+him which she had, the mere glimpse of his face as he passed by on Sandy
+Nab, told her that.
+
+But if he consented to pay a small--a nominal--rent, would not her pride
+be spared? No. That would be victory for him; she would be compelled to
+surrender what she had haughtily refused, in return for something which
+she did not want and which was of no value. If that were a cloak for her
+pride, the fabric of it was terribly threadbare. Even such concession as
+lay in such an offer she had wrung from him by setting his friends
+against him; would that incline him to tenderness? The offer might leave
+his friends still unreconciled; what comfort was that to her when once
+the fight and the excitement of countering blow with blow were
+done--when all was over? And it was more likely that what seemed to her
+cruel would seem to Stabb and Roger reasonable--men had a terribly rigid
+sense of reason in business matters. They would return to their
+allegiance; her friends would be ranged on the same side; she would be
+alone--alone in humiliation and defeat. From that fate in the end only
+Lynborough himself could rescue her; only the man who threatened her
+with it could avert it. And how could even he, save by a surrender which
+he would not make? Yet if he found out a way?
+
+The thought of that possibility--though she could devise or imagine no
+means by which it might find accomplishment--carried her toward
+Lynborough in a rush of feeling. The idea--never wholly lost even in her
+moments of anger and dejection--came back--the idea that all the time he
+had been playing a game, that he did not want the wounds to be mortal,
+that in the end he did not hate. If he did not hate, he would not desire
+to hurt. But he desired to win. Could he win without hurting? Then there
+was a reward for him--applause for his cleverness, and gratitude for his
+chivalry.
+
+Stretching out her arms toward Scarsmoor Castle, she vowed that
+according to his deed she could hate or love Lord Lynborough. The next
+day was to decide that weighty question.
+
+The fateful morning arrived--the last day of the armistice--the
+twenty-third. The ladies were sitting on the lawn after breakfast when
+Stillford came out of the house with a quick step and an excited air.
+
+"Marchesa," he said, "the Embassy has arrived! Stabb and Wilbraham are
+at the front door, asking an audience of you. They bring the proposal!"
+
+The Marchesa laid down her book; Miss Gilletson made no effort to
+conceal her agitation.
+
+"Why didn't they come by the path?" cried Norah.
+
+"They couldn't very well; Lynborough's sent them in a carriage--with
+postilions and four horses," Stillford answered gravely. "The
+postilions appear to be amused, but the Ambassadors are exceedingly
+solemn."
+
+The Marchesa's spirits rose. If the piece were to be a comedy, she could
+play her part! The same idea was in Stillford's mind. "He can't mean to
+be very unpleasant if he plays the fool like this," he said, looking
+round on the company with a smile.
+
+"Admit the Ambassadors!" cried the Marchesa gaily.
+
+The Ambassadors were ushered on to the lawn. They advanced with a
+gravity befitting the occasion, and bowed low to the Marchesa. Roger
+carried a roll of paper of impressive dimensions. Stillford placed
+chairs for the Ambassadors and, at a sign from the Marchesa, they seated
+themselves.
+
+"What is your message?" asked the Marchesa. Suddenly nervousness and
+fear laid hold of her again; her voice shook a little.
+
+"We don't know," answered Stabb. "Give me the document, Roger."
+
+Roger Wilbraham handed him the scroll.
+
+"We are charged to deliver this to your Excellency's adviser, and to beg
+him to read it to you in our presence." He rose, delivered the scroll
+into Stillford's hands, and returned, majestic in his bulk, to his seat.
+
+"You neither of you know what's in it?" the Marchesa asked.
+
+They shook their heads.
+
+The Marchesa took hold of Norah's hand and said quietly, "Please read it
+to us, Mr. Stillford. I should like you all to hear."
+
+"That was also Lord Lynborough's desire," said Roger Wilbraham.
+
+Stillford unrolled the paper. It was all in Lynborough's own
+hand--written large and with fair flourishes. In mockery of the
+institution he hated, he had cast it in a form which at all events aimed
+at being legal; too close scrutiny on that score perhaps it would not
+abide successfully.
