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diff --git a/40640-8.txt b/40640-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index bbbee73..0000000 --- a/40640-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,10797 +0,0 @@ -Project Gutenberg's The Following of the Star, by Florence L. Barclay - -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/license - - -Title: The Following of the Star - -Author: Florence L. Barclay - -Release Date: September 1, 2012 [EBook #40640] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FOLLOWING OF THE STAR *** - - - - -Produced by Suzanne Shell, Josephine Paolucci and the -Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net. - - - - - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration: DAVID IN AFRICA] - - - - -THE FOLLOWING OF THE STAR - -_A ROMANCE_ - -BY - -FLORENCE L. BARCLAY - -AUTHOR OF - -THE ROSARY, THE MISTRESS OF -SHENSTONE, ETC. - -NEW YORK - -GROSSET & DUNLAP -PUBLISHERS - - -COPYRIGHT, 1911 -BY - -G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS - -17th Printing - - -BY FLORENCE L. BARCLAY - - The Rosary - The Mistress of Shenstone - Through the Postern Gate - The Upas Tree - The Following of the Star - The Broken Halo - The Wall of Partition - My Heart's Right There - -This edition is issued under arrangement with the publishers G. P. -PUTNAM'S SONS, NEW YORK AND LONDON - -The Knickerbocker Press, New York - - * * * * * - -To - -MY SON -IN THE MINISTRY - -C. C. B. - - - - -CONTENTS - - -_GOLD_ - -CHAPTER PAGE - -I. THE STILL WATERS OF BRAMBLEDENE 3 - -II. THE LADY OF MYSTERY 20 - -III. DAVID STIRS THE STILL WATERS 31 - -IV. DIANA RIVERS, OF RIVERSCOURT 46 - -V. THE NOISELESS NAPIER 58 - -VI. DAVID MAKES FRIENDS WITH "CHAPPIE" 69 - -VII. THE TOUCH OF POWER 81 - -VIII. THE TEST OF THE TRUE HERALD 91 - -IX. UNCLE FALCON'S WILL 95 - -X. DIANA'S HIGH FENCE 129 - -XI. THE VOICE IN THE NIGHT 145 - -XII. SUSPENSE 164 - -XIII. DAVID'S DECISION 174 - -XIV. THE EVE OF EPIPHANY 190 - -XV. THE CODICIL 198 - -XVI. IN OLD SAINT BOTOLPH'S 211 - -XVII. DIANA'S READJUSTMENT 222 - -XVIII. DAVID'S NUNC DIMITTIS 229 - -XIX. DAVID STUDIES THE SCENERY 239 - -XX. WITH THE COMPLIMENTS OF THE COMPANY 252 - -XXI. "ALL ASHORE!" 260 - -XXII. DIANA WINS 266 - -XXIII. UNCLE FALCON WINS 275 - - -_FRANKINCENSE_ - -XXIV. THE HIDDEN LEAVEN 289 - -XXV. THE PROPERTY OF THE CROWN 296 - -XXVI. A PILGRIMAGE 309 - -XXVII. A QUESTION OF CONSCIENCE 327 - -XXVIII. DAVID'S PRONOUNCEMENT 342 - -XXIX. WHAT DAVID WONDERED 348 - -XXX. RESURGAM 356 - -XXXI. "I CAN STAND ALONE" 367 - -XXXII. THE BLOW FALLS 371 - -XXXIII. REQUIESCAT IN PACE 376 - - -_MYRRH_ - -XXXIV. IN THE HOSPITAL OF THE HOLY STAR 385 - -XXXV. THE LETTER COMES 398 - -XXXVI. DIANA LEARNS THE TRUTH 404 - -XXXVII. "GOOD-NIGHT, DAVID" 413 - -XXXVIII. THE BUNDLE OF MYRRH 420 - -XXXIX. HOME, BY ANOTHER WAY 424 - - - - -GOLD - - - - -CHAPTER I - -THE STILL WATERS OF BRAMBLEDENE - - -David Rivers closed his Bible suddenly, slipped it into the inner pocket -of his coat, and, leaning back in his armchair, relaxed the tension at -which he had been sitting while he mentally put his thoughts into terse -and forcible phraseology. - -His evening sermon was ready. The final sentence had silently thrilled -into the quiet study, in the very words in which it would presently -resound through the half-empty little village church; and David felt as -did the young David of old, when he had paused at the brook and chosen -five smooth stones for his sling, on his way to meet the mighty champion -of the Philistines. David now felt ready to go forward and fight the -Goliath of apathy and inattention; the life-long habit of not listening -to the voice of the preacher, or giving any heed to the message he -brought. - -The congregation, in this little Hampshire village church where, during -the last five weeks, David had acted as locum-tenens, consisted entirely -of well-to-do farmers and their families; of labourers, who lounged into -church from force of habit, or because, since the public-houses had been -closed by law during the hours of divine service, it was the only warmed -and lighted place to be found on a Sunday evening; of a few devout old -men and women, to whom weekly church-going, while on earth, appeared the -only possible preparation for an eternity of Sabbaths in the world to -come; and of a fair sprinkling of village lads and lassies, who took -more interest in themselves and in each other than in the divine worship -in which they were supposed to be taking part. - -The two churchwardens, stout, florid, and well-to-do, occupied front -pews on either side of the centre; Mr. Churchwarden Jones, on the right; -Mr. Churchwarden Smith, on the left. Their official position lent them a -dignity which they enjoyed to the full, and which overflowed to _Mrs._ -Jones and _Mrs._ Smith, seated in state beside them. When, on -"collection Sundays," the churchwardens advanced up the chancel together -during the final verse of the hymn, and handed the plates to the Rector, -their wives experienced a sensation of pride in them which "custom -could not stale." They were wont to describe at the Sunday midday dinner -or at supper, afterwards, the exact effect of this "procession" up the -church, an oft-told tale for which they could always be sure of at least -one interested auditor. - -Mr. Churchwarden Jones bowed when he delivered the plate to the Rector. -Mr. Churchwarden Smith did not bow, but kept himself more erect than -usual; holding that anything in the nature of a bow, while in the House -of God, savoured of popery. - -This provided the village with a fruitful subject for endless -discussion. The congregation was pretty equally divided. One half -approved the stately bow of Mr. Churchwarden Jones, and unconsciously -bowed themselves, while they disregarded their hymn-books and watched -him make it. The other half were for "Smith, and no popery," and also -sang of "mystic sweet communion, with those whose rest is won," without -giving any thought to the words, while occupied in gazing with approval -at Farmer Smith's broad back, and at the uncompromising stiffness of the -red neck, appearing above his starched Sunday collar. - -Mrs. Smith secretly admired Mr. Jones's bow, and felt that her man was -missing his chances for a silly idea; but not for worlds would Mrs. -Smith have admitted this; no, not even to her especial crony, Miss Pike -the milliner, who had once been to Paris, and knew what was what. - -The venerated Rector, father of his people, always bowed as he received -the plates from the two churchwardens. But then, that had nothing -whatever to do with the question, his _back_ being to the Table. -Besides, the Rector, who had christened, confirmed, married, and buried -them, during the last fifty years, could do no wrong. They would as soon -have thought of trying to understand his sermons, as of questioning his -soundness. "The Rector says," constituted a final judgment, from which -there was no appeal. - -As he slowly and carefully mounted the pulpit stairs, one hand grasping -the rail, the other clasping a black silk sermon-case, the hearts of his -people went with him. - -The hearts of his people were with him, as his silvery hair and benign -face appeared above the large red velvet cushion on the pulpit desk; and -the minds of his people were with him, until he had safely laid his -sermon upon the cushion, opened it, and gently flattened the manuscript -with both hands; then placed his pocket-handkerchief in the handy -receptacle specially intended to contain it, and a lozenge in a -prominent position on the desk. But, this well-known routine safely -accomplished, they sang a loud amen to the closing verse of "the hymn -before the sermon," and gave their minds a holiday, until, at the first -words of the ascription, they rose automatically with a loud and joyous -clatter to their feet, to emerge in a few moments into the fresh air and -sunshine. - -A perplexing contretemps had once occurred. The Rector's gentle voice -had paused in its onward flow. It was not the usual lozenge-pause. Their -subconscious minds understood and expected that. But, as a matter of -fact, the Rector had, on this particular Sunday, required a second -lozenge towards the end of the sermon, and the sentence immediately -following this unexpected pause chanced to begin with the words: "And -now to enlarge further upon our seventh point." At the first three words -the whole congregation rose joyfully to their feet; then had to sit down -abashed, while the Rector hurriedly enlarged upon "our seventh point." -It was the only point which had as yet penetrated their intelligence. - -In all subsequent sermons, the Rector carefully avoided, at the -beginning of his sentences, the words which had produced a general -rising. He would smile benignly to himself, in the seclusion of his -study, as he substituted, for fear of accidents, "Let us, my brethren," -or "Therefore, belovèd." - -It never struck the good man, content with his own scholarly presentment -of deep theological truths, that the accidental rising was an undoubted -evidence of non-attention on the part of his congregation. He continued -to mount the pulpit steps, as he had mounted them during the last fifty -years; attaining thereby an elevation from which he invariably preached -completely over the heads of his people. - -In this they acquiesced without question. It was their obvious duty to -"sit under" a preacher, not to attempt to fathom his meaning; to sit -_through_ a sermon, not to endeavour to understand it. So they -slumbered, fidgeted, or thought of other things, according to their age -or inclination, until the ascription brought them to their feet, the -benediction bowed them to their knees, and the first strident blasts of -the organ sent them gaily trooping out of church and home to their -Sunday dinners, virtuous and content. - -Into this atmosphere of pious apathy, strode David Rivers; back on -sick-leave from the wilds of Central Africa; aflame with zeal for his -Lord, certain of the inspiration of his message; accustomed to -congregations to whom every thought was news, and every word was life; -men, ready and eager to listen and to believe, and willing, when once -they had believed, to be buried alive, or tied to a stake, and burned by -slow fire, sooner than relinquish or deny the faith he had taught them. - -But how came this young prophet of fire into the still waters of our -Hampshire village? The wilds of the desert, and the rapid rushings of -Jordan, are the only suitable setting for John the Baptists in all ages. - -Nevertheless to Hampshire he came; and it happened thus. - -Influenza, which is no respecter of persons, attacked the venerated -Rector. - -In the first stress of need, neighbouring clergy came to the rescue. But -when six weeks of rest and change were ordered, as the only means of -insuring complete recovery, the Rector advertised for a locum-tenens, -offering terms which attracted David, just out of hospital, sailing for -Central Africa early in the New Year, and wondering how on earth he -should scrape together the funds needed for completing his outfit. He -applied immediately; and, within twenty-four hours, received a telegram -suggesting an interview, and asking him to spend the night at -Brambledene Rectory. - -Here a curious friendship began, and was speedily cemented by mutual -attraction. The white-haired old man, overflowing with geniality, -punctilious in old-fashioned courtesy, reminded David Rivers of a -father, long dead and deeply mourned; while the young enthusiast, with -white, worn face, and deep-set shining eyes, struck a long-silent chord -in the heart of the easy-going old Rector, seeming to him an embodiment -of that which he himself might have been, had he chosen a harder, -rougher path, when standing at the cross-roads half a century before. - -An ideal of his youth, long vanished, returned, and stood before him in -David Rivers. It was too late, now, to sigh after a departed ideal. But, -as a tribute to its memory, he doubled the remuneration he had offered, -left the keys in every bookcase in the library, and recommended David to -the most especial care of his faithful housekeeper, Sarah Dolman, with -instructions that, should the young man seem tired on Sunday evenings, -after the full day's work, the best old sherry might be produced and -offered. - -And here let it be recorded, that David undoubtedly did look worn and -tired after the full day's work; but the best old sherry was declined -with thanks. The fact that your heart has remained among the wild tribes -of Central Africa has a way of making your body very abstemious, and -careless of all ordinary creature comforts. - -Nevertheless, David enjoyed the Rector's large armchair, upholstered in -maroon leather, and delighted in the oak-panelled study, with its wealth -of valuable books and its atmosphere of scholarly calm and meditation. - - * * * * * - -This last Sunday of his ministry at Brambledene chanced to fall on -Christmas-eve. Also, for once, it was true Christmas weather. - -As David walked to church that morning, every branch and twig, every ivy -leaf and holly berry, sparkled in the sunshine; the frosty lanes were -white and hard, and paved with countless glittering diamonds. An -indescribable exhilaration was in the air. Limbs felt light and supple; -movement was a pleasure. Church bells, near and far away, pealed -joyously. The Christmas spirit was already here. - -"Unto us a Child is born, unto us a Son is given," quoted David, as he -swung along the lanes. It was five years since he had had a Christmas -in England. Mentally he contrasted this keen frosty brightness, with -the mosquito-haunted swamps of the African jungle. This unaccustomed -sense of health and vigour brought, by force of contrast, a remembrance -of the deathly lassitude and weakness which accompany the malarial -fever. But, instantly true to the certainty of his high and holy -calling, his soul leapt up crying: "Unto _them_ a Child is born! Unto -_them_ a Son is given! And how shall they believe in Him of whom they -have not heard? And how shall they hear without a preacher?" - - * * * * * - -The little church, on that morning, was bright with holly and heavy with -evergreens. The united efforts of the Smith and the Jones families had, -during the week, made hundreds of yards of wreathing. On Saturday, all -available young men came to help; Miss Pike, whose taste was so -excellent, to advise; the school-mistress, a noisy person with more -energy than tact, to argue with Miss Pike, and to side with Smiths and -Joneses alternately, when any controversial point was under discussion. - -So a gay party carried the long evergreen wreaths from the parish-room -to the church, where already were collected baskets of holly and ivy, -yards of scarlet flannel and white cotton-wool; an abundance of tin -tacks and hammers; and last, but not least, the Christmas scrolls and -banners, which were annually produced from their place of dusty -concealment behind the organ; and of which Mrs. Smith remarked, each -year, that they were "every bit as good as new, if you put 'em up in a -fresh place." - -During the whole of Saturday afternoon and evening the decorative -process had been carried on with so much energy, that when David came -out from the vestry, on Sunday morning, he found himself in a scene -which was decidedly what the old women from the alms-houses called -"Christmassy." - -His surplice rasped against the holly-leaves, as he made his way into -the reading-desk. The homely face of the old gilt clock, on the gallery -facing him, was wreathed in yew and holly, and the wreath had slipped -slightly on one side, giving the sober old clock an unwontedly rakish -appearance, which belied its steady and measured "tick-tick." Also into -the bottom of this wreath, beneath which the whole congregation had to -pass in and out, Tom Brigg, the doctor's son, a handsome fellow and -noted wag, had surreptitiously inserted a piece of mistletoe. This -prank of Tom's, known to all the younger members of the congregation, -caused so much nudging and whispering and amused glancing at the -inebrious-looking clock, that David produced his own watch, wondering if -there were any mistake in the hour. - -His sermon, on this Sunday morning, had seemed to him a failure. - -His text confronted him in letters of gold on crimson flock: -"Emmanuel--God with us"; but not a mind seemed with him as he gave it -out, read it twice, slowly and clearly, and then proceeded to explain -that this wonderful name, Emmanuel, was never intended to be the world's -name for Christ, nor even His people's name for Him. However, at this -statement, Mrs. Smith raised her eyebrows and began turning over the -leaves of her Bible. - -Encouraged by this unusual sign of attention, David Rivers leaned over -the pulpit and tried to drive into one mind, at least, a thought which -had been a discovery to himself the evening before, and was beginning to -mean much to him, as every Spirit-given new light on a well-known theme -always must mean to the earnest Bible student. - -"The name Emmanuel," he said, "so freely used in our church decorations -at this season, occurs three times only in the Bible; twice in the Old -Testament, once in the New; and the New merely quotes the more important -of the two passages in the Old. - -"We can dismiss at once the allusion in Isaiah viii., 8, which merely -speaks of Palestine as 'Thy land, O Immanuel,' and confine our attention -to the great prophecy of Isaiah vii., 14, quoted in Matthew i., 23: -'Behold a Virgin shall bear a son, and shall call His name Immanuel.' -The Hebrew of this passage reads: 'Thou, O Virgin, shalt call His name -Immanuel'; and the Greek of Matthew i. bears the same meaning. I want -you to realise that this was His mother's name for the new-born King, -for the Babe of Bethlehem, for the little son in the village home at -Nazareth. His Presence there meant to that humble pondering heart: -'_God_ with us.' - -"If you want to find _our_ name for Him," continued David, noting that -Mrs. Smith, ignoring his two references, still turned the pages of her -Bible, "look at the angel's message to Joseph in the 21st verse of -Matthew i.: 'Thou shalt call His name Jesus, for He shall save His -people from their sins.' That name is mentioned nine hundred and six -times in the Bible. We cannot attempt to look them all out now,"--with -an appealing glance at Mrs. Smith's rustling pages--"but let us make -sure that we have appropriated to the full the gifts and blessings of -that name, 'which is above every name.' It was the watchword of the -early church. It is the secret of our peace and power. It will be our -password into heaven. - -"But Emmanuel was His mother's name for Him. As she laid him in the -manger, round which the patient cattle snuffed in silent wonder at this -new use for the place where heretofore they munched their fodder, it was -'_God_ with us' in the stable. - -"As, seated on the ass, she clasped the infant to her breast through the -long hours of that night ride into Egypt, she whispered: 'Emmanuel, -Emmanuel! God _with_ us, in our flight and peril.' - -"In the carpenter's home at Nazareth, where, in the midst of the many -trials and vexations of a village life of poverty, He was ever patient, -gentle, understanding; subject to His parents, yet giving His mother -much cause for pondering, many things to treasure in her heart--often, -in adoring tenderness, she would whisper: 'Emmanuel, God with _us_.'" - -David paused and looked earnestly down the church, longing for some -response to the thrill in his own soul. - -"Ah," he said, slowly and impressively, "if only the boys in your -village could be _this_ to their mothers! If their loyal obedience, -their gentle, loving chivalry, their thoughtful tenderness, could make -it possible for their own mothers to say: 'I see the Christ-life in my -little boy. When he is at home, the love of God is here. Truly it is -Emmanuel, God with us.'" - - * * * * * - -"What did that young man mean," remarked Mrs. Smith at the dinner-table -at Appledore Farm, "by trying to take from us the name 'Emmanuel'? Seems -to me, if he stays here much longer we shall have no Bible left!" - -Mr. Churchwarden Smith had been carving the Sunday beef for his numerous -family. He had only, that moment, fallen to, upon his own portion. -Otherwise Mrs. Smith would not have been allowed to complete her -sentence. - -"I've no patience with these young chaps!" he burst out, as soon as -speech was possible. "Undermining the faith of their forefathers; -putting our good old English Bible into 'Ebrew and Greek, just to parade -their own learning, and confuse the minds of simple folk. 