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diff --git a/36876-h/36876-h.htm b/36876-h/36876-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..40d82d5 --- /dev/null +++ b/36876-h/36876-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,6202 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<!-- $Id: header.txt 236 2009-12-07 18:57:00Z vlsimpson $ --> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Helena's Path, by Anthony Hope. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +h1 { + line-height:1.5; +} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +small { + font-size:60%; +} + +big { + font-size:140%; +} + +p { + margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; +} + +p.title { + text-align: center; + text-indent:0; + font-weight:bold; + font-variant:small-caps; + line-height:1.4; + margin-bottom:3em; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; +} + +table { + + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} + +.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; +} /* page numbers */ + +.blockquot { + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +.right {text-align: right;} + +.left {text-align: left;} + +/* Images */ +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; + padding-top: .5em; + padding-bottom: 1em; +} + +.tdl { + text-align: left; +} + +.tdr { + text-align: right; + padding-right: 2em; +} + + +.notes { + background-color: #eeeeee; + color: #000; + padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 2em; + padding-left: 1em; padding-right: 1em; + margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%; +} + + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<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> <span class="smcap"><span style="margin-left: 2em;">New York</span></span><br /> +DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & 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"> </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—at +the moment, it is believed, no less than +seventy Cabinet and ex-Cabinet Ministers +(or thereabouts)—to say nothing of Bishops, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span>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.</p> + +<p>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<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—Ambrose +Caverly as he then was—was very popular, +and extraordinarily handsome in his unusual +outlandish style.</p> + +<p>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<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—and even vehement—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"—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<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—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—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—in a +fair encounter—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—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—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—! 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—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—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<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—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—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<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—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.</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—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—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—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—er—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—er—is +anybody going?"</p> + +<p>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.</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—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—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—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<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—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—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.</p> + +<p>There is a gate—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—and uncommonly fond of +bathing.</p> + +<p>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,<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—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—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—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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> +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.</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—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 Na<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span>ture—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.</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—but he +never looked toward the Marchesa.</p> + +<p>She sat up suddenly. "Could that be Lord +Lynborough?" she thought—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—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——"</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"Bosh!" said Stabb. "There's sure to be +a woman there—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—"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——"</p> + +<p>"Picture whom?" asked Stabb.</p> + +<p>"Why, the Lady of the Grange, to be +sure——"</p> + +<p>"Tut, tut, who's thinking of the woman?—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—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—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."<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—no +doubt! But I've always known that I had +to meet that complexion somewhere. If here—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—er—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—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—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—that's +the head-gardener—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—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—a right +of way by user as of right, or by a lost grant. +That—or nothing!"</p> + +<p>"I daresay," muttered Stabb very absently.</p> + +<p>"Then what does Coltson mean——?"</p> + +<p>"Coltson knows Ambrose—you don't. +Ambrose will never go to law—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—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——"</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—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."</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—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—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—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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> +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——"</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—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—is really +the way in which the question presents itself +to my mind—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—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>—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—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—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—and I +know of none so profound."</p> + +<p>"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?"</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—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!"</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—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—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.</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—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'?"</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—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—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.</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)—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—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—one +of the upper servants at the Castle, +I think."</p> + +<p>"How did he come to the house?"</p> + +<p>"By the drive—from the south gate—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—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—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—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—'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—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—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—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—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."</p> + +<p>"That lets him bathe to-morrow!" Once +more the Marchesa returned to her point—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—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—both from men in +Scarsmoor Castle employ and from independent +persons—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—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 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—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.</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—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<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—perhaps indeed a +fatal—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—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—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—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—Beach Path as that man<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> +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!</p> + +<p>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.<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—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.</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—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,<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—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!</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—also by his name, well +known in the county—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——"</p> + +<p>"Why unfortunate?" interrupted Lynborough +with an air of some surprise.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Sir," said Lynborough, "saving your +presence—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—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—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——"</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—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."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span></p> + +<p>Stillford grew more confidently happy—and +more amazed at Lynborough.</p> + +<p>"But you've no right to—er—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——"</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—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."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"So do most of the people who belong to—the +people to whom prisons are not +strange, Lord Lynborough."</p> + +<p>"Apostles—and so on?" asked Lynborough +airily.</p> + +<p>"I hardly recognize your lordship as belonging +to that—er—er—category."</p> + +<p>"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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> +afraid the Less. Apostles—even Saints—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?—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."</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—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——"</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—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—"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.</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—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—as a god," sighed +Helena.</p> + +<p>"You've seen him?" eagerly questioned +Norah; and the glimpse—that tantalizing +glimpse—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—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—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—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——"<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—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—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—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!"—"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.</p> + +<p>The Marchesa assumed her grandest manner; +it was medieval—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—if such it can be +called—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—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!—Oh, +he's gone to bed; stupid thing to do—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—" (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.</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—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.</p> + +<p>"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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>"When I talk like this, Cromlech chuckles, +loves me as a show, despises me as a mind. +Roger—young Roger Fitz-Archdeacon<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span>—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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> +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?</p> + +<p>"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<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—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!—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.<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—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!"</p> + +<p>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!"</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—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—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.</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—those—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——"</p> + +<p>"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."</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—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—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—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—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—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—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—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—and passed it—both of them. Lynborough +turned once more—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—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.</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—I'm very sorry to interfere +with your lordship, but——"</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—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—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——"<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—jumping—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——</p> + +<p>"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."</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—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—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—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—really at a +loss, you know—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——!</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>—and +perhaps a dozen places for friends—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—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—the Marchesa's companion."</p> + +<p>"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!"</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—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—doubtless +a pious offering. Somewhat at a loss +how to open the conversation, Lynborough +dropped his hat—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—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—I +really couldn't——"</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—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—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.