+
+"Silence while the document is read!" said Stillford; and he proceeded
+to read it in a clear and deliberate voice:
+
+"'Sir Ambrose Athelstan Caverly, Baronet, Baron Lynborough of Lynborough
+in the County of Dorset and of Scarsmoor in the County of Yorkshire,
+unto her Excellency Helena Vittoria Maria Antonia, Marchesa di San
+Servolo, and unto All to whom these Presents Come, Greeting. Whereas the
+said Lord Lynborough and his predecessors in title have been ever
+entitled as of right to pass and repass along the path called Beach Path
+leading across the lands of Nab Grange from the road bounding the same
+on the west to the seashore on the east thereof, and to use the said
+path by themselves, their agents and servants, at their pleasure,
+without let or interference from any person or persons whatsoever----'"
+
+Stillford paused and looked at the Marchesa. The document did not begin
+in a conciliatory manner. It asserted the right to use Beach Path in the
+most uncompromising way.
+
+"Go on," commanded the Marchesa, a little flushed, still holding Norah's
+hand.
+
+"'And Whereas the said Lord Lynborough is desirous that his rights as
+above defined shall receive the recognition of the said Marchesa, which
+recognition has hitherto been withheld and refused by the said Marchesa:
+And Whereas great and manifold troubles have arisen from such refusal:
+And Whereas the said Lord Lynborough is desirous of dwelling in peace
+and amity with the said Marchesa----'"
+
+"There, Helena, you see he is!" cried Norah triumphantly.
+
+"I really must not be interrupted," Stillford protested. "'Now Therefore
+the said Lord Lynborough, moved thereunto by divers considerations and
+in chief by his said desire to dwell in amity and good-will, doth engage
+and undertake that, in consideration of his receiving a full, gracious,
+and amicable recognition of his right from the said Marchesa, he shall
+and will, year by year and once a year, to wit on the Feast of St. John
+Baptist, also known as Midsummer Day----'"
+
+"Why, that's to-morrow!" exclaimed Violet Dufaure.
+
+Once more Stillford commanded silence. The Terms of Peace were not to be
+rudely interrupted just as they were reaching the most interesting
+point. For up to now nothing had come except a renewed assertion of
+Lynborough's right!
+
+"'That is to say the twenty-fourth day of June--repair in his own proper
+person, with or without attendants as shall seem to him good, to Nab
+Grange or such other place as may then and on each occasion be the abode
+and residence of the said Marchesa, and shall and will present himself
+in the presence of the said Marchesa at noon. And that he then shall and
+will do homage to the said Marchesa for such full, gracious, and
+amicable recognition as above mentioned by falling on his knee and
+kissing the hand of the said Marchesa. And if the said Lord Lynborough
+shall wilfully or by neglect omit so to present himself and so to pay
+his homage on any such Feast of St. John Baptist, then his said right
+shall be of no effect and shall be suspended (And he hereby engages not
+to exercise the same) until he shall have purged his contempt or neglect
+by performing his homage on the next succeeding Feast. Provided Always
+that the said Marchesa shall and will, a sufficient time before the said
+Feast in each year, apprise and inform the said Lord Lynborough of her
+intended place of residence, in default whereof the said Lord Lynborough
+shall not be bound to pay his homage and shall suffer no diminution of
+his right by reason of the omission thereof. Provided Further and
+Finally that whensoever the said Lord Lynborough shall duly and on the
+due date as in these Presents stipulated present himself at Nab Grange
+or elsewhere the residence for the time being of the said Marchesa, and
+claim to be admitted to the presence of the said Marchesa and to
+perform his homage as herein prescribed and ordered, the said Marchesa
+shall not and will not, on any pretext or for any cause whatsoever, deny
+or refuse to accept the said homage so duly proffered, but shall and
+will in all gracious condescension and neighborly friendship extend and
+give her hand to the said Lord Lynborough, to the end and purpose that,
+he rendering and she accepting his homage in all mutual trust and
+honorable confidence, Peace may reign between Nab Grange and Scarsmoor
+Castle so long as they both do stand. In Witness whereof the said Lord
+Lynborough has affixed his name on the Eve of the said Feast of St. John
+Baptist.