'Higher -criticism,' they call it! Jolly low-down impudence, say I!" - -Mrs. Smith watchfully bided her time. Then: "And popish too," she added, -"to talk so much about the mother of our Lord." - -"I don't think he mentioned _her_, my dear," said Mr. Churchwarden -Smith. "Pass the mustard, Johnny." - - * * * * * - -Yes, as he thought it over during his lonely luncheon, David felt more -and more convinced that his morning sermon had been a failure. - -He did not know of a little curly-headed boy, whose young widowed mother -was at her wit's end as to how to control his wilfulness; but who ran -straight to his garret-room after service, and, kneeling beside his -frosty window, looked up to the wintry sky and said: "Please God, make -me a Manuel to my mother, like Jesus was to His, for Christ's sake, -Amen." - -David did not know of this; nor that, ever after, that cottage home was -to be transformed, owing to the living power of his message. - -So, down in the depths of discouragement, he dubbed his morning sermon a -failure. - -Notwithstanding, he prepared the evening subject with equal care, a -spice of enjoyment added, owing to the fact that he would -possibly--probably--almost to a certainty--have in the evening -congregation a mind able to understand and appreciate each point; a mind -of a calibre equal to his own; a soul he was bent on winning. - -As he closed his Bible, put it into his pocket, and relaxed over the -thought that his sermon was complete, he smiled into the glowing wood -fire, saying to himself, in glad anticipation: "My Lady of Mystery will -undoubtedly be there. Now I wonder if _she_ believes that there were -three Wise Men!" - - - - -CHAPTER II - -THE LADY OF MYSTERY - - -David thrust his hands deep into the pockets of his short coat, well -cut, but inclined to be somewhat threadbare. He crossed his knees, and -lay back comfortably in the Rector's big chair. An hour and a half -remained before he need start out. - -It was inexpressibly restful to have his subject, clear cut and -complete, safely stowed away in the back of his mind, and to be able to -sit quietly in this warmth and comfort, and let his thoughts dwell -lightly upon other things, while Christmas snow fell softly, in large -flakes, without; and gathering twilight slowly hushed the day to rest. - -"Yes, undoubtedly my Lady of Mystery will be there," thought David -Rivers, "unless this fall of snow keeps her away." - -He let his memory dwell in detail upon the first time he had seen her. - -It happened on his second Sunday at Brambledene. - -The deadening effect of the mental apathy of the congregation had -already somewhat damped his enthusiasm. - -It was so many years since he had preached in English, that, on the -first Sunday, he had allowed himself the luxury of writing out his whole -sermon. This plan, for various reasons, did not prove successful. - -Mrs. Churchwarden Jones and Mrs. Churchwarden Smith--good simple souls -both, if you found them in their dairies making butter, or -superintending the sturdy maids in the farm kitchens--seemed to consider -on Sundays that they magnified their husbands' office by the amount of -rustle and jingle they contrived to make with their own portly persons -during the church services. They kept it up, duet fashion, on either -side of the aisle. If Mrs. Jones rustled, Mrs. Smith promptly tinkled. -If Mrs. Smith rustled, Mrs. Jones straightway jingled. The first time -this happened in the sermon, David looked round, hesitated, lost his -place, and suffered agonies of mortification before he found it again. - -Moreover he soon realised that, with his eyes on the manuscript, he had -absolutely no chance of holding the attention of his audience. - -In the evening he tried notes, but this seemed to him neither one thing -nor the other. So on all subsequent Sundays he memorised his sermons as -he prepared them, and hardly realised himself how constantly, in their -delivery, there flowed from his subconsciousness a depth of thought, -clothed in eloquent and appropriate language, which had not as yet been -ground in the mill of his conscious mind. - -On that second Sunday evening, David had entered the reading-desk -depressed and discouraged. In the morning he had fallen out with the -choir. It was a mixed choir. Large numbers of young Smiths and Joneses -sat on either side of the chancel and vied with one another as to which -family could outsing the other. This rivalry was resulting in a -specially loud and joyful noise in the closing verses of the Benedictus. - -David, jarred in every nerve, and forgetting for the moment that he was -not dealing with his African aborigines, wheeled round in the desk, held -up his hand, and said: "Hush!" with the result that he had to declaim -the details of John the Baptist's mission, as a tenor solo; and that -the organist noisily turned over his music-books during the whole time -of the sermon, apparently in a prolonged search for a suitable -recessional voluntary. - -Wishing himself back in his African forests, David began the service, in -a chastened voice, on that second Sunday evening. - -During the singing of the first of the evening psalms the baize-covered -door, at the further end of the church, was pushed gently open; a tall -figure entered, alone; closed the door noiselessly behind her, and stood -for a moment, in hesitating uncertainty, beneath the gallery. - -Then the old clerk and verger, Jabez Bones, bustled out of his seat, and -ushering her up the centre, showed her into a cushioned pew on the -pulpit side, rather more than half-way up the church. - -The congregation awoke to palpable interest, at her advent. The choir -infused a tone of excitement into the chant, which, up to that moment, -had been woefully flat. Each pew she passed, in the wake of old Jabez, -thereafter contained a nudge or a whisper. - -David's first impression of her, was of an embodiment of silence and -softness,--so silently she passed up the church and into the empty pew, -moving to the further corner, right against the stout whitewashed -pillar. No rustle, no tinkle, marked her progress; only a silent -fragrance of violets. And of softness--soft furs, soft velvet, soft -hair; and soft grey eyes, beneath the brim of a dark green velvet hat. - -But his second impression was other than the first. She was looking at -him with an expression of amused scrutiny. Her eyes were keen and -penetrating; her lips were set in lines of critical independence of -judgment; the beautifully moulded chin was firm and white as marble -against the soft brown fur. - -She regarded him steadily for some minutes. Then she looked away, and -David became aware, by means of that subconscious intuition, which -should be as a sixth sense to all ministers and preachers, that nothing -in the service reached her in the very least. Her mind was far away. -Whatever her object had been, in entering the little whitewashed church -of Brambledene on that Sunday night, it certainly was not worship. - -But, when he began to preach, he arrested her attention. His opening -remark evidently appealed to her. She glanced up at him, quickly, a -gleam of amusement and interest in her clear eyes. And afterwards, -though she did not lift them again, and partly turned away, leaning -against the pillar, so that he could see only the clear-cut whiteness of -her perfect profile, he knew that she was listening. - -From that hour, David's evening sermons were prepared with the more or -less conscious idea of reaching the soul of that calm immovable Lady of -Mystery. - -She did not attract him as a woman. Her beauty meant nothing to him. He -had long ago faced the fact that his call to Central Africa must mean -celibacy. No man worthy of the name would, for his own comfort or -delight, allow a woman to share such dangers and privations as those -through which he had to pass. And, if five years of that climate had -undermined his own magnificent constitution and sent him home a wreck of -his former self, surely, had he taken out a wife, it would simply have -meant a lonely grave, left behind in the African jungle. - -So David had faced it out that a missionary's life, in a place where -wife and children could not live, must mean celibacy; nor had he the -smallest intention of ever swerving from that decision. His devotion to -his work filled his heart. His people were his children. - -Therefore no ordinary element of romance entered into his thoughts -concerning the beautiful woman who, on each Sunday evening, leaned -against the stone pillar, and showed by a slight flicker of the eyelids -or curve of the proud lips, that she heard and appreciated each point in -his sermon. - -How far she agreed, he had no means of knowing. Who she was, and whence -she came, he did not attempt to find out. He preferred that she should -remain the Lady of Mystery. After her first appearance, when old Jabez -bustled into the vestry at the close of the service, he abounded in nods -and winks, inarticulate exclamations, and chuckings of his thumb over -his shoulder backward toward the church. At length, getting no response -from David, he burst forth: "Sakes alive, sir! I'm thinking she ain't -bin seen in a place o' wash-up, since she was----" - -David, half in and half out of his cassock, turned on the old clerk in -sudden indignation. - -"Bones," he said, sternly, "no member of the congregation should ever be -discussed in the vestry. Not another word, please. Now give me the entry -book." - -The old man muttered something inaudible about the Rector and young -_h_upstarts, and our poor David had made another enemy in Brambledene. - -He never chanced to see his Lady of Mystery arrive; but, after that -first evening, she never failed to be in her place when he came out of -the vestry; nor did he ever see her depart, always resisting the -temptation to leave the church hurriedly when service was over. - -So she remained the Lady of Mystery; and now--his last Sunday evening -had come; and, as he thought of her, he longed to see a look of faith -and joy dawn in her cold sad eyes, as ardently as another man might have -longed to see a look of love for himself awaken in them. - -But David wanted nothing for himself, and a great deal for his Lord. He -wanted this beautiful personality, this forceful character, this strong, -self-reliant soul; he wanted this obvious wealth, this unmistakable -possessor of place and power, for his Master's service, for the Kingdom -of his King. No thought of himself came in at all. How should it? He -wanted to win her for her own sake; and he wanted to win her for his -Lord. He wanted this more persistently and ardently than he had ever -desired anything in his life before. He was almost perplexed at the -insistence of the thought, and the way in which it never left him. - -And now--the last chance had come. - -He rose, and went to the window. Snowflakes were falling gently, few and -far between; but the landscape was completely covered by a pure white -pall. - -"Undoubtedly," said David, "my Lady of Mystery will be there, unless -this fall of snow keeps her away." - -He paced up and down the study, repeating stray sentences from his -sermon, as they came into his mind. - -Sarah brought in the lamp, and drew the maroon rep curtains, shutting -out the snow and gathering darkness; Sarah, stout, comfortable, and -motherly, who--accustomed to the rosy-cheeked plumpness of her -easy-going master--looked with undisguised dismay at David's thin worn -face, and limbs on which his clothes still hung loosely, giving him an -appearance of not belonging to his surroundings, which tried the kind -heart and practical mind of the Rector's good housekeeper. - -"He do give me the creeps, poor young gentleman," she confided to a -friend, who had dropped in for tea and a chat. "To see him all shrunk -up, so to speak, in Master's big chair; and just where there would be so -much of Master, there's naught of him, which makes the chair seem fair -empty. And then he looks up and speaks, and his voice is like music, and -his eyes shine like stars, and he seems more alive than Master, or -anybody else one knows; yet not alive in his poor thin body; but alive -because of something burning and shining _h_inside of 'im; something -stronger than a body, and more alive than life--oh, _I_ don't know!" -concluded Sarah, suddenly alarmed by her own eloquence. - -"Creepy, I call it," said the friend. - -"Creepy it is," agreed Sarah. - -Nevertheless she watched carefully over David's creature comforts, and -he owed it to Sarah's insistence, that he weighed nearly a stone heavier -when he left Brambledene than on his arrival there. - -She now brought in tea, temptingly arranged on a tray, poured out his -first cup, and stood a minute to watch him drink it, and to exhort him -to wrap up well, before going out in this snow. - -"My last Sunday, Sarah," said David, looking at her with those same -deep-set shining eyes. "I sha'n't bother you much longer. I have a -service to-morrow--Christmas-day; and must stay over Boxing-day for two -weddings. Then I'm off to town; and in a couple of weeks I sail for -Central Africa. I wonder how you would like Africa, Sarah. Are you -afraid of snakes?" - -"Don't mention 'em, Mr. Rivers, sir," replied Sarah, in a stage whisper; -"nasty evil things! If Eve had been as fearful of 'em as I am, there'd -never 'ave been no Fall. You wouldn't catch me staying to talk theology -with a serpent. No, not me, sir! It's take to m' heels and run, would -have been my way, if I'd 'a lived in Genesis three." - -David smiled. "A good way, Sarah," he said, "and scriptural. But you -forget the attraction of the tree, with its luscious fruit. Poor Eve! -The longing of the moment, always seems the great essential. We are apt -to forget the long eternity of regret." - -Sarah sidled respectfully towards the door. - -"Eat your hot-buttered toast, before it grows cold, sir," she -counselled; "and give over thinking about snakes. Dear heart, it's -Christmas-eve!" - -"So it is," said David. "And my sermon is about a star. Right you are, -Sarah! I'll 'give over thinking about snakes,' and look higher. There -can be no following of the star with our eyes turned earthward.... All -right! Don't you worry. I'll eat every bit." - - - - -CHAPTER III - -DAVID STIRS THE STILL WATERS - - -As David tramped to church the moon was rising. The fir trees stood, -dark and stately, beneath their nodding plumes of feathery snow. The -little village church, with its white roof, and brightly lighted -windows, looked like a Christmas card. - -Above its ivy-covered tower, luminous as a lamp in the deep purple sky, -shone out one brilliant star. - -David smiled as he raised his eyes. He was thinking of Sarah and the -snakes. "'If I had lived in Genesis three,'" he quoted. "What a -delightful way of putting it; as if Genesis were a terrace, and three -the number. Good old Sarah! Would she have been more successful in -coping with the tempter? Undoubtedly Eve had the artistic temperament, -which is always a snare; also she had a woman's instinctive desire to -set others right, and to explain. Adam would have seen through the -tempter's wilful distortion of the wording of God's command, and would -not have been beguiled into an argument with so crafty and insincere an -opponent. Poor Eve, in her desire to prove him wrong, to air her own -superior knowledge, and to justify her Maker, hurried at once into the -trap, and was speedily undone. Here, at the very outset of our history, -we have in a nutshell the whole difference between the mentality of the -sexes. Where Eve stood arguing and explaining,--laying herself open to a -retort which shook her own belief, and undermined her obedience,--Adam -would have said: "Liar!" and turned on his heel. Yet if Eve lived -nowadays she would be quite sure she could set right all mistakes in our -legislature, if only Adam could be induced to let her have a finger in -every pie. Having lived in Genesis iii., Adam would know better than to -try it!" - - * * * * * - -As David reached the old lich-gate, two brilliant lights shone down the -road from the opposite direction, and the next moment a motor glided -swiftly to the gate, and stopped. - -A footman sprang down from beside the chauffeur, opened the door, -touched a button, and the interior of the car flashed into light. - -Seated within, half buried in furs, David saw the calm sweet face of -his Lady of Mystery. He stood on one side, in the shadow of the gate, -and waited. - -The footman drew out a white fur rug, and threw it over his left arm; -then held the door wide. - -She stepped out, tall and silent. David saw the calm whiteness of her -features in the moonlight. She took no more notice of her men, than if -they had been machines, but passed straight up the churchyard path, -between the yew-tree sentinels, and disappeared into the porch. - -The footman bundled in the rug, switched off the lights, banged the -door, took his place beside the chauffeur, and the large roomy motor -glided silently away. Nothing remained save a delicate fragrance of -violets under the lich-gate, beneath which she had passed. - -The whole thing had taken twenty seconds. It seemed to David like the -swift happenings of a dream. Nothing was left, to prove its reality, but -the elusive scent of violets, and the marks of the huge tyres in the -snow. - -But as David made his way round to the vestry door, he knew his Lady of -Mystery was already in her corner beside the stout whitewashed pillar; -and he also knew that he had been right, in the surmise which placed -her in an environment of luxury and wealth. - - * * * * * - -Christmas-eve had produced a larger congregation than usual. The service -was as cheerful and noisy as the choir and organist could make it. -David's quiet voice seemed only to be heard at rare intervals, like the -singing of a thrush in the momentary lull of a storm. - -The Lady of Mystery looked alternately bored and amused. Her expression -was more calmly critical than ever. She had discarded her large velvet -hat for a soft toque of silver-grey fur, placed lightly upon her wealth -of golden hair. This tended to reveal the classic beauty of her -features, yet made her look older, showing up a hardness of expression -which had been softened by the green velvet brim. David, who had thought -her twenty-five, now began to wonder whether she were not older than -himself. Her expression might have credited her with full thirty years' -experience of the world. - -David mounted the pulpit steps to the inspiriting strains of "While -shepherds watched their flocks by night, all seated on the ground." -Already the inhabitants of Brambledene had had it at their front doors, -sung, in season and out of season, by the school-children, in every -sort of key and tempo. Now the latter returned joyfully to the charge, -sure of arriving at the final verse, without any sudden or violent -exhortations to go away. They beat the choir's already rapid rendering; -ignored the organist, and rushed on without pause, comma, or breathing -space. - -In the midst of this erratic description of the peaceful scene on -Bethlehem's hills on that Christmas night so long ago, David's white -earnest face appeared in the pulpit, looking down anxiously upon his -congregation. - -The words of his opening collect brought a sense of peace, though the -silence of his long intentional pause after "Let us pray," had at first -accentuated the remembrance of the hubbub which had preceded it. David -felt that the weird chanting of his African savages, echoing among the -trees of their primeval forests, compared favourably, from the point of -view both of reverence and of music, with the singing in this English -village church. His very soul was jarred. His nerves were all on edge. - -As he stood silent, while the congregation settled into their seats, -looking down he met the grey eyes of his Lady of Mystery. They said: "I -am waiting. I have come for this." - -Instantly the sense of inspiration filled him. - -With glad assurance he gave out his text. "The gospel according to St. -Matthew, the second chapter, the tenth and eleventh verses; 'When they -saw the star, they rejoiced with exceeding great joy.... And when they -had opened their treasures, they presented unto Him gifts; gold, and -frankincense, and myrrh.'" - -As soon as the text of a sermon was given out, Mr. Churchwarden Jones in -his corner, and Mr. Churchwarden Smith in his, verified it in their -Bibles, made sure it was really there, and had been read correctly. Then -they closed their Bibles and placed them on the ledges in front of them; -took off their glasses, put them noisily into spectacle-cases, stowed -these in inner pockets, leant well back, and proceeded to go very -unmistakably and emphatically to sleep. - -David had got into the way of reading his text twice over, slowly, while -this performance took place. - -Now, when he looked up from his Bible, the two churchwardens were in -position. Their gold watch-chains, looped upon their ample waistcoats, -produced much the same effect as the wreathing with which well-meaning -decorators had accentuated the stoutness of the whitewashed pillars. - -The attention of the congregation was already wandering. David made a -desperate effort to hold it. - -"My friends," he said, "although it is Christmas-eve, I speak to you -to-night on the Epiphany subject, because, when the great Feast of -Epiphany comes, I shall no longer have the privilege of addressing you. -I expect to be on the ocean, on my way to carry the Christmas message of -'Peace on earth, good will toward men,' to the savage tribes of Central -Africa." - -No one looked responsive. No one seemed to care in the least where David -Rivers would be on the great Feast of Epiphany. He tried another tack. - -"Our text deals with the experience of those Wise Men of the East, who, -guided by the star, journeyed over the desert in quest of the new-born -King. Now, if I were to ask this congregation to tell me how many Wise -Men there were, I wonder which of you would answer 'three.'" - -No one looked in the least interested. What a silly question! What a -senseless cause for wonder! Of course they would _all_ answer "three." -The youngest infant in the Sunday-school knew that there were three Wise -Men. - -"But why should you say 'three'?" continued David. "We are not told in -the Bible how many Wise Men there were. Look and see." - -The Smith and Jones families made no move. They knew perfectly well that -_their_ Bibles said "three." If this young man's Bible omitted to -mention the orthodox number, it was only another of many omissions in -his new-fangled Bible and unsound preaching. It would be one thing more -to report to the Rector, on his return. - -But his Lady of Mystery leaned forward, took up a Bible which chanced to -be beside her, turned rapidly to Matthew ii., bent over it for a moment, -then smiled, and laid it down. David knew she had made sure of finding -"three," and had not found it. He took courage. She was interested. - -He launched into his subject. In vivid words, more full of poetry and -beauty than he knew, he rapidly painted the scene; the long journey -through the eastern desert, with eyes upon the star; the anxious days, -when it could not be seen, and the route might so easily be missed; the -glad nights when it shone again, luminous, serene, still moving on -before. The arrival at Jerusalem, the onward quest to Bethlehem, the -finding of the King. - -Then, the actual story fully dealt with, David turned to application. - -"My friends," he said, "this earthly life of ours is the desert. Your -pilgrimage lies across its ofttimes dreary wastes. But if your journey -is to be to any purpose, if life is to be a success and not a failure, -its main object must be the finding of the King. His guiding Spirit -moves before you as the star. His word is also the heavenly lamp which -lights your way. But I want, to-night, to give you a third meaning for -the Epiphany star. The star stands for your highest Ideal. Pause a -moment, and think.... Have you in your life to-night a heaven-sent -Ideal, to which you are always true; which you follow faithfully, and -which, as you follow it, leads to the King?" - -David paused. Mrs. Jones rustled, and Mrs. Smith tinkled, but David -heard them not. The Lady of Mystery had lifted her eyes to his, and -those beautiful sad eyes said: "I _had_." - -"They lost sight of the star," said David. "Their hearts were sad, -thinking they had lost it forever. But they found it again at -Jerusalem--place of God's holy temple and worship. Here--is your -Jerusalem. Lift your eyes to-night, higher than the mere church roof, -and find again your lost star; see where shines your Ideal--your faith, -your hope, your love, your belief in things eternal. 