</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—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—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.</p> + +<p>"That wretched gate!" she cried. "It's +locked—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—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.</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—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—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.</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—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——"</p> + +<p>"Ah, didn't she?" Lynborough made a +note for his Intelligence Department.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps she isn't up yet! I—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——"</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—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 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—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 +<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—they +had not met before, that morning—with +icy coldness.</p> + +<p>"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?"</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—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?"</p> + +<p>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.</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——"</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—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—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—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—there is—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—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—" began the Marchesa +in petrified tones. "Then you have met—?" +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—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—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—or her obstinacy—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—er—I'm rather afraid—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—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—?" +began the Colonel.</p> + +<p>"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.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span></p> + +<p>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<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—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.</p> + +<p>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!<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—one to which her spirit +was by no means attuned.</p> + +<p>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.</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—across these dismal broodings—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—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 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—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>—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.</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—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—you're awfully kind. I—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—safe—to leave the gate open."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</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—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—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>—how +I should love to know him, if only—!" +She broke off, sighing deeply.</p> + +<p>"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."</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—I know that you—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—even sometimes (she gave a +bitter little laugh) with deference. That +doesn't seem to occur to Lord Lynborough."</p> + +<p>"Well, you know——"</p> + +<p>"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!"</p> + +<p>"I'm—I'm most awfully obliged to you—er—Marchesa—but +you see——"</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—not +even from Lord Lynborough."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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!"<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—yes, +pleaded—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—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—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<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—with a comment from me that the +Marchesa's garrison is not very alert. Another +smile—not less peculiar—from +Roger! <i>Hum!</i></p> + +<p>"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<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—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?</p> + +<p>"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<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—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—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<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—?'</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—forgetful apparently +of the borne of bed, to which he had +originally destined himself—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—"Consult +Cromlech")—(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—?"—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—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—" cried +Roger.</p> + +<p>"If a thoroughly intelligent and most +sympathetic woman—" 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—to +a courteous hearing."</p> + +<p>"Lynborough does appear to have been +a shade—er——"</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—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—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—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—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.</p> + +<p>"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."</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—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,<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—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.</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—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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> +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.</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—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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>"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!</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—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:<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—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—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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> +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.</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—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—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.</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?—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?"</p> + +<p>Wenman had risen from his place. "The—the +Marchesa!" he said. "We—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—Lord +Lynborough. Here's to his lordship!"</p> + +<p>"I—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—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—and left their chieftainess +deserted.</p> + +<p>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!</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—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.</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)—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.<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—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—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, 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—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—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—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—a +woman—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—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—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—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—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—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.</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—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."</p> + +<p>"Cromlech, old boy!"</p> + +<p>"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.</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—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—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.</p> + +<p>"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<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—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?</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"I have made myself a champion of my +sex," he said. "Shall I be beaten?"</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span>—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—a +voice spoke from the edge of the terrace.</p> + +<p>"I thought you might be interested to +hear——"</p> + +<p>"Lady Norah?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, it's me—to hear that you've made +her cry—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—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—and I +have."</p> + +<p>"Well put!" he allowed. "How did it +happen?"</p> + +<p>"Over something I said to her—something +horrid."</p> + +<p>"Well, then, why am I—?" 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—she's just sorry for us—because +she understands——"</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"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."</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—yes, I think +they all agreed—but she took it—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—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—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."</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—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——"</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——"</p> + +<p>"I couldn't do that!"</p> + +<p>"You must—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—ugh! +Tell her you've seen me, and that I'm open +to reason——"</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—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."</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—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—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—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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span> +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.</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—or +never! A week from to-day—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—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—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.</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—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—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.</p> + +<p>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,<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—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—and boldly—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—more or less nominal—for +a perpetual right—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"—she paused a +moment—"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—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—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—at last and undoubtedly—she +looked across at the windows +of Scarsmoor.</p> + +<p>"We shall come to some business arrangement, +I suppose—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—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!</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—at best only precarious<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span> +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.</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—a +nominal—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—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<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—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.</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—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.</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—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—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——'"</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——'"</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——'"</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—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—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—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—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—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<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—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—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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span> +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.</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—! 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—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—<i>vivente +marito</i>, 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<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—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,<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—and the greatest outward +triumph would not be in refusal.</p> + +<p>"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<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—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.</p> + +<p>"I wish she hadn't made the audience +private!" said Norah Mountliffey.</p> + +<p>"If ever a keyhole were justifiable—" +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—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.</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—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—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—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—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—Helena's?"</p> + +<p>"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."</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—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—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—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—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—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—and +daily homages."</p> + +<p>"You take too many obligations—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—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."</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—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—" 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—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—and that your path +is to be—henceforward—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—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—still +together—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 + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HELENA'S PATH *** + +***** This file should be named 36876-h.htm or 36876-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/6/8/7/36876/ + +Produced by Cathy Maxam, Juliet Sutherland and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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