+
+    LYNBOROUGH.'"
+
+Stillford ended his reading, and handed the scroll to the Marchesa with
+a bow. She took it and looked at Lynborough's signature. Her cheeks
+were flushed, and her lips struggled not to smile. The rest were silent.
+She looked at Stillford, who smiled back at her and drew from his
+pocket--a stylographic pen.
+
+"Yes," she said, and took it.
+
+She wrote below Lynborough's name:
+
+"In Witness whereof, in a desire for peace and amity, in all mutual
+trust and honorable confidence, the said Marchesa has affixed her name
+on this same Eve of the said Feast of St. John Baptist.
+
+    HELENA DI SAN SERVOLO."
+
+She handed it back to Stillford. "Let it dry in the beautiful sunlight,"
+she said.
+
+The Ambassadors rose to their feet. She rose too and went over to Stabb
+with outstretched hands. A broad smile spread over Stabb's spacious
+face. "It's just like Ambrose," he said to her as he took her hands.
+"He gets what he wants--but in the prettiest way!"
+
+She answered him in a low voice: "A very knightly way of saving a
+foolish woman's pride." She raised her voice. "Bid Lord Lynborough--aye,
+Sir Ambrose Athelstan Caverly, Baron Lynborough, attend here at Nab
+Grange to pay his homage to-morrow at noon." She looked round on them
+all, smiling now openly, the red in her cheeks all triumphant over her
+olive hue. "Say I will give him private audience to receive his homage
+and to ask his friendship." With that the Marchesa departed, somewhat
+suddenly, into the house.
+
+Amid much merriment and reciprocal congratulations the Ambassadors were
+honorably escorted back to their coach and four.
+
+"Keep your eye on the Castle to-night," Roger Wilbraham whispered to
+Norah as he pressed her hand.
+
+They drove off, Stillford leading a gay "Hurrah!"
+
+At night indeed Scarsmoor Castle was a sight to see. Every window of its
+front blazed with light; rockets and all manner of amazing bright
+devices rose to heaven. All Fillby turned out to see the show; all Nab
+Grange was in the garden looking on.
+
+All save Helena herself. She had retreated to her own room; there she
+sat and watched alone. She was in a fever of feeling and could not rest.
+She twisted one hand round the other, she held up before her eyes the
+hand which was destined to receive homage on the morrow. Her eyes were
+bright, her cheeks flushed, her red lips trembled.
+
+"Alas, how this man knows his way to my heart!" she sighed.
+
+The blaze at Scarsmoor Castle died down. A kindly darkness fell. Under
+its friendly cover she kissed her hand to the Castle, murmuring
+"To-morrow!"
+
+
+
+
+_Chapter Thirteen_
+
+THE FEAST OF ST. JOHN BAPTIST
+
+
+"As there's a heaven above us," wrote Lynborough that same night--having
+been, one would fain hope, telepathically conscious of the hand-kissing
+by the red lips, of the softly breathed "To-morrow!" (for if he were
+not, what becomes of Love's Magic?)--"As there's a heaven above us, I
+have succeeded! Her answer is more than a consent--it's an appreciation.
+The rogue knew how she stood: she is haughtily, daintily grateful. Does
+she know how near she drove me to the abominable thing? Almost had I--I,
+Ambrose Caverly--issued a writ! I should never, in all my life, have got
+over the feeling of being a bailiff! She has saved me by the rightness
+of her taste. 'Knightly' she called it to old Cromlech. Well, that was
+in the blood--it had been my own fault if I had lost it, no credit of
+mine if to some measure I have it still. But to find the recognition! I
+have lit up the country-side to-night to celebrate that rare discovery.
+
+"Rare--yes--yet not doubted. I knew it of her. I believe that I have
+broken all records--since the Renaissance at least. Love at first sight!