'And when they saw -the star they rejoiced.'" - -David paused. - -Long lashes veiled the grey eyes. Her hands were folded in her lap, and -her eyes were not lifted from them. - -"When these desert-travellers found the King," continued David, "they -opened their treasures and presented unto Him gifts,--gold, and -frankincense, and myrrh. I know this is usually taken in relation to -Himself, and as being, in a threefold way, typical of His mission: Gold -for the King; frankincense for the great High Priest; myrrh for the -suffering, dying Saviour, who was to give His life for the redemption of -the world. - -"But I want to take it to-night in another sense. Let these three kinds -of gifts emphasise the three kinds of things you have in your life -to-day, which you may offer to the King, if your guiding star has led -you to His feet. They opened _their_ treasures. I want you to open -_your_ treasures, to-night. What are your treasures? Why yourself, and -all you possess. - -"First let us consider the gold." - -The Lady of Mystery lifted her golden head and looked him full in the -face. There was challenge in her eyes. - -"I do not necessarily mean your money," said David, "though how much -more you might all do with that, for the King and for His service, than -you are already doing. Ah, if people could realise how greatly gold is -needed for His work, they would soon open their treasures and pour it -forth! I have told you of my vast parish, out in the unexplored forests, -swamps, and jungles of Central Africa. Do you know what I want for my -people, there? Think of all you have here--of all you have had, ever -since you can remember. Then listen: I want a church; I want schools; I -want books; I want a translation of the Bible, and a printing-press to -print it with." David's eyes glowed, and he threw grammar to the winds! -"I want a comrade to help me, and a steam-launch with which to navigate -great lakes and rivers. I want all these things, and I want them for my -Master, and for His work. I can give my own life, but it is all I have -to give. I have been taking your Rector's place here for six weeks in -order to earn twelve guineas, which will enable me to take out a good -medicine-chest with which to doctor my people, and to complete my -necessary outfit." - -Mr. Churchwarden Jones was awake by now, and fidgeted uncomfortably. -This young man should not have mentioned his stipend, from the pulpit. -It was decidedly unsuitable. - -"Your Rector," continued David, "knowing why I need it, is generously -doubling that payment. May God bless him for it, when he takes up again -his ministry among you." - -They were all listening now. David's eyes glowed like hot coals in his -thin face. His voice rang through the church. - -"Ah, friends," he said, "those who have all they need for their -comfortable spiritual life, cannot realise the awful, desperate want, in -those wild places of the earth. We enjoy quoting what we call a 'gospel -text': 'Whosoever shall call upon the name of the Lord shall be saved.' -But too often we pause there, in self-appropriating complacency, -forgetting that the whole point of the passage lies in what follows: -'How then shall they call on Him in Whom they have not believed? And how -shall they believe in Him of Whom they have not heard? And how shall -they hear, without a preacher? And how shall they preach except they be -sent?' You must answer all these questions, when you open your treasures -at the feet of the King. - -"But forgive me for intruding my own interests. This is not a missionary -sermon."--Here Mrs. Smith nodded, energetically. That was exactly what -she had already whispered to Mr. Smith.--"Also 'gold' stands for much -besides money. Think of all the golden things in life. The joys, the -brightness, the glory of success; all beauty, all gaiety, all golden -mirth and laughter. Let all these golden things be so consecrated that, -opening your treasures, you can at any moment bring them as offerings to -your King. - -"But the second gift was frankincense." David paused, giving each -listener--and at last there were many--time to wonder what in his or her -life stood for frankincense. - -"Frankincense," said David, "is, first of all, your worship. And by -worship, I do not necessarily mean public worship in church, important -though that be. I mean the constant worship of an adoring heart. 'O -worship the Lord in the beauty of holiness.' Unless your daily life from -Monday to Saturday is a life of worship, there will not be much reality -in your public worship on Sunday. And then, frankincense stands for all -that appertains to the spirit part of you--your ideals, your noblest -loves, your finest aspirations. Open your treasures, friends, and bring -these to your King. - -"And, lastly, myrrh." David paused, and a look so calm, so holy, so -sublime, passed into his face, that to one who watched him then, and who -chanced to know the meaning of that look, his face was as the face of an -angel. - -"The myrrh," he said, "stands for death. Some of us may be called upon -definitely to face death, for the King's sake. But _all_ who have lived -unto Him in life, can glorify Him in death. 'Precious in the sight of -the Lord is the death of His saints.' We can all at last bring to Him -this gift--a gift which, in the bringing, will indeed bring us into His -very presence. But, meanwhile, your present offering of myrrh is the -death of self; the daily crucifying of the self-life. 'For the love of -Christ constraineth us; because we thus judge, that if one died for all, -then were all dead; and that He died for all, that they which live -should not henceforth live unto themselves, but unto Him, Who died for -them, and rose again.' Your response to that constraining love, your -acceptance of that atoning death, your acquiesence in that crucifixion -of self, constitute your offering of myrrh. - -"But myrrh, in the Bible, stands for other things besides death. We must -not pause to do so now, but sometime, at your leisure, look out each -mention of myrrh. You will find it stands for love--love of the -sweetest, tenderest kind; love so complete, that it must bring with it -self-abnegation, and a mingling of pain with its bliss. - -"And you will find it stands for sorrow; not bitterness of woe; but -sorrow accepted as the Father's will, and therefore touched with -reverent joy. Ah, bring your sorrows as gifts to your King. 'Surely He -hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows.' Bring even these, and -lay them at His feet." - -David closed his Bible, placing it on the cushion, folded his hands upon -it, and leaned down from the high pulpit. - -"My friends," he said,--and those who looked up responsive never forgot -the light in his eyes--"I am leaving this dear home land of ours on the -day when we shall be keeping the Feast of the Star. My star leads me to -a place from which I do not ever expect to return. My offering of myrrh -to my King, is a grave in an African forest, and I offer it gladly. - -"But, may I now say to you, whose faces--after to-morrow--I never expect -to see again: Do not lose sight of your star, as you travel across -life's desert. Look up, look on; ever, in earnest faith, move forward. -Then I can leave with each one in this congregation, as a farewell -promise"--he looked at all present; but his eyes met the grey eyes, now -swimming in tears, of his Lady of Mystery; met, and held them, with -searching solemn gaze, as he uttered his final words-- - -"Thine eyes shall see the King in His beauty; they shall behold the Land -that is very far off." - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -DIANA RIVERS, OF RIVERSCOURT - - -Perhaps the greatest tribute to David's sermon, was the quiet way in -which the good people of Brambledene rose to their feet at its close. - -_Lead, Kindly Light_ was sung with unusual feeling and reverence. - -The collection, for Church Expenses, was the largest ever taken in -Brambledene Church, within the memory of man. In one of the plates, -there was gold. David knew quite well who had put in that sovereign. - -He sat at the vestry table and fingered it thoughtfully. He had disrobed -while the churchwardens counted the money and commented on the unusual -amount of the collection, and the remarkable fact of a sovereign in the -plate. They left the money in little piles on the red cloth, for David -to carry home and lock up in the Rector's safe. - -He had now to enter his text, and the amount of the collection, in the -vestry book. - -He had glanced down the church as he left the chancel. His Lady of -Mystery was still on her knees in the corner near the pillar, her head -bowed in her hands. He had seen the top of her grey fur hat, with soft -waves of golden hair on either side of it. - -He took up the pen and entered his text. - -Then he laid the pen down, and glanced at back records of evening -collections for Church Expenses. He did not hurry. He could hear very -faintly in the distance the throbbing of a motor, waiting at the -lich-gate. He knew exactly how it looked, waiting in the snow; two great -acetylene lamps in front; delicate electric bulbs lighting the interior, -one in each corner of the roof. He knew just how _she_ would look, as -the footman tucked the white fur rug around her. She would lean back, -rather bored and impatient, and take no more notice of the man, than if -he were a machine. David hated that kind of behaviour toward those who -serve. He held that every service, even the smallest, should receive a -kindly acknowledgment. - -He turned the pages of the vestry book. Six shillings and eleven pence. -Two and four pence halfpenny. Three and six. Four shillings and nine -pence three farthings. Seven and ten pence. And now he was about to -enter: "two pounds, eight shillings, and seven pence halfpenny." Even -without the gold _she_ had put in, it was a large increase on former -offerings. Truly these good people opened their treasures when at last -their hearts were touched. - -David was alone in the vestry. He could hear old Jabez Bones bustling -about in the church, putting out the lamps, occasionally knocking down -books, and picking them up again; doing in appearance three times as -much as he accomplished in reality. - -David took up the pen. He did not hurry. The rhythmic panting of the -engine still reached him, faintly, across the snowy mounds. He did not -intend to arrive at the lich-gate until that dream-motor had glided -noiselessly out of sight. - -As he bent over the book to make the entry, the vestry door was pushed -softly open. He heard no sound; but a subtle fragrance of violets -suddenly surrounded him. - -David looked up. - -Framed in the Gothic arch of the narrow doorway, her large grey eyes -fixed upon him in unwonted gentleness, stood his Lady of Mystery. - -David was so completely taken by surprise, that he forgot to rise to his -feet. He dropped his pen, but still sat on the high vestry stool, and -gazed at her in speechless wonderment. - -"I have come," said his Lady of Mystery, and her low-pitched voice was -full of music; "I have come to bring you my gifts--gold, frankincense, -and myrrh." - -"Not to me," said David. "You must not bring them to me. You must bring -them to the King." - -"I must bring them to you," she said, "because I know no other way. I -have sought the Christ, and found HIM not. I had lost my way in the -dreary darkness of the desert. To-night you have cleared my sky. Once -more I see the shining of the Star. You have shown me that I have these -three gifts to offer. But I must bring them to you, David Rivers, -because you are the most Christlike man I have ever known, and you stand -to me for your King." - -"I cannot stand for my King," said David, unconscious of the light in -his own eyes, or the divine radiance reflected on his face. "I am but -His messenger; the voice in the wilderness, crying: 'Prepare ye the way -of the Lord.'" - -The Lady of Mystery moved a step nearer, and laid one hand on the -vestry table. She bent toward him. Two wax candles, in brass -candle-sticks, stood upon the table, on either side of the vestry book, -providing the only illumination. In the light of these, they looked into -one another's faces. - -"You have certainly prepared His way in my heart to-night," she said, -"and I believe you are going to make straight for me the tangle of my -life. Only, first of all, you must know who I am. Has anybody told you? -Do you know?" - -"Nobody has told me," said David, "and I do not know." - -"What have you called me, to yourself, all these weeks?" - -"My Lady of Mystery," answered David, simply; wondering how she knew he -had called her anything. - -She smiled, and there seemed to be twenty wax candles in the vestry, -rather than two. - -"Quite pretty," she said; "but too much like a story-book, to be -practically useful." She drew a small purple bag from her muff; took out -a card, and laid it on the table in front of him. "You must know who I -am," she said, "and where I live; because, you see, I am going to ask -you to dinner." - -She smiled again; and David bent over the card. She marked his -involuntary movement of surprise. - -"Yes," she said, "I am Diana Rivers, of Riverscourt. Had you heard of me -before? I suppose we are, in some sort, cousins." - -But David sat with his eyes bent upon the card before him. Alas, what -was happening? His Lady of Mystery had vanished. This tall girl, in furs -and velvet, with her brilliant smile, sweet low voice, and assured -manner, was the greatest heiress in the county; Master of the Hounds; -patron of four livings; notorious for her advanced views and fearless -independence; a power and a terror in the whole neighbourhood. His Lady -of Mystery who, under his guidance, was to become a meek and lowly -follower of the Star! Poor David! - -He looked so thin and forlorn, for the moment, that Diana felt an amused -desire to put him into an armchair, and ply him with champagne. - -"Of course I have heard of you, Miss Rivers," he said, slowly. "Mr. -Goldsworthy told me all about you, during my first evening at the -Rectory. He asked me whether we were related." - -"Dear old thing!" remarked Diana, lightly. "He is my god-father, you -know; and I think his anxiety over my spiritual condition is the one -thing which keeps him of a size to pass through the pulpit door!" - -"Don't," said David. - -She looked at him, with laughter in her eyes. - -"All right, Cousin David. I did not mean to be flippant. And we _are_ -cousins, you know." - -"I think not," he answered, gravely. "I am of very humble origin; and I -never heard of my people claiming kinship with courts of any kind." - -"Oh, don't be silly!" retorted Diana, drumming on the vestry table, with -her firm, gloved fingers; but her tone was so gentle, that it almost -held a caress. "Don't be silly, Cousin David. The humblest people live -in courts, in London; and all rivers run into the sea! Nothing but the -genuine Rivers' pluck could have faced these good folk Sunday after -Sunday; and only the fire of the real old Rivers' stock, could have made -them sit up and listen to-night. You look just like grandpapa, -confounding the Opposition from his seat on the government benches, when -you attack Mrs. Smith for turning over the pages of her Bible in that -distracting and senseless way. I can fancy myself back in the Ladies' -Gallery, longing to cheer. We _must_ claim kinship, Cousin David." - -"I think not," he repeated firmly. He looked very small, and thin, and -miserable, huddled up on the vestry stool. His threadbare clerical -jacket seemed several sizes too large for him. "Diana Rivers, of -Riverscourt!" Oh, where was his dear Lady of Mystery? - -If Diana wanted to shake him, she kept the desire well in hand. Her -voice grew even deeper; more full of music, more softly gentle. - -"Well, cousin or no cousin," she said, "I want your advice, and I can't -do without your help. Where do you take your Christmas dinner, David -Rivers?" - -"Why, at the Rectory," he answered, looking up. "I have no friends -here." Then a gleam of amusement passed over his face: "Sarah says, as -it is Christmas, she is 'going to a fowl,'" he said. - -"I see. And you are planning to eat your fowl in solitary grandeur at -the Rectory? Well, _I_ will 'go to a turkey' and a plum-pudding, and, -possibly, mince-pies; and you shall dine with me on Christmas night. The -idea of a lonely meal on your last--I mean, your _one_ Christmas-day in -England!" - -"You are very kind," said David; "but is not Riverscourt twelve miles -from here?" - -"My chauffeur does it in twenty minutes," replied Diana. "It would be -as much as his place is worth to take twenty-one. I will send the motor -for you at seven, and we will dine at half past. They can run you back -whenever you like. Does your household retire early? Or perhaps you are -allowed a latch-key." - -David smiled. "My household consists of Sarah, Mr. Goldsworthy's -faithful housekeeper; and as I usually sit up reading until midnight, -she retires early, and trusts me to put out the lamps and to lock up." - -"Ah, I know Sarah," said Miss Rivers. "A worthy soul. She and I are -excellent friends. We hold the same views on women's rights, and we love -discussing them. Mere man--even god-papa--dwindles to nothing, when -arraigned at the bar of Sarah's intrepid judgment. Very well, then. The -motor at seven." - -But David still hesitated. "You are very kind," he said. "But--you see, -we don't have dinner-parties in Central Africa. And since I came home, I -have mostly been in hospital. I am afraid I haven't"--he looked down at -his short jacket. "I don't even possess a long coat," he said, simply. - -"Oh don't be tiresome, Cousin David!" cried Miss Rivers. "If I wanted -conventional evening dress, I know a dozen men whom I could invite to -dinner. I want _you_, not your clothes. If one is greatly interested in -a book, does one bother to consider the binding? Bring your mind along, -and come prepared to be helpful; for, God knows"--her eyes grew deep and -earnest--"God knows I want helping, more than any of your African -savages. Come as you are, Cousin David. Come as the Voice in the -Wilderness. It is all I ask. Besides, there will only be myself and -Chappie; and Chappie doesn't count." - -She drew off a soft grey glove; then held out to him firm white fingers. -He took them in his. They clasped hands silently; and, once more, by the -light of the two wax candles, looked searchingly into each other's eyes. -Each read there a quiet compact of friendship and of trust. - -"I will come," said David. She paused with her hand on the door, looking -back at him over her shoulder. Her tall head nearly touched the top of -the archway. - -"If you do," she said, "we must consider the question of your church, -your schools, your printing-press, and your steamer. So, _au revoir_, -to-morrow." - -She threw him a little reassuring smile, and passed out. - -The fragrance of violets, the sound of her low voice, the card upon the -table, remained. - -David took up the pen and made the entry in the vestry book: _two -pounds, eight shillings, and seven pence halfpenny_. Then he gathered up -all the little piles of silver and copper, and put them into his coat -pockets; but Diana's sovereign he slipped by itself into one waistcoat -pocket, and her card into the other. - -Then suddenly he realised--poor David--that she had stood beside him -during the whole interview, while _he_ had sat on the vestry stool. - -He sprang to his feet. "Oh I say!" he cried. "Oh--I say!" - -But there was nothing to say; and no one to whom to say it. - -Poor David! - -He sat down again, put his elbows on the table, and dropped his head -into his hands. - -Diana Rivers of Riverscourt! Patron of four livings! Acknowledged leader -of the gayest set in the county; known far and wide for her independence -of character and advanced views! - - * * * * * - -Bones came shuffling up the chancel, rattling the church keys. There was -also a sovereign of Diana's in _his_ waistcoat pocket, and he showed no -irritation as he locked up the vestry book, and returned David's -good-night. - -"A 'appy Christmas, sir," he said, "an' many of 'em; if they 'ave 'em in -them wild parts." - - * * * * * - -As David plodded home through the snow, his mind dwelt, with curious -persistence, on one question: "Now who on earth is 'Chappie'?" - - - - -CHAPTER V - -THE NOISELESS NAPIER - - -"I am morally certain 'Chappie' is a poodle," thought David to himself, -at breakfast. "It would be just like her to have a large black poodle, -abnormally clever, perfectly clipped, tied up with green ribbons to -match her hat, and treated in all respects as a human being; excepting -that, of course, his opinion on the cut of her guests' clothes would not -matter. 'Chappie does not count,' she said; but I'll be bound he counts -a lot, in most respects. I hope Chappie will like me. How does one -whistle to a poodle?" - -David was standing on the hearthrug, practising various seductive ways -of whistling to Chappie, when Sarah came in, to clear the breakfast -table. - -Sarah had put a Christmas card on David's plate that morning, and had -kept nervously out of the way, while he opened the envelope. The card -had evidently been chosen with great care, and an eye to its -suitability. A large bunch of forget-me-nots figured in the centre, tied -with a lover's knot of blue ribbon. Above this, two embossed -hands--Sarah's and David's of course--were clasped. Above these again, -flew two turtle-doves. They carried a scroll between them, depending -from either beak, bearing in gold lettering, "The Compliments of the -Season." At the bottom of the card were two blank lines beginning with -"To ----" and "From ----". Sarah had filled in, with much labour, and -rather brown ink: - - To _the Reverant David rivers_ - - From _Yours rispectfully Sarah_ - -David, delighted, stood the card in the place of honour on the -mantel-piece, in front of the clock. When Sarah came in, he stopped -whistling to Chappie, went forward at once and shook hands with her, -thanking her warmly for the Christmas card. - -"The only one I received, Sarah; and I do think it most awfully pretty." - -Sarah admitted that it _was_ that; explained at great length where she -got it, and why she chose it; and described a good many other cards she -had nearly bought but eventually rejected in favour of the -forget-me-nots, thinking they would "look home-like in them outlandish -places," and ensure David's kind remembrance of her. - -David protested that, card or no card, he would never forget Sarah, and -all her thoughtful care of him; and Sarah wiped her eyes with a corner -of her apron, and only wished there was more of him to care for. - -David felt this rather embarrassingly personal, and walked over to the -window to throw crumbs to a robin. Then he turned, as Sarah, having -folded the cloth, was preparing to leave the room. - -"Sarah," he said, "I have had an invitation. I am dining out to-night." - -Sarah's face fell. "Oh, Mr. Rivers, sir! And me going to a chicking, -being as it was Christmas!" - -"Well, Sarah, you see my friend thought it was dull that I should dine -by myself on Christmas night. And if you had gone to a chicken, I should -indeed be left alone." - -"Get along, sir!" chuckled Sarah. "You know my meaning. And, if it's -Smiths or Joneses, I misdoubt if you'll get so good a dinner----" - -"It isn't Smiths or Joneses, Sarah. It is Miss Rivers, of Riverscourt. -And she has promised me a turkey, and a plum-pudding, and -possibly--only I must not count too much on those--possibly, -mince-pies!" - -Sarah's face expanded. "Oh, if it's Miss Diana, sir, you can't do -better. There's none like Miss Diana, to my thinking. And we can have -the chicking on Boxing-day. And, with your leave, if I'm not wanted, I'm -asked out to friends this evening, which I hadn't no intention of -mentioning. And Mr. Rivers, sir; mark my words. You can't do better than -Miss Diana. We've known her from a babe, master an' me. Folks talk, -because she don't hold with getting married, and because she don't do -much church-going; but, begging your pardon, sir, I don't hold with -either, m'self. Marriage means slaving away, with few thanks and fewer -ha'pence; and church-going mostly means, for women-folk, a vieing with -one another's bonnets. I don't go to feathers, m'self; always having -been well-content with beads. And I pay my respects to Almighty God, at -home." - -"'Not forsaking the assembling of ourselves together, as the manner of -some is,'" quoted David. "You forget the injunction of the writer to the -Hebrews, Sarah." - -"That don't hold good for now, Mr. Rivers, sir," replied Sarah, with -conviction; "any more than many other _h_epistolic remarks." - -"They all hold good for now, Sarah," said David, gravely. - -"Then what about 'let your women keep silence in the churches'? Hark to -them rowdy Miss Joneses in the choir!" - -"They _do_ make a row," admitted David, off his guard. - -"And 'if they will learn anything, let them ask their husbands at -home'?" Sarah was evidently well up in her Bible. - -"Well, why not?" queried David. - -"Why not, Mr. Rivers, sir?" repeated Sarah, scornfully. "Why not? Why -because stay-at-home husbands ain't likely to be able to teach -go-to-church wives! And, even if they did, how about me an' Miss Diana, -as has none?" - -This seemed unanswerable, though it had nothing whatever to do with the -point at issue. But David had no suggestions to offer concerning the -limitations contingent on the spinsterhood of Sarah and of Miss Diana. -It therefore gave Sarah the last word; which, to the female mind, means -victory; and she bore away the breakfast cloth in triumph. - -When she brought in tea that afternoon, she lingered a few minutes, -giving the fire a little unnecessary attention, and furtively watching -David, as he put salt on his hot-buttered toast. - -Then she said tentatively: "Mr. Rivers, sir, there are one or two things -about Miss Diana you might as well know, before you go over there." - -"No, thank you, Sarah," said David, with decision. "Whatever Miss Rivers -wishes me to know, she will tell me herself. Anything she does not -herself tell me, I prefer not to hear from others." - -Sarah surveyed him; and her look expressed amazement and disapproval. - -"Well I never!" she exclaimed. "You _are_ different from master! All I -hear in the village I tell master while I wait on him at dinner. He -says: 'You may as well tell me what you hear, my good Sarah; and then I -can judge how to act.'" - -David smiled. He had already discovered the good Rector's love of -gossip. - -"But you see, Sarah," he said, "being only a _locum tenens_, I do not, -fortunately, have to act." - -"Don't disparage yourself, sir," advised Sarah, still disappointed, -almost aggrieved. "And even if folks here _have_ called you so, you -won't be that to Miss Diana." - -"Oh, no," said David, cheerfully. "I do not propose to be a _locum -tenens_ to Miss Diana!" - - * * * * * - -The motor glided up to the Rectory gate at seven o'clock, to the minute. -David saw the flash of the acetylene lamps on his bedroom blind. - -He ran down the stairs, filled with a delightful sense of -holiday-making, and adventure. - -His one clerical suit was carefully brushed, and Sarah had "pressed it," -a mysterious process from which it emerged with a youthful, unwrinkled -air, to which it had for long been a stranger. His linen was immaculate. -He had shaved with extreme care. He felt so festive, that his lack of -conventional evening clothes troubled him no longer. He slipped Sarah's -Christmas card into his pocket. He knew Diana would appreciate the -pathos and humour of those clasped hands and forget-me-nots. - -Then he went down the garden path, and entered the motor. The footman -arranged the fur rug over his knees, showed him how to switch off the -electric lights if he preferred darkness, shut the door, took his seat -beside the motionless chauffeur, and instantly they glided away down -the lane, and turned into the high road leading to Riversmead. - -It seemed wonderful to David to be flying along in Diana's sumptuous -motor. He had never before been in a powerful noiseless Napier car, and -he found it somewhat of an experience. Involuntarily he thought of the -time when he had been so deadly weak from African fever, and his people -had had somehow to get him to the coast; the rough little cart on wheels -they made to hold him and his mattress, and tried to draw him along the -apology for a road. But the shaking and bumping had been so absolutely -unbearable, that he had eventually had to be slung and carried as far as -the river. Even so, there had been the perpetual dread of the agonising -jerk if one of his bearers stumbled over a stone, or stepped -unexpectedly into a rut. And to all this he was so soon returning. And -quite right, too. No man should glide through life on cushioned tyres. -For a woman, it was quite otherwise. Her womanhood constituted a -sufficient handicap, without any roughness or hardship being allowed to -come her way. He liked to know that Diana would always--literally and -metaphorically--glide through life in a noiseless Napier. This method -of progression need be no hindrance to her following of the star. - -He looked at his watch. In ten minutes they would reach Riverscourt. - -He switched off the lights, and at once the flying trees and hedges -became visible in the pale moonlight. He enjoyed watching them as they -whirled past. The great car bounded silently along the road, sounding a -warning note upon the horn, if the distant light of any cart or carriage -came in sight ahead of them; but passing it, and speeding on in the -snowy darkness, before David had had time to look out and see what -manner of vehicle it was. - -They rushed through little villages, the cottage windows bright with -seasonable festivity. In one of them David caught a glimpse of a -Christmas-tree, decked with shining candles, and surrounded by the curly -heads of happy little children. It was many years since he had seen a -Christmas-tree. It brought wistful thoughts of home and boyhood's days. -The first Christmas-tree he could remember had yielded to his enraptured -hands a wooden popgun, which expelled a cork with great force and a -terrifying sound, sufficiently loud to make all grown-up people jump, if -it was done exactly behind their heads, when they were unaware of its -near vicinity. This effect upon grown-ups, produced by his own popgun, -had given him a sense of power which was limitless; until the sudden -forcible confiscation of the popgun had set thereto an unexpected limit. -He then mentioned it as a flute, and asked for it back; pointing out -that its popgun propensities were a mere accident; its real nature was -to be a flute. He received it back as a flute, upon condition that it -should not immediately accidentally develop again into a popgun. He -spent the remainder of that day blowing blissfully into the eight holes -punched in the strip of red wood gummed to the side of the popgun. The -resultant sounds were melancholy and fitful to a degree; and it is -doubtful which was the greater trial to the nerves of the grown-ups, the -sudden explosion of the popgun, or the long drawn out piping of the -flute. Anyway when his treasure suddenly and unaccountably disappeared, -they assisted his tearful search in a half-hearted sort of way, and when -eventually his unaided efforts discovered it, carefully concealed in one -of their own wardrobes, his infantine faith in the sincerity of adult -human nature had received its first rude shock. - -David lay back in the motor and wondered whether life would ever hold -for him a scene so enchanting as that first Christmas-tree, or a gift so -priceless as that popgun-flute. - -The motor sped through the old-world town of Riversmead, scarcely -slacking speed, for the streets were clear; all its inhabitants were -indoors, merry-making; and the one policeman they passed, saluted. -Diana's car was well-known and respected. - -Then in at great iron gates, standing wide, and up an avenue of stately -beeches, coming to sudden pause before the portico of a large stone -house, gay with lighted windows. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -DAVID MAKES FRIENDS WITH "CHAPPIE" - - -The door into the great hall opened as David stepped out of the motor. A -footman took his overcoat, and he found himself following an elderly -butler across the spacious hall toward a door, which he flung open, -announcing in confidential tones: "The Reverend David Rivers"; then -stood aside, that David might enter. - -David had already been looking right and left for Chappie; and, even as -he walked into the drawing-room, he had a seductive whistle ready in -case the poodle came to meet him, before he could reach Diana's friendly -hand. - -But neither Diana nor the poodle were in the drawing-room. - -Instead, on a large sofa, at right angles with the fireplace, in the -midst of heaped up cushions, sat a very plump elderly lady, of haughty -mien, clad in claret-coloured velvet, a nodding ornament in her white -hair, and much jewellery on her fat neck. She raised a lorgnon, on a -long tortoiseshell handle, and looked through it at David as he advanced -toward her. - -There was such awe-inspiring majesty in the action, that David felt -certain she must be, at the very least, a duchess. - -He seemed to be hours in reaching the sofa. It was like one of those -long walks taken in dreams, covering miles, yet only advancing yards; -and as he walked his clerical jacket grew shorter, and his boots more -patently _not_ patent leather. - -When, at last, he reached the hearthrug--nothing happened. The plump -lady had, apparently, no disengaged hand; one held the lorgnon; the -other, a large feather fan. - -"D'y do?" she said, in a rather husky voice. "I conclude you are Diana's -missionary." - -This was an almost impossible remark to answer. David was _not_ Diana's -missionary; yet he was, undoubtedly, the missionary Diana had asked to -dinner. - -In his embarrassment he held his warm hands to the blaze of the -log-fire, and said: "What a beautiful Christmas-day!" - -The plump lady ignored the remark. She declined to recognise anything in -common between her Christmas-day and David's. - -"Where is your sphere of work?" she demanded, hoarsely. - -"Central Africa," replied David, in a meek voice, devoutly wishing -himself back there. - -At that moment the door burst open, by reason of a bump against it, and -a black poodle trotted in, identical with the dog of David's imagining, -excepting that its tufts were tied up with red ribbon. - -David whistled joyfully. "Hullo, Chappie!" he said. "Come here, old -fellow." - -The poodle paused, surprised, and looked at him; one fore-paw uplifted. - -The plump lady made an inarticulate sound, and dropped her lorgnon. - -But David felt sure of his ground. "Come on, Chappie," he said. "Let's -be friends." - -The poodle trotted up and shook hands. David bent down and patted his -beautiful coat. - -Then Diana herself swept into the room. "A thousand pardons, Cousin -David!" she cried. "I should have been down to receive you. But Knox -broke all records and did the distance in eighteen minutes!" In a moment -her hand was in his; her eyes were dancing with pleasure; her smile -enveloped him in an atmosphere of welcoming friendliness. - -All David's shyness left him. He forgot his terror of the majestic -person on the sofa. "Oh, that's all right" he said. "I have been making -friends with Chappie." - -For a moment even Diana looked nonplussed. Then she laughed gaily. "I -ought to have been down to introduce you properly," she said. "Let me -do so now. Cousin David, this is Mrs. Marmaduke Vane. Chappie dear, may -I present to you my cousin, David Rivers?" - -David never knew why the floor did not open and swallow him up! He -looked helplessly at Diana, and hopelessly at the plump lady on the -sofa, whose wrathful glance withered him. - -Diana flew to the rescue. "Now, Chappie dear," she said, "the motor is -at the door, and Marie has your fur cloak in the hall. Remember me to -the Brackenburys, and don't feel obliged to come away early if you are -enjoying the games after dinner. The brougham will call for you at -eleven; but James can put up, and come round when you send for him. If I -have gone up when you return, we shall meet at breakfast." She helped -the plump lady to her feet, and took her to the door. "Good-bye, dear; -and have a good time." - -She closed the door, and came back to David, standing petrified on the -hearthrug. - -"Mrs. Vane is my chaperon," she explained. "That is why I call her -'Chappie.' But--tell me, Cousin David; do you always call elderly ladies -by their rather private pet-names, in the first moments of making their -acquaintance?" - -"Heaven help me!" said poor David, ruefully, "I thought 'Chappie' was -the poodle." - -Diana's peals of laughter must have reached the irate lady in the hall. -She sank on to the sofa, and buried her golden head in the cushions. - -"Oh, Cousin David!" she said. "I always knew you were unlike anybody -else. Did you see the concentrated fury in Chappie's eye? And shall we -improve matters by explaining that you thought she was the poodle? Oh, -talk of something else, or I shall suffocate!" - -"But you said: 'There will only be myself and Chappie; and Chappie -doesn't count,'" explained David. "If that was 'Chappie,' she counts a -lot. She looked me up and down, until I felt positively cheap; and she -asked me whether I was your missionary. I made sure she was a duchess, -at the very least." - -"That only shows how very little experience you have had of duchesses, -Cousin David. If Chappie had really been a duchess, she would have made -you feel at home in a moment, and I should have found you seated beside -her on the sofa talking as happily as if you had known her for years. -Chappie has a presence, I admit; and a ducal air; which is partly why I -keep her on as chaperon. But she says: 'D'y do,' and looks down her -nose at you in that critical manner, because her father was only a -doctor in a small provincial town." - -"My father was a doctor in a little country village," said David, -quickly, "yet I hope I don't look down my nose at people." - -"Ah," said Diana, "but then you are a man, and no foolish friends have -told you that you look like a duchess, thus turning your poor head. -Chappie is a kind old thing, at heart, and must have attractive -qualities of sorts, seeing she has been married no less than three -times. She was my governess, years ago, before her first marriage. And -when Uncle Falcon died, I had her back as chaperon; partly because she -is very poor, and couples with that poverty an inordinate love of -creature comforts, which is quite pathetic; partly because she makes an -imposing figure-head, yet I can do with her exactly as I like. How would -you define a chaperon, Cousin David?" - -"We don't have them in Central Africa, Miss Rivers." - -"Well, a chaperon is a person who should be seen and not heard. And she -should be seen by the right people; not by those she is chaperoning, but -by the tiresome people who think they ought to be chaperoned. My good -Chappie satisfactorily fulfils these conditions. She is, to all -intents, chaperoning you and me, this evening; yet, in reality, she is -dining with friends of hers in Riversmead; thus sparing us the -unnecessary restraint of her presence, and the undesirable infliction of -her quite mindless conversation." - -David found himself wondering whether he ought not to have allowed Sarah -to tell him "one or two things about Miss Diana," before he adventured -over to Riverscourt. - -At that moment the staid butler opened wide the door, with a murmured -sentence about dinner. - -Diana rose, with a gentle grace and dignity which reminded David of his -Lady of Mystery's first progress up Brambledene church; and, laying her -hand within his arm, guided him to the dining-room. - - * * * * * - -A small round table stood in the centre of the great oak-panelled room. -It gleamed with glass and silver, wax candles and snowy linen. The -decoration was Parma violets and lilies of the valley. - -David sat at Diana's right hand, and when she leaned toward him and they -talked in low voices, the old man at the distant sideboard could not -overhear their conversation. - -The poodle had followed them to the dining-room, and lay down -contentedly in front of the log-fire. - -Diana was wearing perfectly plain white satin. A Medici collar, -embroidered with pearls, rose at the back of her shapely head. She wore -violets at her bosom, and a dainty wreath of violets in her hair. Her -gown in front was cut square and low, and embroidered with pearls. On -the whiteness of her skin, below the beautiful firm neck, sparkled a -brilliant diamond star. David hated to see it there; he could hardly -have explained why. It rose and fell lightly, with her breathing. When -she laughed, it scintillated in the light of the wax candles. It -fascinated David--the sparkling star, on the soft flesh. He looked at -it, and looked away; but again it drew his unwilling eyes. - -He tried to master his aversion. Why should not Miss Rivers wear a -diamond star? Why should he, David, presume to dislike to see a star so -worn? - -Before they reached the second course, Diana said to the butler: "Send -Marie to me." - -In a few moments her French maid, in simple black attire, with softly -braided hair, stood at her elbow. Diana, still talking gaily to David, -lifted both arms, unclasped the thin gold chain from about her neck, and -handed the pendant to her maid. - -"_Serrez-moi ça_," she said, carelessly. - -Then she turned her clear eyes on David. "You prefer it in the sky," she -said. "I quite agree with you. A woman's flesh savours too much of the -world and the devil, to be a resting-place for stars. It can have no -possible connection with ideals." - -She spoke so bitterly, that David's tender heart rose up in arms. - -"True, I prefer it in the sky," he said, "and I prefer it not of -diamonds. But I do not like to hear you speak so of--of your body. It -seems to me too perfectly beautiful to be thus relegated to a lower -sphere; not because it is not flesh; but because, though flesh, it -clothes a radiant soul. The mortal body is but the garment of the -immortal soul. The soul, in mounting, lifts the body with it." - -"I do not agree with you," said Diana. "I loathe bodies; my own, no less -than other people's. And how little we know of our souls. I am afraid I -shall shock you, Cousin David, but a favourite theory of mine is: that -only a certain number of people have any souls at all. I have always -maintained that the heathen have no souls." - -David's deep eyes gleamed. - -"The young natives of Uganda," he said, "sooner than give up their -new-found faith, sooner than deny the Lord Who had bought them, walked -calmly to the stake, and were slowly roasted by fire; their limbs, while -they yet lived, being hacked off, one by one, and thrown into the -flames. Their holy courage never failed; their last articulate words -were utterances of faith and praise. Surely _bodies_ would hardly go -through so much, unless _souls_--strong immortal souls--dwelt within -them." - -"True," said Diana, softly. "Cousin David, I apologise. And I wonder how -many of us would stand such a soul-test as slow-fire. I can't quite -imagine Chappie, seated on a gridiron, singing hymns! Can you?" - -"We must not judge another," said David, rather stiffly. "Conditions of -martyrdom, produced the noble army of martyrs. Why should not Mrs. Vane, -if placed in those conditions, rise to the occasion?" - -"I am certain she would," said Diana. "She would rise quite rapidly,--if -the occasion were a gridiron." - -Much against his will, David burst out laughing. - -Diana leaned her chin in her hands; her luminous grey eyes observed him, -gravely. Little dimples of enjoyment dented either cheek; but her tone -was entirely demure. - -"I hope you are not a prig, Cousin David," she said, gravely. - -"I have never been considered one," replied David, humbly. "But, if you -say so----" - -"No, no!" cried Diana. "You are not a prig; and I know I am flippant -beyond words. Have you found out that I am flippant, Cousin David?" - -"Yes," he said, gently. "But I have found out something besides that." - -Her eyes challenged him. - -"And that is----?" - -"That you take refuge in flippancy, Miss Rivers, when you want to hide a -deeper anxiety and earnestness of soul than you can quite understand, or -altogether cope with." - -"Really? Then you must explain it to me, and cope with it for me. I hope -our Christmas dinner has come up to the dinner of Sarah's intentions. -Have another pear; or some more nuts? I did not order crackers, because -we are both grown up, and we should look so foolish in paper caps; and -yet, if we had had them, we could not have resisted putting them on. -Don't you know, at children's parties, the way in which grown-ups seize -upon the most _outré_ of the coloured head-gear, don them, in a moment -of gay abandonment, and--forget them! I can remember now, the delight, -after one of the Christmas parties in my childhood, of seeing Chappie go -gravely in to say good-night to grandpapa, completely unconscious of a -Glengarry bonnet, tilted waggishly on one side, or, on another occasion, -of a tall peaked fool's cap, perched on her frizzled 'transformation'. -Oh, to be a little child again, each Christmas-day! Yet here am -I--twenty-eight! How old are you, Cousin David?... Twenty-nine? Well, I -am glad you are not _quite_ thirty. Being in another decade would have -been like being in a cassock.... Why a cassock? How dense you are, my -reverend cousin! My mildest jokes require explaining. Why because it -would have removed you so far away, and I want you quite near this -evening, not perched in a distant pulpit! You cannot really help me, -unless you fully sympathise and understand. And I am in such sore -straits, Cousin David, that I look upon myself as a drowning man--why do -we always say 'drowning _man_' as if there never were any drowning -women?