+Where's the merit in that? Given the sight be fine enough (a thing that
+I pray may not admit of doubt in the case of Helena), it is no exploit;
+it is rather to suffer the inevitable than to achieve the great. But
+unless the sight of a figure a hundred yards away--and of a back
+fifty--is to count against me as a practical inspection, I am so
+supremely lucky as never to have seen her! I have made her for
+myself--a few tags of description, a noting of the effect on Roger and
+on Cromlech, mildly (and very unimaginatively) aided my work, I
+admit--but for the most part and in all essentials, she, as I love her
+(for of course I love her, or no amount of Feast of St. John Baptist
+should have moved me from my path--take that for literal or for
+metaphorical as ye will!)--is of my own craftsmanship--work of my heart
+and brain, wrought just as I would have her--as I knew, through all
+delightful wanderings, that some day she must come to me.
+
+"Think then of my mood for to-morrow! With what feelings do I ring the
+bell (unless perchance it be a knocker)! With what sensations accost the
+butler! With what emotions enter the presence! Because if by chance I am
+wrong--! Upon which awful doubt arises the question whether, if I be
+wrong, I can go back. I am plaguily the slave of putting the thing as
+prettily as it can be put (Thanks, Cromlech, for giving me the
+adverb--not so bad a touch for a Man of Tombs!), and, on my soul, I have
+put that homage of mine so prettily that one who was prudent would have
+addressed it to none other than a married lady--_vivente marito_, be it
+understood. But from my goddess her mortal mate is gone--and to
+explain--nay, not to explain (which would indeed tax every grace of
+style)--but to let it appear that the homage lingers, abides, and is
+confined within the letter of the bond--that would seem scarce
+'knightly.' Therefore, being (as all tell me) more of a fool than most
+men, and (as I soberly hope) not less of a gentleman, I stand thus. I
+love the Image I have made out of dim distant sight, prosaic shreds of
+catalogued description, a vividly creating mind, and--to be candid--the
+absolute necessity of amusing myself in the country. But the Woman I am
+to see to-morrow? Is she the Image? I shall know in the first moment of
+our encounter. If she is, all is well for me--for her it will be just a
+question of her dower of heavenly venturousness. If she is not--in my
+humble judgment, you, Ambrose Caverly, having put the thing with so
+excessive a prettiness, shall for your art's sake perish--you must, in
+short, if you would end this thing in the manner (creditable to
+yourself, Ambrose!) in which it has hitherto been conducted,
+willy-nilly, hot or cold, confirmed in divine dreams or slapped in the
+face by disenchanting fact--within a brief space of time, propose
+marriage to this lady. If there be any other course, the gods send me
+scent of it this night! But if she should refuse? Reckon not on that.
+For the more she fall short of her Image, the more will she grasp at an
+outward showing of triumph--and the greatest outward triumph would not
+be in refusal.
+
+"In my human weakness I wish that--just for once--I had seen her! But in
+the strong spirit of the wine of life--whereof I have been and am an
+inveterate and most incurable bibber--I rejoice in that wonderful moment
+of mine to-morrow--when the door of the shrine opens, and I see the
+goddess before whom my offering must be laid. Be she giant or dwarf, be
+she black or white, have she hair or none--by the powers, if she wears a
+sack only, and is well advised to stick close to that, lest casting it
+should be a change for the worse--in any event the offering must be
+made. Even so the Prince in the tales, making his vows to the Beast and
+not yet knowing if his spell shall transform it to the Beauty! In my
+stronger moments, so would I have it. Years of life shall I live in that
+moment to-morrow! If it end ill, no human being but myself shall know.
+If it end well, the world is not great enough to hold, nor the music of
+its spheres melodious enough to sound, my triumph!"
+
+It will be observed that Lord Lynborough, though indeed no novice in the
+cruel and tender passion, was appreciably excited on the Eve of the
+Feast of St. John Baptist. In view of so handsome a response, the
+Marchesa's kiss of the hand and her murmured "To-morrow" may pass
+excused of forwardness.
+
+It was, nevertheless, a gentleman to all seeming most cool and calm who
+presented himself at the doors of Nab Grange at eleven fifty-five the
+next morning. His Ambassadors had come in magnificence; humbly he
+walked--and not by Beach Path, since his homage was not yet paid--but
+round by the far-stretching road and up the main avenue most decorously.
+Stabb and Roger had cut across by the path--holding the Marchesa's leave
+and license so to do--and had joined an excited group which sat on
+chairs under sheltering trees.
+
+"I wish she hadn't made the audience private!" said Norah Mountliffey.
+
+"If ever a keyhole were justifiable--" sighed Violet Dufaure.
+
+"My dear, I'd box your ears myself," Miss Gilletson brusquely
+interrupted.
+
+The Marchesa sat in a high arm-chair, upholstered in tarnished fading
+gold. The sun from the window shone on her hair; her face was half in
+shadow. She rested her head on her left; hand the right lay on her knee.
+It was stripped of any ring--unadorned white. Her cheeks were pale--the
+olive reigned unchallenged; her lips were set tight, her eyes downcast.
+She made no movement when Lord Lynborough entered.
+
+He bowed low, but said nothing. He stood opposite to her some two yards
+away. The clock ticked. It wanted still a minute before noon struck.
+That was the minute of which Lynborough had raved and dreamed the night
+before. He had the fruit of it in full measure.
+
+The first stroke of twelve rang silvery from the clock. Lynborough
+advanced and fell upon his knee. She did not lift her eyes, but slowly
+raised her hand from her knee. He placed his hand under it, pressing it
+a little upward and bowing his head to meet it half-way in its ascent.
+She felt his lips lightly brush the skin. His homage for Beach Path and
+his right therein was duly paid.
+
+Slowly he rose to his feet; slowly her eyes turned upward to his face.
+It was ablaze with a great triumph; the fire seemed to spread to her
+cheeks.
+
+"It's better than I dreamed or hoped," he murmured.
+
+"What? To have peace between us? Yes, it's good."
+
+"I have never seen your face before." She made no answer. "Nor you
+mine?" he asked.
+
+"Once on Sandy Nab you passed by me. You didn't notice me--but, yes, I
+saw you." Her eyes were steadily on him now; the flush had ceased to
+deepen, nay, had receded, but abode still, tingeing the olive of her
+cheeks.
+
+"I have rendered my homage," he said.
+
+"It is accepted." Suddenly tears sprang to her eyes. "And you might have
+been so cruel to me!" she whispered.
+
+"To you? To you who carry the power of a world in your face?"
+
+The Marchesa was confused--as was, perhaps, hardly unnatural.
+
+"There are other things, besides gates and walls, and Norah's head, that
+you jump over, Lord Lynborough."
+
+"I lived a life while I stood waiting for the clock to strike. I have
+tried for life before--in that minute I found it." He seemed suddenly to
+awake as though from a dream. "But I beg your pardon. I have paid my
+dues. The bond gives me no right to linger."
+
+She rose with a light laugh--yet it sounded nervous. "Is it good-by
+till next St. John Baptist's day?"
+
+"You would see me walking on Beach Path day by day."
+
+"I never call it Beach Path."
+
+"May it now be called--Helena's?"
+
+"Or will you stay and lunch with me to-day? And you might even pay
+homage again--say to-morrow--or--or some day in the week."
+
+"Lunch, most certainly. That commits me to nothing. Homage, Marchesa, is
+quite another matter."
+
+"Your chivalry is turning to bargaining, Lord Lynborough."
+
+"It was never anything else," he answered. "Homage is rendered in
+payment--that's why one says 'Whereas.'" His keen eager eyes of hazel
+raised once more the flood of subdued crimson in her face. "For every
+recognition of a right of mine, I will pay you homage according to the
+form prescribed for St. John Baptist's Feast."
+
+"Of what other rights do you ask recognition?"
+
+"There might be the right of welcoming you at Scarsmoor to-morrow?"
+
+She made him a little curtsy. "It is accorded--on the prescribed terms,
+my lord."
+
+"That will do for the twenty-fifth. There might be the right of
+escorting you home from Scarsmoor by the path called--Helena's?"
+
+"On the prescribed terms it is your lordship's."
+
+"What then of the right to see you daily, and day by day?"