--about to sink for the third time; and you as the rope, which -constitutes my only hope of safety. Let us go to the drawing-room." - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -THE TOUCH OF POWER - - -As they passed into the drawing-room, David's eye fell on a grand piano, -in black ebony case, to the left of the doorway. - -"Oh!" said David, and stopped short. - -"Does that tempt you?" asked Diana. "Yes; I might have known you were -full of music. Your sufferings, over the performances of the Brambledene -choir, were more patent than you realised." - -David's fingers were working eagerly. - -"I so rarely get the chance of a piano," he said. "Like chaperons, we -don't have them in Central Africa. I went without all manner of things -to be able to afford one in my rooms at college; but, since then--Is it -a Bechstein, or what?" - -"I really do not know," laughed Diana. "It is an article of furniture I -do not use. Once a quarter, it lifts up its voice, poor dear, when a -sleek person with a key of his own, arrives unexpectedly, asking for a -duster, and announcing that he has come to tune it. He usually turns up -when I have a luncheon party. Occasionally when Chappie is feeling low, -and dwelling on the departed Marmaduke, she feels moved to play 'Home, -Sweet Home'; but when Chappie plays 'Home, Sweet Home' you instantly -discover that 'there's no place like'--being out; and, be it ever so -cheerless, you catch up a hat, and flee! You may carry off the piano to -Africa, if you will, Cousin David. And, meanwhile, see how you like it -now, while I try to collect my ideas, and consider how best to lay my -difficulties before you." - -She moved across the long room, to the fireplace, drew forward a low -chair, turning it so as to face the distant piano. - -David, tingling with anticipation, opened the instrument with reverent -care. - -"It _is_ a Bechstein," he said; then took his seat; pausing a moment, -his hands upon his knees, his dark head bent over the keys. - -Diana, watching him, laughed in her heart. - -"What an infant it is, in some ways," she thought. "I do believe he is -saying: 'For what we are about to receive'!" But, in another minute her -laughter ceased. She was receiving more than she had expected. David had -laid his hands upon the keys; and, straightway, the room was filled with -music. - -It did not seem to come from the piano. It did not appear to have any -special connection with David. It came chiefly from an unseen purple sky -overhead; not the murky darkness of an English winter, but the clear -over-arching heavens of the Eastern desert--expansive, vast, fathomless. - -Beneath it, rode a cavalcade of travellers--anxious, perplexed, -uncertain. She could hear the soft thud of the camels' feet upon the -sand, and see the slow swaying, back and forth, of the mysterious -riders. - -Suddenly outshone a star,--clear, luminous, divine; so brilliant, so -unexpected, that the listener by the fireplace said, "Oh!"--then laid -her hand over her trembling lips. - -But David had forgotten her. His eyes were shining; his thin face, -aglow. - -Now all was peace and certainty. They travelled on. They reached -Jerusalem. The minor key of doubt and disappointment crept in again. -Then, once more, shone the star. They arrived at Bethlehem. In chords of -royal harmony they found the King. _O worship the Lord in the beauty of -holiness!_ - -Diana's face sank into her clasped hands. The firelight played upon her -golden hair. - -She knew, now, just how far she had wandered from the one true Light; -just how poor had been her response to the eternal love which brought -the Lord of glory to the manger of Bethlehem; to the village home at -Nazareth; to the cross of Calvary. The love of Christ had not -constrained her. She had lived for self. Her heart had grown hard and -unresponsive. - -And now, in tenderest, reverent melody, the precious gifts were being -offered--gold, frankincense, and myrrh. But, what had _she_ to offer? -Her gold could hardly be accepted while she withheld _herself_. Yet how -could love awaken in a heart so dead, so filled with worldly scorn and -unbelief? - -The music had changed. It no longer came from unseen skies, or ranged -back into past scenes, and ancient history. It centred in David, and the -piano. - -He was playing a theme so simple and so restful, that it stole into -Diana's heart, bringing untold hope and comfort. At length, she lifted -her head. - -"What are you playing, now, Cousin David?" She asked, gently. - -David hushed the air into a whisper, as he answered: "A very simple -setting, of my own, to those wonderful words, 'At even, e'er the sun was -set.' You know them? The old tune never contented me. It was so apt to -drag, and did not lend itself to the crescendo of hope and thankfulness -required by the glad certainty that the need of each waiting heart would -be fully met, nor to the diminuendo of perfect peace, enfolding each one -as they went away. So I composed this simple melody, and I sing it, by -myself, out in the African forests most nights, when my day's work is -over. But it is a treat to be able to play it here, with full -harmonies." - -"Sing it to me," said Diana, gently. - -And at once David began to sing, to his own setting, the tender words of -the old evening hymn. And this was what he sang: - -Holy Star - -"At even ere the sun was set" - -[Music: - -_At e-ven ere the sun was set, The sick, O Lord, a-round Thee-lay_; - -_Oh, in what di-vers pains they met? Oh, with what joy they-went a-way!_ - -_They went a ... way! A ... men_] - - 1. At even ere the sun was set, - The sick, O Lord, around Thee lay; - Oh, in what divers pains they met! - Oh, with what joy they went away! - - 2. Once more 'tis eventide, and we - Oppressed with various ills draw near; - What if Thy Form we cannot see? - We know and feel that Thou art here. - - 3. O Saviour Christ, our woes dispel; - For some are sick, and some are sad; - And some have never loved Thee well, - And some have lost the love they had; - - 4. And some have found the world is vain, - Yet from the world they break not free; - And some have friends who give them pain, - Yet have not sought a friend in Thee. - - 5. And none, O Lord, have perfect rest, - For none are wholly free from sin; - And they who fain would serve Thee best, - Are conscious most of sin within. - - 6. O Saviour Christ, Thou too art Man; - Thou hast been troubled, tempted, tried; - Thy kind but searching glance can scan - The very wounds that shame would hide. - - 7. Thy touch has still its ancient power; - No word from Thee can fruitless fall; - Hear in this solemn evening hour, - And in Thy mercy heal us all; - O heal us all! - -The pure tenor voice rose and fell, giving full value to each line. As -he reached the words: "And some have never loved Thee well, And some -have lost the love they had," Diana's tears fell, silently. It was so -true--so true. She had never loved Him well; and she had lost what -little faith, what little hope, she had. - -Presently David's voice arose in glad tones of certainty: - - "Thy touch has still its ancient power; - No word from Thee can fruitless fall; - Hear, in this solemn evening hour, - And, in Thy mercy, heal us all; - Oh, heal us all." - -The last notes of the quiet Amen, died away. - -David closed the piano softly; rose, and walked over to the fireplace. -He did not look at Diana; he did not speak to her. He knew, -instinctively, that a soul in travail was beside him. He left her to his -Lord. - -After a while she whispered: "If only one were worthy. If only one's -faith were strong enough to realise, and to believe." - -"Our worthiness has nothing to do with it," said David, without looking -round. "And we need not worry about our faith, so long as--like the tiny -mustard seed--it is, however small, a living, growing thing. The whole -point lies in the fact of the power of His touch; the changeless truth -of His unfailing word; the fathomless ocean of His love and mercy. Look -away from self; fix your eyes on Him; and healing comes." - -A long silence followed David's words. He stood with his back to her, -watching the great logs as the flames played round them, and they sank -slowly, one by one, into the hot ashes. - -At last he heard Diana's voice. - -"Cousin David," she said, "will you give me your blessing?" - -David Rivers turned. He was young; he was humble; he was very simple in -his faith; but he realised the value and responsibility of his priestly -office. He knew it had been given him as "a service of gift." - -He lifted his hands, and as Diana sank to her knees, he laid them -reverently upon the golden corona of her hair. - -One moment of silence. Then David's voice, vibrant with emotion, yet -deep, tender, and unfaltering, pronounced the great Triune blessing, -granted to desert wanderers of old. - - "The Lord bless thee and keep thee; - The Lord make His face shine upon thee, and be gracious unto thee; - The Lord lift up His countenance upon thee, and give thee peace." - -And the touch of power which Diana felt upon her heart and life, from -that moment onward, was not the touch of David Rivers. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -THE TEST OF THE TRUE HERALD - - -As David sped back through the starry darkness, he was filled with an -exultation such as he had never before experienced. - -He had always held that every immortal soul was of equal value in the -sight of God; and that the bringing into the kingdom of an untutored -African savage, was of as much importance, in the Divine estimation, as -the conversion of the proudest potentate ruling upon any European -throne. - -But, somehow, he realised now the greatness of the victory which grace -had won, in this surrender of Diana to the constraining touch of his -Lord and hers. - -It was one thing to see light dawn, where all had hitherto been -darkness; but quite another to see the dispersion of clouds of cynical -unbelief, and the surrender of a strong personality to the faith which -requires the simple loving obedience of a little child: for, "whosoever -shall not receive the kingdom of God as a little child, he shall not -enter therein." - -David leaned back in the motor, totally unconscious of his surroundings, -as he realised how great a conquest for his King was this winning of -Diana. Her immense wealth, her influence, her position in the county, -her undoubted personal charm, would all now be consecrated, and become a -power on the side of right. - -He foresaw a beautiful future before her. The very fact that he himself -was so soon leaving England, and would have no personal share in that -future, made his joy all the purer because of its absolute selflessness. -Like the Baptist of old, standing on the banks of Jordan, he had pointed -to the passing Christ, saying: "Behold!" She had beheld; she had -followed; she had found Him; and the messenger, who had brought about -this meeting, might depart. He was needed no longer. The Voice had done -its work. All true heralds of the King rejoice when the souls they have -striven to win turn and say: "Now we believe, not because of thy saying; -for we have heard Him ourselves, and know that this is indeed the -Christ, the Saviour of the world." This test was now David's; and being -a true herald, he did not fail before it. - -When Diana had risen from her knees, she had turned to him and said, -gently: "Cousin David, do you mind if I order the motor now? I could not -speak or think to-night of other things; and I just feel I want to be -alone." - -During the few moments which intervened before the car was announced, -they sat in silence, one on either side of the fireplace. There was a -radiance of joy on both young faces, which anyone, entering -unexpectedly, would doubtless have put down to a very different cause. -Diana was not thinking at all of David; and David was thinking less of -Diana than of the Lord Whose presence with them, in that evening hour, -had made of it a time of healing and of power. - -As he rose to go, she put her hand in his. - -"Cousin David," she said, "more than ever now, I need your counsel and -your help. If I send over, just before one o'clock, can you come to -luncheon to-morrow, and afterwards we might have the talk which I cannot -manage to-night?" - -David agreed. The weddings at which he had to officiate were at eleven -o'clock. "I will be ready," he said, "and I will come. I am afraid my -advice is not worth much; but, such as it is, it is altogether at your -service." - -"Good-night, Cousin David," she said, "and God bless you! Doesn't it say -somewhere in the Bible: 'They that turn many to righteousness shall -shine as the stars for ever and ever'?" - -David now remembered this farewell remark of Diana's, as he stood for a -moment at the Rectory gate, looking upward to the clear frosty sky. But -the idea did not suit his mood. - -"Ah, no, my Lord," he said. "Thou art the bright and morning Star. Why -should I want, for myself, any glory or shining? I am content forever to -be but a follower of the Star." - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -Uncle Falcon's Will - - -Luncheon would have been an awkward affair, owing to David's nervous awe -of Mrs. Marmaduke Vane and his extreme trepidation in her presence, had -it not been for Diana's tact and vivacity. - -She took the bull by the horns, explaining David's mistake, and how it -was entirely her own fault for being so ambiguous and inconsequent in -her speech--"as you have told me from my infancy, dear Chappie"; and she -laughed so infectiously over the misunderstanding and over the picture -she drew of poor David's dismay and horror, that Mrs. Marmaduke Vane -laughed also, and forgave David. - -"And to add to poor Cousin David's confusion, he had made sure, at first -sight, that you were at least a duchess," added Diana tactfully; "and -they don't have them in Central Africa; so Cousin David felt very shy. -Didn't you, Cousin David?" - -David admitted that he did; and Mrs. Vane began to like "Diana's -missionary." - -"I have often noticed," pursued Miss Rivers, "that the very people who -are the most brazen in the pulpit, who lean over the side and read your -thoughts; who make you lift your unwilling eyes to theirs, responsive; -who direct the flow of their eloquence full upon any unfortunate person -who is venturing at all obviously to disagree--are the very people who -are most apt to be shy in private life. You should see my Cousin David -fling challenge and proof positive at a narrow-minded lady, with an -indignant rustle, and a red feather in her bonnet. I believe her husband -is a tenant-farmer of mine. I intend to call, in order to discuss Cousin -David's sermons with her. I shall insist upon her showing me the passage -in _her_ Bible where it says that there were three Wise Men." - -Then Diana drew David on to tell of his African congregations, of the -weird experiences in those wild regions; of the perils of the jungle, -and the deep mystery of the forest. And he made it all sound so -fascinating and delightful, that Mrs. Marmaduke Vane became quite -expansive, announcing, as she helped herself liberally to -_pâté-de-foie-gras_, that she did not wonder people enjoyed being -missionaries. - -"You should volunteer, Chappie dear," said Diana. "I daresay the society -sends out ladies. Only--fancy, if you came back as thin as Cousin -David!" - -In the drawing-room, she sent him to the piano; and Mrs. Vane allowed -her coffee to grow cold while she listened to David's music, and did not -ask Diana to send for more, until David left the music stool. - -Then Diana reminded her chaperon of an engagement she had at Eversleigh. -"The motor is ordered at half-past two, dear; and be sure you stay to -tea. Never mind if they don't ask you. Just remain until tea appears. -They can but say: '_Must_ you stay? _Can't_ you go?' And they won't do -that, because they are inordinately proud of your presence in their -abode." - -Mrs. Vane rose reluctantly, expressing regret that she had unwittingly -made this engagement, and murmuring something about an easy postponement -by telegram. - -But Diana was firm. Such a disappointment must not be inflicted upon any -family on Boxing-day. It could not be contemplated for a moment. - -Mrs. Marmaduke Vane took David's hand in both her plump ones, and patted -it, kindly. - -"Good-bye, my dear Mr. Rivers," she said with _empressement_. "And I -hope you will have a quite delightful time in Central Africa. And mind," -she added archly, "if Diana decides to come out and see you there, _I_ -shall accompany her." - -Honest dismay leapt into David's eyes. - -"It is no place for women," he said, helplessly. Then looked at Diana. -"I assure you, Miss Rivers, it is no place for women." - -"Never fear, Cousin David," laughed Diana. "You have fired Mrs. Vane -with a desire to rough it; but I do not share her ardour, and she could -not start without me. Could you, Chappie dear? Good-bye. Have a good -time." - -She turned to the fire, with an air of dismissal, and pushed a log into -place with her toe. - -David opened the door, waited patiently while Mrs. Vane hoarsely -whispered final farewell pleasantries; then closed it behind her portly -back. - -When he returned to the hearthrug, Diana was still standing gazing -thoughtfully into the fire, one arm on the mantel-piece. - -"Oh, the irony of it!" she said, without looking up. "She hopes you will -have a quite delightful time; and, as a matter of fact, you are going -out to die! Cousin David, do you _really_ expect never to return?" - -"In all probability," said David, "I shall never see England again. -They tell me I cannot possibly live through another five years out -there. They think two, or at most three, will see me through. Who can -tell? I shall be grateful for three." - -"Do you consider it right, deliberately to sacrifice a young life, and a -useful life, by returning to a place which you know must cost that life? -Why not seek another sphere?" - -"Because," said David, quietly, "my call is there. Some one must go; and -who better than one who has absolutely no home-ties; none to miss or -mourn him, but the people for whom he gives his life? It is all I have -to give. I give it gladly." - -"Let us sit down," said Diana, "just as we sat last night, in those -quiet moments before the motor came round. Only now, I can talk--and, -oh, Cousin David, I have so much to say! But first I want you to tell -me, if you will, all about yourself. Begin at the beginning. Never mind -how long it takes. We have the whole afternoon before us, unless you -have anything to take you away early." - -She motioned him to an easy chair, and herself sat on the couch, leaning -forward in her favourite attitude, her elbow on her knee, her chin -resting in the palm of her hand. Her grey eyes searched his face. The -firelight played on her soft hair. - -"Begin at the beginning, Cousin David," she said. - -"There is not much to tell of my beginnings," said David, simply. "My -parents married late in life. I was their only child--the son of their -old age. My home was always a little heaven upon earth. They were not -well off; we only had what my father earned by his practice, and village -people are apt to be slack about paying a doctor's bills. But they made -great efforts to give me the best possible education; and, a generous -friend coming to their assistance, I was able to go to Oxford." His eyes -glowed. "I wish you could know all that that means," he said; "being -able to go to Oxford." - -"I can imagine what it would mean--to you," said Diana. - -"While I was at Oxford, I decided to be ordained; and, almost -immediately after that decision, the call came. I held a London curacy -for one year, but, as soon as I was priested, by special leave from my -Bishop, and arrangement with my Vicar, I went out to Africa. During the -year I was working in London, I lost both my father and my mother." - -"Ah, poor boy!" murmured Diana. "Then you had no one." - -David hesitated. "There was Amy," he said. - -Diana's eyelids flickered. "Oh, there was 'Amy.' That might mean a good -deal. Did 'Amy' want to go out to Central Africa?" - -"No," said David; "nor would I have dreamed of taking her there. Amy and -I had lived in the same village all our lives. We had been babies -together. Our mothers had wheeled us out in a double pram. We were just -brother and sister, until I went to college; and then we thought we were -going to be--more. But, when the call came, I knew it must mean -celibacy. No man could take a woman to such places. I knew, if I -accepted, I must give up Amy. I dreaded telling her. But, when at last I -plucked up courage and told her, Amy did not mind very much, because a -gentleman-farmer in the neighbourhood was wanting to marry her. Amy was -very pretty. They were married just before I sailed. Amy wanted me to -marry them. But I could not do that." - -Diana looked at the thin sensitive face. - -"No," she said; "you could not do that." - -"I thought it best not to correspond during the five years," continued -David, "considering what we had been to one another. But when I was -invalided home, I looked forward, in the eager sort of way you do when -you are very weak, to seeing Amy again. I had no one else. As soon as I -could manage the journey, I went down--home; and--and called at Amy's -house. I asked for Mrs. Robert Carsdale--Amy's married name. A very -masculine noisy lady, whom I had never seen before, walked into the room -where I stood awaiting Amy. She had just come in from hunting, and -flicked her boot with her hunting-crop as she asked me what I wanted. I -said: "I have called to see Mrs. Robert Carsdale." She said: "Well? I am -Mrs. Robert Carsdale," and stared at me, in astonishment. - -"So I asked for Amy. She told me where to--to find Amy, and opened the -hall door. Amy had been dead three years. Robert Carsdale had married -again. I found Amy's grave, in our little churchyard, quite near my own -parents'. Also the grave of her baby boy. It was all that was left of -Amy; and, do you know, she had named her little son 'David.'" - -"Oh, you poor boy!" said Diana. "You poor, poor boy! But, do you know, I -think Amy in heaven was better for you, than Amy on earth. I don't hold -with marriage. Had you cared very much?" - -"Yes, I had cared a good deal," replied David, in a low voice; "but as -a boy cares, I think. Not as I should imagine a man would care. A man -who really cared _could_ not have left her to another man, could he?" - -"I don't hold with matrimony," said Diana again; and she said it with -forceful emphasis. - -"Nor do I," said David; "and my people out in Africa are all the family -I shall ever know. I faced that out, when I accepted the call. No man -has a right to allow a woman to face nameless horrors and hardships, or -to make a home in a climate where little children cannot live." - -"Ah, I do so agree with you!" cried Diana. "I once attended a missionary -meeting where a returned missionary from India told us how she and her -husband had had to send their little daughter home to England when she -was seven years old, and had not seen her again until she was sixteen. -'When we returned to England,' she told the meeting, 'I should not have -known my daughter had I passed her in the street!' And every one thought -it so pathetic, and so devoted. But it seemed to me false pathos, and -unpardonable neglect of primary duties. Who could take that mother's -place to that little child of seven years old? And, from the age of -seven to sixteen, how a girl needs her own mother. What call could come -before that first call--her own little child's need of her? And what do -you think that missionary-lady's work had been? Managing a school for -heathen children! All the time she was giving an account of these -children of other people and her work among them, I felt like calling -out: 'How about your own?' Cousin David, I didn't put a halfpenny in the -plate; and I have hated missionaries ever since!" - -"That is not quite just," said David. "But I do most certainly agree -with you, that first claims should come first. And therefore, a man who -feels called to labour where wife and children could not live, must -forego these tender ties, and consider himself pledged to celibacy." - -"It is the better part," said Diana. - -David made no answer. It had not struck him in that light before. He had -always thought he was foregoing an unknown but an undoubted joy. - -A silence fell between them. He was pondering her last remark; she was -considering him, and trying to fathom how much sincerity of conviction, -strength of will, and tenacity of purpose, lay behind that gentle -manner, and straightforward simplicity of character. - -Diana was a fearless cross-country rider. She never funked a fence, nor -walked a disappointed horse along, in search of a gap or a gate. But -before taking a high jump she liked to know what was on the other side. -So, while David pondered Diana's last remark, Diana studied David. - -At length she said: "Do you remember my first appearance at Brambledene -church, on a Sunday evening, about five weeks ago?" - -Yes; David remembered. - -"I arrived late," said Diana. "I walked up the church to blasts of -psalmody from that noisy choir." - -David smiled. "You were never late again," he said. - -"Mercy, no!" laughed Diana. "You gave one the impression of being the -sort of person who might hold up the entire service, while one -unfortunate late-comer hurried abashed into her pew. Are many parsons so -acutely conscious of the exact deportment of each member of their -congregations?" - -"I don't know," answered David. "I suppose the keen look-out one has to -keep for unexpected and sometimes dangerous happenings, at all -gatherings of our poor wild people, has trained one to it. I admit, I -would sooner see the glitter of an African spear poised in my direction -from behind a tree trunk, than see Mrs. Smith nudge her husband, in -obvious disagreement with the most important point in my sermon." - -"Well," continued Diana, "I came. And what do you think brought me?" - -David had no suggestion to make as to what had brought Diana. - -"Why, after you had come down for an interview with my god-father and -spent a night at the Rectory, I motored over to see him, just before he -went for his cure. He told me all about you; and, among other things, -that you were going back knowing that the climate out there could only -mean for you a very few years of life; and I came to church because I -wanted to see a man whose religion meant more to him than even life -itself--I, who rated life and health as highest of all good; most -valuable of all possessions. - -"I came to _see_--wondering, doubting, incredulous. I stayed to -_listen_--troubled, conscience-stricken, perplexed. First, I believed in -_you_, Cousin David. Then I saw the Christ-life in you. Then I longed to -have what you had--to find Him myself. Yesterday, He found me. To-day, I -can humbly, trustfully say: 'I know Whom I have believed, and am -persuaded that He is able to keep that which I have committed unto Him -against that day.' I am far from being what I ought to be; my life just -now is one tangle of perplexities; but the darkness is over, and the -true light now shineth. I hope, from this time onward, to be a follower -of the Star." - -"I thank God," said David Rivers. - -"And now," continued Diana, after a few moments of happy silence, "I am -going to burden you, Cousin David, with a recital of my difficulties; -and I am going to ask your advice. Let me tell you my past history, as -shortly as possible. - -"This dear old place is my childhood's home. My earliest recollection is -of living here with my mother and my grandfather. My father, Captain -Rivers, who was heir to the whole property, died when I was three years -old. I barely remember him. The property was entailed on male heirs, and -failing my father, it came to a younger brother of my grandfather, a -great-uncle of mine, a certain Falcon Rivers, who had fallen out with -most of his relations, gone to live in America, and made a large fortune -out there. My grandfather and my mother never spoke of Uncle Falcon, and -I remember, as a child, having the instinctive feeling that even to -think of Uncle Falcon was an insidious form of sin. It therefore had its -attractions. I quite often thought of Uncle Falcon! - -"Toward the close of his life, my grandfather became involved in money -difficulties. Much of the estate was mortgaged. I was too young and -heedless to understand details, but it all resulted in this: that when -my grandfather died, he was unable to leave much provision for my -mother, or for me. We had to turn out of Riverscourt; Uncle Falcon was -returning to take possession. So we went to live in town, on the merest -pittance, and in what, after the luxuries to which I had always been -accustomed, appeared to me abject poverty. I was then nineteen. My -mother, who had been older than my father, was over fifty. - -"Then followed two very hard years. Uncle Falcon wrote to my mother; but -she refused to see him, or to have any communication with him. She would -not show me his letter. We were absolutely cut off from the old home, -and all our former surroundings. Once or twice we heard, in roundabout -ways, how much Uncle Falcon's wealth was doing for the old place. -Mortgages were all paid off; tumbled-down cottages were being rebuilt; -the farms were put into proper order, and let to good tenants. American -money has a way of being useful, even in proud old England. - -"Any mention of all this, filled my mother with an extreme bitterness, -to which I had not then the key, and which I completely failed to -understand. - -"One morning, at breakfast, she received an envelope, merely containing -a thin slip of paper. Her beautiful face--my mother was a very lovely -woman--went, as they say in story-books, whiter than the table-cloth. -She tore the paper across, and across again, and flung the fragments -into the fire. They missed the flames, and fluttered down into the -fender. I picked them up, and, right before her, pieced them together. -It was a cheque from Uncle Falcon for a thousand pounds. 'Oh, Mamma -dear!' I said. I was so tired of running after omnibuses, and pretending -we liked potted meat lunches. - -"She snatched the fragments out of my fingers, and dropped them into the -heart of the fire. - -"'Anyway, it was kind of Uncle Falcon,' I said. - -"'Do not mention his name,' cried my mother, with white lips; and I -experienced once more the fascination of the belief, which had been mine -in childhood, that Uncle Falcon, and the Prince of Darkness, were -somehow akin. - -"To cut a long story short, at the end of those two hard years, my -mother died. A close friend of ours was matron in the Hospital of the -Holy Star--ah, yes, how curious! I had forgotten the name--a beautiful -little hospital in the Euston Road, supported by private contributions. -She accepted me for training. I found the work interesting, and soon -got on. You may have difficulty in believing it, Cousin David, but I -make a quite excellent nurse. I studied every branch, passed various -exams., looked quite professional in my uniform, and should have been a -ward Sister before long--when the letter came, which again changed my -whole life. - -"It was from Uncle Falcon! He had kept himself informed of my movements -through our old family lawyer, Mr. Inglestry, who, during those years, -had never lost sight of poor mamma, nor of me. I can remember Uncle -Falcon's letter, word for word. - -"'My Dear Niece,' he wrote, 'I am told you are by now a duly qualified -hospital nurse. My body is in excellent health, but my brain--which I -suppose I have worked pretty strenuously--has partially given way; with -the result that my otherwise healthy body is more or less helpless on -the right side. My doctor tells me I must have a trained nurse; not in -constant attendance--Heaven protect the poor woman, if _that_ were -necessary!--but somewhere handy in the house, in case of need. - -"'Now why should I be tended in my declining years, by a stranger, when -my own kith and kin is competent to do it? And why should I bring a -stray young woman to this beautiful place, when the girl whose rightful -home it is, might feel inclined to return to it? - -"'I hear from old What's-his-name, that you bear no resemblance whatever -to your father, but are the image of what your mother was, at your age. -That being the case, if you like to come home, my child, I will make -your life as pleasant as I can, for her sake. - - "'Your affectionate unknown uncle, - - "'FALCON RIVERS.' - -"Well--I went. - -"I arrived in uniform, not sure what my standing was to be in the house, -but thankful to be back there, on any terms, and irresistibly attracted -by the spell of Uncle Falcon. - -"Our own old butler opened the door to me. I nearly fell upon his neck. -The housekeeper, who had known me from infancy, took me up to my room. -They wept and laughed, and seemed to look upon my uniform as one of Miss -Diana's pranks--half funny, half naughty. Truth to tell, I did feel -dressed up, when I found myself inside the old hall again. - -"In twenty-four hours, Cousin David, I was installed as the daughter of -the house. - -"Of Uncle Falcon's remarkable personality, there is not time to tell -you now. We took to each other at once, and, before long, he felt it -right to put away, at my request, the one possible cause of -misunderstanding there might have been between us, by telling me the -true reason of his alienation from home, and his breach with my -grandfather and my parents. - -"Uncle Falcon was ten years younger than my grandfather. My mother, then -a very lovely woman, in the perfection of her beauty, was ten years -older than my father, a young subaltern just entering the army. My -mother was engaged to Uncle Falcon, who loved her with an intensity of -devotion, such as only a nature strong, fiery, rugged as his, could -bestow. - -"During a visit to Riverscourt, shortly before the time appointed for -her marriage to Uncle Falcon, then a comparatively poor man with no -prospects--my mother met my father. My father fell in love with her, and -my mother jilted Uncle Falcon in order to marry the young heir to the -house and lands of Riverscourt. Poor mamma! How well I could understand -it, remembering her love of luxury, and of all those things which go -with an old country place and large estates. Uncle Falcon never spoke to -her again, after receiving the letter in which she put an end to their -engagement; but he had a furious scene with my grandfather, who had -connived at the treachery toward his younger brother; and then -horsewhipped the young subaltern, in his father's presence. - -"Shortly afterwards, he sailed for America, and never returned. - -"Then--oh, irony of fate! After three years of married life, the young -heir died, without a son, and Uncle Falcon stood to inherit Riverscourt, -as the last in the entail. - -"Meanwhile everything he touched had turned to gold, and he only waited -my grandfather's decease to return as master to the old home, with the -large fortune which would soon restore it to its pristine beauty and -grandeur. - -"How well I could now understand my grandfather's silent fury, and my -mother's remorseful bitterness! By her own infidelity, she had made -herself the _niece_ of the man whose wife she might have been, and whose -wealth, position, and power would all have been laid at her feet. Also, -I am inclined to think she had not been long in realising and regretting -the treasure she had lost, in the love of the older man. I always knew -mamma had few ideals, and no illusions. Many of my own pronounced views -on the vital things in life are the product of her disillusionising -philosophy. Poor mamma! Oh, Cousin David, I see it hurts you each time -I say '_poor_ mamma'! Yet you cannot know what it means, when one's -kindest thoughts of one's mother must needs be prefixed by the adjective -'poor.' Yes, I know it is a sad state of things when pity must be called -in to soften filial judgment. But then life is full of these sad things, -isn't it? Anyway I have found it so. Had my mother left me one single -illusion regarding men and marriage, I might not now find myself in the -difficult position in which I am placed to-day. - -"However, for one thing I have always been thankful--one hour when I can -remember my mother with admiration and respect: that morning at -breakfast, in our humble suburban villa, when she tore up and flung to -the flames Uncle Falcon's cheque for a thousand pounds. - -"A close intimacy, and a deep, though undemonstrative, affection, soon -arose between Uncle Falcon and myself. His life-long fidelity to his -love for my mother seemed to transfer itself to me, and to be at last -content in having found an object. My every wish was met and gratified. -He insisted upon allowing me a thousand a year, merely as pocket-money, -while still defraying all large expenses for me, himself. Hunters, -dogs, everything I could wish, were secured and put at my disposal. His -last gift to me was the motor-car which brought you here to-day. - -"His sense of humour was delightful; his shrewd keen judgment of men and -things, instructive and entertaining. But--he had one peculiarity. So -sure was he of his own discernment, and so accustomed to bend others to -his iron will, that if one held a different view from his and ventured -to say so, he could never rest until he had won in the argument and -brought one round to his way of thinking. He was never irritable over -the point; he kept his temper, and controlled his tongue. But he never -rested until he had convinced and defeated a mental opponent. - -"He and I agreed upon most subjects, but there was one on which we -differed; and Uncle Falcon could never bring himself to let it be. In -spite of his own hard experience and consequent bachelorhood,--perhaps -because of it,--he was an ardent believer in marriage. He held that a -woman was not meant to stand alone; that she missed her proper vocation -in life if she refused matrimony; and that she attained her full -perfection only when the marriage tie had brought her to depend, for her -completion and for her happiness, upon her rightful master--man. - -"On the other hand, I, as you may have discovered, Cousin David, regard -the whole idea of marriage with abhorrence. I hold that, as things now -stand in this civilization of ours, a woman's one absolute right is her -right to herself. She is her own inalienable possession. Why should she -give herself up to a man; becoming his chattel, to do with as he -pleases? Why should she lose all right over her own person, her own -property, her own liberty of action and regulation of circumstance? Why -should she change her very name for his? If the two could stand on a -platform of absolute independence and equality, the thing might be -bearable--for some. It would still be intolerable to me! But, as the law -and social usage now stand, marriage is--to the woman--practically -slavery; and, therefore, an unspeakable degradation!" - -Diana's eyes flashed; her colour rose; her firm chin seemed more than -ever to be moulded in marble. - -David, sole representative of the tyrant man, quailed beneath the lash -of her indictment. He knew Diana was wrong. He felt he ought to say that -marriage was scriptural; and that woman was intended, from the first, to -be in subjection to man. But he had not the courage of his convictions; -nor could he brook the thought of any man attempting to subjugate this -glorious specimen of womanhood, invading her privacy, or in any way -presuming to dispute her absolute right over herself. So he shrank into -his large armchair, and took refuge in silence. - -"When I proclaimed my views to Uncle Falcon," continued Diana, "he would -hear me to the end, and then say: 'My dear girl, after the manner of -most women orators, you mount the platform of your own ignorance, and -lay down the law from the depths--or, perhaps I should say, shallows--of -your own absolute inexperience. Get married, child, and you will tell a -different story.' - -"Then Uncle Falcon set himself to compass this result, but without -success. However profound might be my inexperience, I knew how to keep -men at arm's length, thank goodness! But, as the happy years went by, we -periodically reverted to our one point of difference. At the close of -each discussion, Uncle Falcon used to say: 'I shall win, Diana! Some day -you will have to admit that I have won.' His eyes used to gleam beneath -his shaggy brows, and I would turn the subject; because I could not give -in, yet I felt it was becoming almost a mania with Uncle Falcon. - -"It was the only thing in which I failed to please him. His pride in my -riding, and in anything else I could do, was touching beyond words. He -remodelled the kennels, and financed the hunt in our neighbourhood, on -condition that I was Master. - -"One day his speech suddenly became thick and difficult. He sent for Mr. -Inglestry, our old family friend and adviser, and was closeted with him -for over an hour. - -"When Mr. Inglestry came out of the library, his face was grave; his -manner, worried. - -"'Go to your uncle, Miss Rivers,' he said. 'He has been exciting himself -a good deal, over a matter about which I felt bound to expostulate, and -I think he needs attention.' - -"I went into the library. - -"Uncle Falcon's eyes were brighter than ever, though his lips twitched. -'I shall win, Diana,' he said. 'Some day you will have to admit that I -have won. You will have to say: "Uncle Falcon, you have won."' - -"I knelt down in front of him. 'No other man will ever win me, dear. So -I can say it at once. Uncle Falcon, you have won.' - -"'Foolish girl!' he said; then looked at me with inexpressible -affection. 'I w-want you to be happy,' he said. 'I w-want you to be as -h-happy as I would have made Geraldine.' - -"Geraldine was my mother. - -"On the following day, Uncle Falcon sent for another lawyer, a young man -just opening a practice in Riversmead. He arrived with his clerk, but -only spent a very few minutes in the library, and as we have never heard -from him since, no transaction of importance can have taken place. Mr. -Inglestry had the will and the codicil. - -"A few nights later, I was summoned to my uncle's room. He neither spoke -nor moved again; but his eyes were still bright beneath the bushy -eyebrows. He knew me to the end. Those living eyes, in the already dead -body, seemed to say: 'Diana, I shall win.' - -"At dawn, the brave, dauntless soul left the body, which had long -clogged it, and launched out into the Unknown. My first conscious prayer -was: that he might not there meet either my father or my mother, but -some noble kindred spirit, worthy of him. Cousin David, you would have -liked Uncle Falcon." - -"I am sure I should have," said David Rivers. - -"Go into the library," commanded Diana, "the door opposite the -dining-room, and study the portrait of him hanging over the -mantel-piece, painted by a famous artist, two years ago." - -David went. - -Diana rang, and sent for a glass of water; went to the window, and -looked out; crossed to a mirror, and nervously smoothed her abundant -hair. Hitherto she had been cantering smoothly over open country. Now -she was approaching the leap. She must keep her nerve--or she would find -herself riding for a fall. - -"Did you notice his eyes?" she asked, as David sat down again. - -"Yes," he answered; "wonderful eyes; bright, as golden amber. You must -not be offended--you would not be, if you could know how beautiful they -were--but the only eyes I ever saw at all like them, belonged to a -_Macacus Cynomolgus_, a little African monkey--who was a great pet of -mine." - -"I quite understand," said Diana. "I know the eyes of that species of -monkey. Now, tell me? Did Uncle Falcon's amber eyes say anything to -you?" - -"Yes," said David. "It must have been simply owing to all you have told -me. But, the longer I looked at them--the more clearly they said: 'I -shall win.'" - -"Well, now listen," said Diana, "if my history does not weary you. When -Mr. Inglestry produced Uncle Falcon's will, he had left everything to -me: Riverscourt, the whole estate, the four livings of which he held the -patronage, and--his immense fortune. Cousin David, I am so rich that I -have not yet learned how to spend my money. I want you to help me. I -have indeed the gift of gold to offer to the King. I wish you to have, -at once, all you require for the church, the schools, the -printing-press, and the boat, of which you spoke. And then, I wish you -to have a thousand a year--two, if you need them--for the current -expenses of your work, and to enable you to have a colleague. Will you -accept this, Cousin David, from a grateful heart, guided by you, led by -the Star, and able to-day to offer it to the King?" - -At first David made no reply. He sat quite silent, his head thrown back, -his hands clasping his knee; and Diana knew, as she watched the working -of the thin white face, that he was striving to master an emotion such -as a man hates to show before a woman. - -Then he sat up, loosing his knee, and answered very simply: - -"I accept--for the King and for His work, Miss Rivers; and I accept on -behalf of my poor eager waiting people out there. Ah, if you could know -how much it means----!" His voice broke. - -Diana felt the happy tears welling up into her own eyes. - -"And we will call the church," said David, presently, "the Church of the -Holy Star." - -"Very well," said Diana. "Then that is settled. You have helped me with -my first gift, Cousin David. Now you must advise and help me about the -second. And, indeed, the possibility of offering the first depends -almost entirely upon the advice you give me about the second. You know -you said the frankincense meant our ideals--the high and holy things in -our lives? Well, my ideals are in sore peril. I want you to advise me as -to how to keep them. Listen! There was a codicil to Uncle Falcon's -will--a private codicil known only to Mr. Inglestry and myself, and only -to be made known a year after his death, to those whom, if I failed to -fulfil its conditions, it might then concern. Riverscourt, and all this -wealth, are mine, only on condition that I am married, within twelve -months of Uncle Falcon's death. He has been dead, eleven." - -Diana paused. - -"Good God!" said David Rivers; and it was not a careless exclamation. It -was a cry of protest from his very soul. "On condition that you are -married!" he said. "And to whom?" - -"No stipulation was made as to that," replied Diana. "But Uncle Falcon -had three men in his mind, all of whom he liked, and each of whom -considers himself in love with me: a famous doctor in London, a -distinguished cleric in our cathedral town, and a distant cousin, Rupert -Rivers, to whom the whole property is to go, if I fail to fulfil the -condition." - -David sat forward, with his elbows on his knees, and rumpled his hair -with his hands. Horror and dismay were in his honest eyes. - -"It is unbelievable!" he said. "That he should really care for you, and -wish your happiness, and yet lay this burden upon you after his death. -His mind must have been affected when he made that codicil." - -"So Mr. Inglestry says; but not sufficiently affected to enable us to -dispute it. The idea of bending me to matrimony, and of forcing me to -admit that it was the better part, had become a monomania with Uncle -Falcon." - -David sat with his head in his hands, his look bent upon the floor. Now -that he knew of this cruel condition imposed upon the beautiful girl -sitting opposite to him, he could not bring himself to lift his eyes to -hers. She should