+
+"If your leisure serves, my lord, I will endeavor to adjust mine--so
+long as we both remain at Fillby. But so that the homage is paid!"
+
+"But if you go away?"
+
+"I'm bound to tell you of my whereabouts only on St. John Baptist's
+Feast."
+
+"The right to know it on other days--would that be recognized in return
+for a homage, Marchesa?"
+
+"One homage for so many letters?"
+
+"I had sooner there were no letters--and daily homages."
+
+"You take too many obligations--and too lightly."
+
+"For every one I gain the recognition of a right."
+
+"The richer you grow in rights then, the harder you must work!"
+
+"I would have so many rights accorded me as to be no better than a
+slave!" cried Lynborough. "Yet, if I have not one, still I have
+nothing."
+
+She spoke no word, but looked at him long and searchingly. She was not
+nervous now, but proud. Her look bade him weigh words; they had passed
+beyond the borders of merriment, beyond the bandying of challenges. Yet
+her eyes carried no prohibition; it was a warning only. She interposed
+no conventional check, no plea for time. She laid on him the
+responsibility for his speech; let him remember that he owed her homage.
+
+They grew curious and restless on the lawn; the private audience lasted
+long, the homage took much time in paying.
+
+"A marvelous thing has come to me," said Lynborough, speaking slower
+than his wont, "and with it a great courage. I have seen my dream. This
+morning I came here not knowing whether I should see it. I don't speak
+of the face of my dream-image only, though I could speak till next St.
+John's Day upon that. I speak to a soul. I think our souls have known
+one another longer, aye, and better than our faces."
+
+"Yes, I think it is so," she said quietly. "Yet who can tell so soon?"
+
+"There's a great gladness upon me because my dream came true."
+
+"Who can tell so soon?" she asked again. "It's strange to speak of it."
+
+"It may be that some day--yes, some day soon--in return for the homage
+of my lips on your hand, I would ask the recognition of my lip's right
+on your cheek."
+
+She came up to him and laid her hand on his arm. "Suffer me a little
+while, my lord," she said. "You've swept into my life like a whirlwind;
+you would carry me by assault as though I were a rebellious city. Am I
+to be won before ever I am wooed?"
+
+"You sha'n't lack wooing," he said quickly. "Yet haven't I wooed you
+already--as well in my quarrel as in my homage, in our strife as in the
+end of it?"
+
+"I think so, yes. Yet suffer me a little still."
+
+"If you doubt--" he cried.
+
+"I don't think I doubt. I linger." She gave her hand into his. "It's
+strange, but I cannot doubt."
+
+Lynborough sank again upon his knee and paid his homage. As he rose, she
+bent ever so slightly toward him; delicately he kissed her cheek.
+
+"I pray you," she whispered, "use gently what you took with that."
+
+"Here's a heart to my heart, and a spirit to my spirit--and a glad
+venture to us both!"
+
+"Come on to the lawn now, but tell them nothing."
+
+"Save that I have paid my homage, and received the recognition of my
+right?"
+
+"That, if you will--and that your path is to
+be--henceforward--Helena's."
+
+"I hope to have no need to travel far on the Feast of St. John!" cried
+Lynborough.
+
+They went out on the lawn. Nothing was asked, and nothing told, that
+day. In truth there appeared to be no need. For it seems as though Love
+were not always invisible, nor the twang of his bow so faint as to elude
+the ear. With joyous blood his glad wounds are red, and who will may
+tell the sufferers. Sympathy too lends insight; your fellow-sufferer
+knows your plight first. There were fellow-sufferers on the lawn that
+day--to whom, as to all good lovers, here's Godspeed.
+
+She went with him in the afternoon through the gardens, over the sunk
+fence, across the meadows, till they came to the path. On it they
+walked together.
+
+"So is your right recognized, my lord," she said.
+
+"We will walk together on Helena's Path," he answered, "until it leads
+us--still together--to the Boundless Sea."
+
+
+                               THE END
+
+
+
+
+TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:
+
+
+Italics are indicated by _underscores_.
+
+Minor typographical errors and inconsistencies have been silently
+corrected.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Helena's Path, by Anthony Hope
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