be looked at only with admiration and wonder; and now a -depth of pity would be in his eyes. Therefore he kept them lowered. - -"So," said Diana, "you see how I am placed. If I refuse to fulfil the -condition, on the anniversary of Uncle Falcon's death we must tell -Rupert Rivers of the codicil; I shall have to hand over everything to -him; leave my dear home, and go back to the life of running after -omnibuses, and pretending to enjoy potted meat lunches! On the other -hand, if--in order to keep my home, my income, all the luxuries I love, -my position in the county, and the influence which I now for the first -time begin to value for the true reason--I marry one of these men, or -one of half a dozen others who would require only the slightest -encouragement to propose to me at once, I fail to keep true to my own -ideals; I practically barter myself and my liberty, in order to keep the -place which is rightfully my own; I sink to the level of the women I -have long despised, who marry for money." - -"You must not do that," said David. "Nay, more; you _could_ not do that. -But is not your Cousin Rupert a man whom you might learn to love; a man -you could marry for the real reasons?" - -Diana laughed, bitterly. - -"Cousin David," she said, "shortly before grandpapa died, I was engaged -to Rupert Rivers for a fortnight. At the end of that time I loathed my -own body. Young as I was, and scornfully opposed by my mother, I took -matters into my own hands, and broke off the engagement." - -David looked perplexed. - -"It should not have had that effect upon you," he said, slowly. "I don't -know much about it, but it seems to me that a man's love and worship -should tend to make a woman reverence her own body, and regard her -beauty in a new light, because of his delight in it. I remember--" a -sudden flush suffused David's pale cheeks, but he brought forth his -reminiscence bravely, for Diana's sake: "I remember kissing Amy's hand -the evening before I first went to college, and she wrote and told me -that for days afterwards that hand had seemed unlike the other, and -whenever she looked at it she remembered that I had kissed it." - -Diana's laughter was in her eyes. She did not admit it to her voice. She -felt very much older, at that moment, than David Rivers. - -"Oh, you dear boy!" she said. "What can you, with your Amy and your -Africans, know of such men as Rupert, or the doctor, or even--even the -church dignitary? _You_ would love a woman's soul, and cherish her body -because it contained it. _They_ make one feel that nothing else matters -much, so long as one is beautiful. And after having been looked at by -them for a little while, one feels inclined to smash one's mirror." - -David lifted quiet eyes to hers. They seemed deep wells of childlike -purity; yet there was fire in their calm depths. - -"When you _are_ so beautiful," he said, simply, "you can't blame a man -for thinking so, when he looks at you." - -Diana laughed, blushing. She was surfeited with compliments; yet this of -David's, so unpremeditated, so impersonal, pleased her more than any -compliment had ever pleased her. - -But, in an instant, she was grave again. Momentous issues lay before -her. Uncle Falcon had been dead eleven months. - -"Then would you advise me to marry, and thus retain the property?" she -suggested. - -"God forbid!" cried David. "That you should be compelled to leave here, -seems intolerable; but it would be infinitely more intolerable that you -should make a loveless marriage. Give up all, if needs must, but--keep -your ideals." - -Diana glanced at him, from beneath half-lifted lids. - -"That will mean, Cousin David, that you cannot have the money for your -church, your school, your printing-press, and your steam-launch; nor the -yearly income for current expenses." - -Now, curiously enough, David had not thought of this. His mind had been -completely taken up with the idea of Diana running after omnibuses and -lunching cheaply on potted meat. - -The great disappointment now struck him with full force; but he did not -waver for an instant. - -"How could I build the Church of the Holy Star on the proceeds of your -lost ideals?" he said. "If my church is to be built, the money will be -found in some other way." - -"There _is_ another way," said Diana, suddenly. - -David looked up, surprised at the forceful decision of her tone. - -"What other way is there?" he asked. - -Diana rose; walked over to the window and stood looking across the -spacious park, at the pale gold of the wintry sunset. - -She was in full view, at last, of her high fence, and did not yet know -what lay beyond it. She headed straight for it; but she rode on the -curb. - -She walked back to the fireplace, and stood confronting him; her superb -young figure drawn up to its full height. - -Her voice was very quiet; her manner, very deliberate, as she answered -his question. - -"I want _you_ to marry me, Cousin David," she said, "on the morning of -the day on which you start for Central Africa." - - - - -CHAPTER X - -DIANA'S HIGH FENCE - - -David Rivers sprang to his feet, and faced Diana. - -"I cannot do that," he said. - -Diana had expected this. She waited a moment, silently; while the -atmosphere palpitated with David's intense surprise. - -Then: "Why not, Cousin David?" she asked quietly. - -And, as he still stood before her, speechless, "Sit down," she -commanded, "and tell me. Why not?" - -But David stood his ground, and Diana realised, for the first time, that -he was slightly taller than herself. - -"Why not?" he said. "Why not! Why because, even if I wished--I mean, -even if you wished--even if we both wished for each other--in that -way--Central Africa is no place for a woman. I would never take a woman -there!" - -Diana's face flushed. Her white teeth bit sharply into her lower lip. -Her hands clenched themselves suddenly at her sides. The fury of her -eyes flashed full into the blank dismay of his. - -Then, with a mighty effort, she mastered her imperious temper. - -"My dear Cousin David," she said--and she spoke slowly, seating herself -upon the sofa, and carefully arranging the silken cushions to her -liking: "You totally mistake my meaning. I gave you credit for more -perspicacity. I have not the smallest intention of going to Central -Africa, or of ever inflicting my presence, or my companionship, upon -you. Surely you and I have made it pretty clear to one another that we -are each avowed celibates. But, just because of this--just because we -both have everything to gain, and nothing to lose by such an -arrangement--just because we so completely understand one another--I can -say to you--as frankly as I would say: 'Cousin David, will you oblige me -by witnessing my signature to this document?'--'Cousin David, will you -oblige me by marrying me on the morning of the day upon which you return -to Central Africa?' Do you not see that by doing so, you take no burden -upon yourself, yet you free me at once from the desperate plight in -which I am placed by Uncle Falcon's codicil? You enable me to give the -gold and the frankincense, and you yourself have told me over and over, -that you never expect to return to England." - -David's young face paled and hardened. - -"I see," he said. "So _I_ am to provide the myrrh! I could not promise -to die, for certain, you know. I might pull through, and live, after -all; which would be awkward for you." - -This was the most human remark she had, as yet, heard from David; but -the bitterness of his tone brought the tears to Diana's eyes. She had -not realised how much her proposal would hurt him. - -"Dear Cousin David," she said, with extreme gentleness; "God grant -indeed that you may live, and spend many years in doing your great work. -But you told me you had nothing to bring you back to England, and that -you felt you were leaving it now, never to return. It was not _my_ -suggestion. And don't you see, that if you help me thus, you will also -be helping your poor African people; because it will mean that you can -have your church, and your schools, and all the other things you need, -and a yearly income for current expenses?" - -"So these were all bribes," cried David, and his eyes flamed down into -hers--"bribes to make me do this thing! And you called them gifts for -the King!" - -Diana flushed. The injustice of this was hard to bear. But the indignant -pain in his voice helped her to reply with quiet self-control. - -"Cousin David, I am sorry you think that of me. It is quite unjust. Had -there been no codicil to my uncle's will, every penny I hope to offer -for your work would have been gladly, freely, offered. Since I knew that -my gold could be useful in helping you to bring light into that -darkness, the thought has been one of pure joy. Oh, Cousin David, say -'no' to my request, if you like, but don't wrong me by misjudging the -true desire of my heart to bring my gifts, all unworthy though they be. -Remember you stand for the Christ to me, Cousin David; and He was never -unjust to a woman." - -David's face softened; but instantly hardened again, as a fresh thought -struck him. - -"Was this plan--this idea--in your mind," he demanded, "on that Sunday -night when you first came to Brambledene Church?" Then, as Diana did not -answer: "Oh, good heavens!" he cried, vehemently; "say it wasn't! My -Lady of Mystery! Say you came to worship, and that all this was an -after-thought!" - -Diana's clear eyes met his. They did not flinch, though her lips -trembled. - -"I cannot lie to you, Cousin David," she said, bravely. "I had heard you -were never coming back--it seemed a possible way out--it seemed my last -hope. I--I came--to see if you were a man I could trust." - -David groaned; looked wildly round the room, as if for a way of escape; -then sank into a chair, and buried his face in his hands. - -"I cannot do it, Miss Rivers," he said. "It would be making a mockery of -God's most holy ordinance of matrimony--to wed you in the morning, -knowing I should leave you forever in the afternoon. How could I -promise, in the presence of God, to love, comfort, honour and keep you? -The whole thing would be a sacrilege." - -He lifted a haggard face, looking at her with despairing eyes. - -Diana smiled softly into them. A moment before, she had expected to see -him leave the room and the house, forever. That he should sit down and -discuss the matter, even to prove the impossibility of acceding to her -request, seemed, in some sort, a hopeful sign. She held his look while -she answered. - -"Dear Cousin David, why should it be a mockery? Let us consider it -reasonably. Surely, in the best and highest of senses, it might be -really _rather_ true. I know you don't love me; but--you do _like_ me a -little, don't you?" - -"I like you very much indeed," said David, woefully; and then, all of a -sudden, they both laughed. The rueful admission had sounded so funny. - -"Why of course I like you," said David, with conviction; "better than -any one else I know. But----" - -He paused; looked at her, helplessly, and hesitated. - -"I quite understand," said Diana, quickly. "_Like_ is not _love_; but in -many cases 'like' is much better than 'love,' to my thinking. I know a -very Christian old person, whom I once heard say: 'We are commanded in -the Bible to love the brethren. I always _love_ the brethren, though I -cannot always _like_ them.' Now I had much rather you liked me, and -didn't love me, Cousin David, than that you loved me, and didn't like -me! Wouldn't you? - -"And remember how St. John began one of his epistles: 'The Elder unto -the well belovèd Gaius, whom I love in the truth.' I am sure, if you had -occasion to write to me, and began: 'David, unto the well belovèd Diana, -whom I love in the truth,' no one could consider it an ordinary -love-letter, and yet it would answer the purpose. Wouldn't it, Cousin -David?" - -David laughed again, in spite of his desire to maintain an attitude of -tragic protest. And, as he laughed, his face grew less haggard, and his -eyes regained their normal expression of steadfast calm. - -Diana hurried on. - -"So much for love. Now what comes next? Comfort? Ah, the comfort you -would bring into my life! Comfort of body; comfort of mind; the daily, -hourly, constant comfort wrought by the solving of this dark problem. -And then--'honour.' Why, you can honour a woman as much by your thought -of her at a distance, as by any word or action in her presence. Not that -I feel worthy of honour from such a man as you, Cousin David. Yet I know -you would honour all women, and all women worth anything, would try to -deserve it. What comes next? Keep? Oh, what could be a truer form of -keeping, than to keep me from a lowering marriage, on the one hand; or -from poverty, and all the ups and downs of strenuous London life, on the -other; to keep me in the entourage of my childhood's lovely home? It -seems to me, Cousin David, that you would be doing more 'keeping' for me -than falls to the lot of most men to do for the girls they marry. And, -best of all, you would be keeping me true to the purest, highest -ideals." - -David's elbows had found his knees again. He rumpled his hair, -despairingly. - -"Miss Rivers," he said, "I admit the truth of all you say. I would -gladly do anything to be--er--useful to you, under these difficult -circumstances; anything _right_. But could it be right to go through the -solemn marriage service, without having the slightest intention of -fulfilling any of the causes for which matrimony was ordained? And could -it be right for a man to take upon himself solemn obligations with -regard to a woman; and, a few hours later, leave her, never to return?" - -"It seems to me," said Diana, "that the cause for our marriage would be -a more important and vital one than most of those mentioned in the -Prayer-book. And, as to the question of leaving me--why, before the Boer -war, several friends of mine married their soldiers on the eve of their -departure for the front, simply because if they were going out to die, -they wished the privilege of being their widows." - -David's eyes softened. - -"That was love," he said. - -"Not in every case. I know a girl who married an old Sir Somebody on the -morning of the day his regiment sailed, making sure he would be killed -in his first engagement; he offered such a vast, expansive mark for the -Boer sharpshooters. She wished to be Lady So-and-So, with a delicate -halo of tragic glory, and no encumbrance. But back he came unscathed, -and stout as ever--he did not even get enteric! They have lived a cat -and dog life, ever since." - -"Abominable!" said David. "I hate hearing such stories." - -"Well, are not our motives better? And are they not better than scores -of the loveless marriages which are taking place every day?" - -"Other people's wrong, does not constitute our right," said David, -doggedly. - -"I know that," she answered, with unruffled patience; "but I cannot see -any wrong in what we propose to do. We may be absolutely faithful to one -another, though continents divide us. I should most probably continue -faithful if you were on another planet. We can be a mutual help and -comfort the one to the other, by our prayers and constant thought, and -by our letters; for surely Cousin David, we should write to one -another--occasionally? Is not our friendship worth something?" - -"It is worth everything," said David, "except wrong doing. Look here!" -he exclaimed suddenly, rising to his feet. "I must go right away, by -myself, and think this thing over, for twenty-four hours. At the end of -that time I shall have arrived at a clear decision in my own mind. Then, -if you do not object, and can allow me another day, I will run up to -town, and lay the whole matter--of course without mentioning your -name--before the man whose judgment I trust more than that of any man I -know. If he agrees with me, my own opinion will be confirmed; and if he -differs----" - -"You will still adhere to your own opinion," said Diana, with a wistful -little smile. - -She rang the bell. - -"I am beginning to know you pretty well, Cousin David.--The dogcart, -Rodgers.--Who is this Solon?" - -"A London physician, who has given me endless care, refusing all fees, -because of my work, and because my father was a doctor. Also he gives a -more hopeful report than any." - -"Really? Does he think you will stand the climate after all?" - -David smiled. "He gives me a possible three years, under favourable -circumstances. The other people give me two, perhaps only one." - -"I think you must tell me his name. He may be my undesirable suitor!" - -"Hardly," said David. "He has a charming wife of his own, and two little -children. But of course I will tell you who he is." - -David named a name which brought a flush of pleasure to Diana's face. - -"Why, I know him well. He is honourary consulting physician to our -Hospital of the Star, and is constantly called in when we have specially -interesting or baffling cases. You couldn't go to a better man. Tell him -everything if you like--my name, and all. He is absolutely to be -trusted. But--Cousin David--" They heard the horse's hoofs on the drive, -and she rose and faced him--"Ah, do remember, how much this means to me! -Don't make an abstract case of it, when you consider it alone. Don't -dissolve it from its intensely personal connection with you and me. We -are so unlike ordinary people. We are both alone in the world. Your -work is so much to you. We could make your--your _three_ years so -gloriously fruitful. You would leave such a strongly established church -behind you, and I would go on supporting it. My home is so much to me; -and I am just beginning to understand the influence I possess. Think if, -as these four livings become vacant, I can put in really earnest men. -Think of the improvements I could make in the condition of the villages. -At present I have been able to do so little, because Mr. Inglestry is -holding back as much as possible of this year's income, to which I have -any way the right, in order to buy me a small annuity when I lose all. -For, let me tell you frankly, Cousin David, if you cannot do as I ask, -that is what it will mean. I have no intention whatever of selling my -body into slavery, or my soul to hopeless degradation, by marrying -Rupert Rivers, or any of the others. I lose all, if you say 'no'; and I -lose it on the Feast of the Star. At the same time, ah, God knows, I do -not want to do wrong! Nor do I want to urge you to do violence to your -own conscience. You know that?" - -David took her hand, holding it very firmly in his. - -"I know that," he said; "and I think you can trust me, Miss Rivers, not -to forget how much it means to us both. If it meant more, there could be -no doubt. If it meant less, there would be no question. It is because it -means exactly what it does mean, that the situation is so difficult. I -believe light will soon come; and when it comes, it will come clearly. I -think it will come to me to-night. If so, I need not keep you waiting -forty-eight hours. I will go up to town early to-morrow morning, and see -Sir Deryck, if possible, in time to catch the 2.35 for Riversmead. Could -you be here, alone, at that hour to-morrow?" - -"I will send to meet the 2.35," said Diana; "and I will be here alone. -Good-bye, Cousin David." - -"Good-bye, Miss Rivers." - -Diana went into the hall, watched him climb into the dogcart and be -driven rapidly away without looking back. - -Then she entered the library, closed and locked the door, and stood on -the hearthrug looking up at the portrait of Falcon Rivers. The amber -eyes seemed to twinkle kindly into hers; but they still said: "I shall -win, Diana." - -"Oh, Uncle Falcon," she whispered "was this the way to secure my -happiness? Ah, if you could know the loneliness, the pain, the -humiliation, the shame! To have had to ask this of any man--even of -such a saint as David Rivers. And how cruelly I hurt him, by seeming to -build the whole plan upon the certainty of his death." - -Suddenly she broke down under the prolonged strain of the afternoon's -conversation. Kneeling at her uncle's empty chair--where she had so -often knelt, looking up into his kind eyes--she buried her face on her -arms and wept, and wept, until she could weep no longer. - -"If only he had cared a little," she whispered between her paroxysms of -sobbing; "not enough to make him troublesome; but enough to make him -pleased to marry me, on any terms. Why was he so indignant and aghast? -It seemed to me quite simple. Well, twenty-four hours of suspense are -less trying than forty-eight. But--what will he decide? Oh, what will he -decide!... Sorry, but you can't come in, Chappie; I am not visible to -any one just now." This in response to a persistent trying of the -handle, and knocking at the door.... "Yes, he went some time ago."... -"Yes, in the dogcart."... "I wish you would not call him _my_ -missionary. I am not a heathen nation!"... "No, he did not propose to -me. How silly you are!"... "Oh, I am glad the tea was good. Yes, we will -find out where those tea cakes can be had."... "No; he has not once -called me 'Diana.'"... "Why, 'Miss Rivers' of course! Chappie, if you -don't go away this very moment, I shall take down Uncle Falcon's -shot-gun and discharge both barrels through the panel of the door at the -exact height at which I know your face must be, on the other side!"... -"Of course I can tell by your voice, even had I not heard the plump, -that you are now on your knees. I shall blow out the lower panel."... -"No, I am not communing with spirits, but _you_ soon will be, if you -don't go away!"... "Chappie! In ten seconds, I ring the bell; and when -Rodgers answers it, I shall order him to take you by the arm, and lead -you upstairs!" - -As Mrs. Vane rustled indignantly away, and quiet reigned once more, -Diana buried her head again in the seat of the chair. She laughed and -wept, alternately; then cried bitterly: "Ah, it is so lonely--so lonely! -Nobody really cares!" - -Then, suddenly she remembered that she could pray--pray, with a new -right of access, to One Who cared, Whose love was changeless; Whose -wisdom was infinite. If _He_ went on before, the way would become clear. - -Her morning letters lay on the library table From a pile of Christmas -cards, she drew out one which held a motto for the swiftly coming year. -She breathed it, as a prayer, and her troubled heart grew still. - - "Dear Christ, move on before! - Ah, let me follow where Thy feet have trod; - Thus shall I find, 'mid life's perplexities, - The Golden Pathway of the Will of God." - -After that, all was peace. In comparative rest of soul, Diana waited -David's answer. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -THE VOICE IN THE NIGHT - - -The fire burned low, in the study grate. - -The black marble clock on the mantel-piece had struck midnight, more -slowly and sonorously than it ever sounded the hour by day. Each stroke -had seemed a knell--a requiem to bright hopes and golden prospects; and -now it slowly and distinctly ticked out the first hour of a new day. - -Sarah, and her assistants, had long been sleeping soundly, untroubled by -any difficult questions of casuistry. - -The one solitary watcher beneath the roof of Brambledene Rectory sat -huddled up in the Rector's large armchair, his elbows on his knees, his -head in his hands. - -His little worn Prayer-book had fallen to the floor, unnoticed. He had -been reading the marriage service. The Prayer-book lay on its back, at -his feet, open at the Burial of the Dead, as if in silent suggestion -that that solemn office had an important bearing on the case. - -The fire burned low; yet David did not bestir himself to give it any -attention. The hot embers sank together, in the grate, with that sound -of finality which implies no further attempt to keep alight--a -sitting-down under adverse circumstances, so characteristic of human -nature, and so often caused by the absorbed neglect of others. - -David had as yet arrived at no definite decision regarding the important -question of marriage with Diana. - -He had reviewed the matter from every possible standpoint. Diana had -begged him not to let the question become an impersonal one--not to -consider it as an abstract issue. - -There had been little need for that request. Diana's brilliant -personality dominated his whole mental vision, just as the sun, bursting -through clouds, illumines a grey scene, touching and gilding the -heretofore dull landscape, with unexpected glory. - -It puzzled David to find that he could not consider his own plans, his -most vital interests, as apart from her. The whole future seemed to -hinge upon whether she were to be happy or disconsolate; surrounded by -the delights of her lovely home, or cast out into the world, alone and -comfortless. - -A readjustment had suddenly taken place in his proportionate view of -things. Hitherto, Africa had come first; all else, his own life -included, being a mere background. - -Now--DIANA stepped forth, in golden capitals; and all things else -receded, appearing of small importance; all save his sensitive -conscientiousness; his unwavering determination to adhere to the right -and to shun the wrong. - -It perplexed David that this should be so. It was an experience so new -that it had not as yet found for itself a name, or formulated an -explanation. - -As he sat, wrapt in thought, in the armchair in which he had prepared so -many of his evening sermons, she became once more his Lady of Mystery. -He reviewed those weeks, realising, for the first time, that the thought -of her had never left him; that the desire to win the unawakened soul of -her had taken foremost place in his whole ministry at Brambledene. She -seemed enfolded in silent shadows, from which her grey eyes looked out -at him, sometimes cold, critical, appraising, incredulous; sometimes -anxious, appealing, sorrowful; soft, with unshed tears; sad, with -unspoken longing. - -Then--she came to the vestry; and his Lady of Mystery vanished; giving -place to Diana Rivers, imperious, vivid, radiating vitality and -friendliness; and when he realised that it was little more than -forty-eight hours since he had first known her name, he marvelled at the -closeness of the intimacy into which she had drawn him. Yet, -undoubtedly, the way in which she had dominated his mind from the very -first, was now accounted for by the fact that, from the very first, she -had planned to involve him in this scheme for the unravelling of her own -tangled future. - -David clenched his hands and battled fiercely with his instinctive anger -against Diana in this matter. It tortured him to remember his wistful -gladness at the appearance of an obviously unaccustomed worshipper, in -the holy place of worship; and later, his sacred joy in the thought that -he was just the Voice sent to bring the message; and, having brought it, -to pass on unrecognised. Yet, all the while, he had been the tool she -intended using to gain her own ends; while the most sacred thing in his -whole life, was the fact, which, chancing to become known to her, had -led her to pounce upon him as a suitable instrument. As priest and as -man, David felt equally outraged. Yet Diana's frank confession had been -so noble in its truthfulness, at a moment when a less honourable nature -would have been sorely tempted to prevaricate, that David had instantly -matched it with a forgiveness equally noble, and now fought back the -inclination to retrospective wrath. - -But the present situation must be faced. She was asking him to do this -thing. - -Could he refuse? Could he leave England knowing he had had it in his -power to do her so great a service, to make the whole difference in her -future life, to rid her of odious obligations, to right an obvious -wrong--and yet, he had refused? Could he sail for Africa, leaving Diana -homeless; confronted by hardships of all kinds; perhaps facing untold -temptations? The beautiful heiress, in her own ancestral home, could -keep Rupert Rivers at arm's length, if she chose. But if Rupert Rivers -reigned at Riverscourt; if all she held so dear, and would miss so -overwhelmingly, were his; if, under these circumstances, he set himself -to win the hospital nurse----? - -David clenched his cold hands and ground his teeth; then paused amazed, -to wonder at himself. - -Why should it fill him with impotent fury, to contemplate the -possibility of any man winning and subjugating Diana? Had she infected -him with her own irrational and exaggerated views? - -The more he thought over it, the more clearly he realised that this -thing she asked of him would undoubtedly bring good--infinite good--to -herself; to the many dependants on the Riverscourt estate; to the -surrounding villages, where, as each living became vacant, she would -seek to place earnest men, true preachers of the Word, faithful tenders -of the flock. It would bring untold good to his own poor waiting people, -in that dark continent, eagerly longing for more light. To all whom his -voice could sway, whom her money could benefit, whom their united -efforts could reach, this step would mean immeasurable gain. Nobody -walked the earth whom it could wrong. He recalled, with unexpected -clearness of detail, a lengthy account of Rupert Rivers, given him in -that very room by his garrulous host, during the only evening they spent -together. At the time it had made no impression upon an intentionally -inattentive mind; but now it came up from his subconsciousness, and -provided him with important information. If Mr. Goldsworthy's facts were -correct, Rupert Rivers already possessed more money than was good for -him, and lived the life of a gay spendthrift, having chambers in town, -a small shooting-box in Scotland; much of his time being spent abroad, -flitting from scene to scene, and from pleasure to pleasure, with -absolutely no sense of responsibility, and no regard for the welfare of -others. His one redeeming point appeared to be: that he wanted to marry -Diana. But that was not to be thought of. - -Again David's hands clenched, painfully. Why was it such sudden fierce -agony to contemplate Diana as the wife of Rupert Rivers? That bewildered -question throbbed unanswered into the now chilly room. - -Yes, undoubtedly, it would mean untold gain to many; loss to none. But -no sooner did his mind arrive at the possibility of agreeing to Diana's -suggestion, than up rose, and stalked before him, the spectre of -mockery; the demon of unreality; the ghastly horror, to the mind of the -earnest priest, of having to stand before God's altar, there to utter -solemn words, under circumstances which would make of those words a -hollow mockery, an impious unreality. The position would be different, -had he but a warrant for believing that any conditions could justify -him, in the sight of God, in entering into the holy bond of marriage for -reasons other than those for which matrimony was ordained. - -For a moment, a way out of the difficulty had suggested itself, in the -registry-office; but he had not harboured the thought for many seconds. -An act which could not face the light of God's holy church, most -certainly could not stand in the light of the judgment day. - - * * * * * - -The Rector's black marble clock struck one. - -David shivered. One hour had already passed of the day on which he had -promised to give Diana his decision; yet, after hours of deliberation, -he was no nearer arriving at any definite conclusion. - -"My God," he prayed, "give me light. Ah, give me a clear unmistakable -revelation of Thy will!" - - * * * * * - -The hours from one to two, and from two to three, are apt to hold -especial terrors for troubled souls--for lonely watchers, keeping vigil. -This is the time of earth's completest silence, and the sense of the -nearness of the spirit-world seems able to make itself more intimately -felt. - -The cheerful cock has not yet bestirred himself to crow; the dawn has -made no rift in the heavy blackness of the sky. - -The Prince of Darkness invades the world, unhindered. The Hosts of -Light stand by, with folded wings; their glittering swords close -sheathed. "This is your hour, and the hour of darkness." Murder, -robbery, lust, and every form of sin, lift their heads, unafraid. - -Christian souls, waking, shudder in nameless fear; then whisper: - - "Keep me, O keep me, King of Kings, - Beneath Thine Own almighty wings!" - -and sleep again, in peace. - - * * * * * - -Next comes the coldest hour--the hour before the dawn. This is the hour -of passing souls. Death, drawing near, enters unchecked; and, ere the -day breaks and busy life begins to stir again, the souls he has come to -fetch, pass out with him; and weary watchers close the eyes which will -never see another sunrising, and fold the hands whose day's work in the -world is over. - -All life, in this hour, is at its lowest ebb. - - * * * * * - -From one to two, David prayed: "Give me light! Oh, my God, give me -light!" - -Evil thoughts, satanic suggestions, diabolic whisperings, swarmed around -him, but failed to force an entrance into the guarded garrison of his -mind. - -The clock struck two. - - * * * * * - -The study lamp grew dim, flickered spasmodically; and, finally, went -out. David reached for matches, and lighted one candle on the table at -his elbow. - -He saw his Prayer-book on the floor, picked it up, and glanced at the -open page. "Forasmuch as it hath pleased Almighty God of His great mercy -to take unto Himself the soul of our dear brother here departed, we -therefore commit his body to the ground----" - -David smiled. It seemed so simple a solution to all earthly -difficulties:--"we therefore commit his body to the ground." It promised -peace at the last. - -Who would read those words, over the forest grave in Central Africa? -Would he be borne, feet foremost, down the aisle of the Church of the -Holy Star--his church and Diana's--or would he be carried straight from -his own hut to the open grave beneath the mighty trees? It would not -matter at all to his wasted body, which it was; but, ah, how much it -would matter to the people he left behind! - -"Oh God, give me light--give me light!" - - * * * * * - -The clock struck three. - -The study grate was black. The last red ember had burned itself out. - -David shuddered. He was too completely lost to outward things to be -conscious of the cold; but he shuddered in unison with the many passing -souls. - -Then a sense of peace stole over his spirit. He lifted his head from his -hands, leaned back in the Rector's armchair, and fell into a light -sleep. He was completely exhausted, in mind and body. - -"Send me light, my Lord," he murmured for the last time; and fell -asleep. - - * * * * * - -He did not hear the clock strike four; but, a few moments later, he was -awakened by a voice in the silent room, saying, slowly and distinctly, -in tones of sublime tenderness: "Son of man!" - -David, instantly wide awake, started up, and sat listening. The solitary -candle failed to illumine the distant corners of the study, but was -reflected several times in the glass doors of the book-cases. - -David pushed back his tumbled hair. "Speak again," he said, in tones of -awe and wonder. Then, as his own voice broke the silence, he realised -that the voice which had waked him had not stirred the waves of outward -sound, but had vibrated on the atmosphere of his inner spirit-chamber, -reaching, with intense distinctness, the hearing of his soul. He lay -back, and closed his eyes. - -"Son of man!" said the voice again. - -This time David did not stir. He listened in calm intentness. - -"Son of man," said the low tender tones again; "behold, I take away from -thee the desire of thine eyes with a stroke." - -Then David knew where he was. He sat up, eagerly; drew the candle close -to him; took out his pocket-Bible; and, turning to the twenty-fourth -chapter of Ezekiel, read the whole passage. - -"Son of man, behold, I take away from thee the desire of thine eyes with -a stroke: yet neither shalt thou mourn nor weep, neither shall thy tears -run down. Forbear to cry, make no mourning for the dead, bind the tire -of thine head upon thee, and put on thy shoes upon thy feet, and cover -not thy lips, and eat not the bread of men. - -"So I spake unto the people in the morning; and at even my wife died: -and I did in the morning as I was commanded. - -"And the people said unto me: Wilt thou not tell us what these things -are to us, that thou doest so? Then I answered them, The word of the -Lord came unto me saying: Speak unto the house of Israel: Thus saith -the Lord God:... Ezekiel is unto you a sign: according to all that he -hath done, shall ye do; and when this cometh, ye shall know that I am -the Lord. - -"Also, thou son of man, shall it not be in the day when I take from them -their strength, the joy of their glory, the desire of their eyes, and -that whereupon they set their minds.... In that day shall thy mouth be -opened,... and thou shalt speak ... and thou shalt be a sign unto them; -and they shall know that I am the Lord." - - * * * * * - -As David read this most touching of all Old Testament stories, his mind -was absorbed at first in the tragedy of the simply told, yet vivid -picture. The young prophet, standing faithfully at his post, preaching -to a stiff-necked, hard-hearted people, though knowing, all the while, -how rapidly the shadow of a great sorrow was drawing near unto his own -heart and home. The Desire of his eyes--how tenderly that described the -young wife who lay dying at home. He who knoweth the hearts of men, knew -she was just that to him. Each moment of that ebbing life was precious; -yet the young preacher must remain and preach; he must yield to no -anguish of anxiety; he must show no sign of woe. Throughout that long -hard day, he stood the test. And then--in the grand unvarnished -simplicity of Old Testament tragedy--he records quite simply: "And, at -even, my wife died; and I did in the morning, as I was commanded." A -veil is drawn over the night of anguish, but--"I did in the morning, as -I was commanded." - -David, as he read, felt his soul attune with the soul of that young -prophet of long ago. He also had had a long night of conflict and of -vigil. He, also, would do in the morning as he was commanded. - -Then, suddenly--suddenly--he saw light! - -Here was a marriage tie, close, tender, perfect; broken, apparently for -no reason which concerned the couple themselves, for nothing connected -with the causes for which matrimony was ordained; broken simply for the -sake of others; solely in order that the preacher might himself be the -text of his own sermon; standing before the people, bereaved, yet not -mourning; stricken suddenly, all unprepared--in order that he might be a -living sign to all men who should see and question, of Jehovah's -dealings with themselves. - -David's mind, accustomed to reason by induction, especially on -theological points, grasped this at once: that if the marriage tie -could be _broken_ by God's direction, for purposes of influence, and for -the sake of bringing good to others, it might equally be _formed_ for -the same reasons--unselfish, pure, idealistic--without the man and the -woman, who for these causes entered into the tie, finding themselves, in -so doing, outside the Will or the Word of God. - -From that moment David never doubted that he might agree to Diana's -proposal. - -To many minds would have come the suggestion that the 20th century -differed from ancient times; that the circumstances of the prophet -Ezekiel were probably dissimilar, in all essentials, to his own. But -David had all his life lived very simply by Bible rules. The revealed -Will of God seemed to him to hold good through all the centuries, and to -apply to all circumstances, in all times. His case and Diana's was -unique; and this one instance which, to him, seemed clearly applicable, -at once contented him. - -He laid his open Bible beside the candle on the table. - -"I shall say 'Yes,'" he said, aloud. "How pleased she will be." He could -see her face, radiant in its fair beauty. - -"The Desire of thine eyes." What a perfect description of a man's -absorbing love for a woman. Two months ago, he would not have understood -it; but he remembered now how he used to look forward, all the week, to -the first sight, on Sunday evening, of the sweet face and queenly head -of his Lady of Mystery, in her corner beside the stone pillar. And on -Christmas-eve, when he stood in the snow, under the shadow of the old -lich-gate, while the footman flashed up the lights in the interior of -the car, and her calm loveliness was revealed among the furs. Then these -two days of intimacy had shown him so much of vivid charm in that gay, -perfect face, as she laughed and talked, or hushed into gentle -earnestness. She had talked for so long--he sitting watching her; he -knew all her expressive movements; her ways of turning her head quickly, -or of lowering her eyelids, and hiding those soft clear eyes. -To-day--this very day--he would see her again; and every anxious cloud -would lift, when she heard his decision. Her grateful look would beam -upon him. - -"The Desire of thine eyes." Yes; it was a truly Divine description of a -man's---- - -Suddenly David sprang to his feet. - -"My God!" he cried; "I love Diana!" - -The revelation was overwhelming in its suddenness. Having resolved upon -a life of celibacy, his mental attitude towards women had never -contemplated the possibility of this. He had stepped fearlessly out into -this friendship, at the call of her need, and of his duty. And now---- - -He stood quite still in the chill silence of the dimly lighted study, -and faced the fact. - -"I--love--Diana! And, in two weeks, I am to wed Diana. And a few hours -afterwards, I am to leave Diana--for ever! 'Son of man, behold I take -away from thee the Desire of thine eyes with a stroke.' To sail for -Central Africa; and never to look upon her face again--the face of my -own wife. 'And at even my wife died.' But my wife will not die," said -David. "Thank God, it is I who bring the offering of myrrh. Because of -this that I can do for her, my wife will live, rich, happy, contented, -useful. Her home, her wealth, her happy life, will be my gift to her. -But--if Diana knew I loved her, she would never accept this service from -me." - -David had been pacing the room. He now stood still, leaning his hands on -the table, where glimmered the one candle. - -"Can I," he said, slowly, asking himself deliberately the question: "Can -I carry this thing through, without letting Diana suspect how much more -it means to me, than she intends; how much more than it means to her? -Can I wed the Desire of mine eyes in the morning, look my last upon her -in the afternoon, and leave her, without her knowing that I love her?" - -He asked himself the question, slowly, deliberately, leaning heavily on -the study table. - -Then he stood erect, his head thrown back, his deep eyes shining, and -answered the question with another. - -"Is there anything a man cannot do for the woman he loves?" said David -Rivers. - -He went to the window, drew back the heavy rep curtains, unbarred the -shutters, and looked out. - -There was, as yet, no sign of dawn, but through the frosty pane, right -before him, as a lamp in the purple sky, shone the bright morning star. - -Cold though he was, stiff from his long night vigil, David threw up the -window-sash, that he might see the star shine clearly, undimmed by -frosty fronds, traced on the window-pane. - -He dropped on one knee, folding his arms upon the woodwork of the sill. - -"My God," he said, looking upward, his eyes on the morning star; "I -thank Thee for light; I thank Thee for love; I thank Thee for the -guiding star! I thank Thee, that heavenly love and earthly love can -meet, in one bright radiant Ideal. I thank Thee that, expecting nothing -in return, I love Diana!" - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -SUSPENSE - - -"You old flirt!" laughed Diana. "How many more hearts of men do you -contemplate capturing, before you shuffle off this mortal coil? Chappie, -you are a hardened old sinner! However, I suppose if one had committed -matrimony three times already, one would feel able to continue doing so, -with impunity, as many more times as circumstances allowed. Did poor old -Dr. Dapperly actually propose?" - -Mrs. Marmaduke Vane smiled complacently, as she put a heaped-up spoonful -of whipped cream into her coffee. - -"He made his meaning very clear, my dear Diana," she whispered hoarsely; -"and he held my arm more tightly than was necessary, as he assisted me -to the motor. He remarked that the front steps were slippery; but they -were not. A liberal supply of gravel had been placed upon them." - -"Had he been having _much_ champagne?" asked Diana. "Oh, no, I -remember! It was tea, not dinner. One does not require to hold on to -people's arms tightly when going down steps with a liberal supply of -gravel on them, after tea. Chappie dear, congratulations! I think it -must be a case." - -"He made his meaning very clear," repeated Mrs. Vane, helping herself to -omelet and mushrooms. - -"Isn't it rather hard on god-papa?" inquired Diana, her eyes dancing. - -"I have a great respect for Mr. Goldsworthy," whispered Mrs. Vane, -solemnly; "and I should grieve to wound or to disappoint him. But you -see--there was Sarah." - -"Ah, yes," said Diana; "of course; there was Sarah. And Sarah has -god-papa well in hand." - -"She is an impertinent woman," said Mrs. Vane; "and requires keeping in -her place." - -"Oh, what happened?" cried Diana. "Do tell me, Chappie dear!" - -But Mrs. Vane shook her head, rattling her bangles as she attacked a -cold pheasant; and declined to tell "what happened." - -The morning sun shone brightly in through the oriel window of the -pleasant breakfast-room, touching to gold Diana's shining hair, and -causing the delicate tracery of frost to vanish quickly from the -window-panes. - -Breakfast-time, that supreme test of health--mental and physical--always -found Diana radiant. She delighted in the beginning of each new day. Her -vigorous vitality, reinforced by the night's rest, brought her to -breakfast in such overflowing spirits, that Mrs. Vane--who suffered from -lassitude, and never felt "herself" until after luncheon--would often -have found it a trying meal, had she not had the consolations of a -bountiful table, and a boundless appetite. - -On this particular morning, however, a more observant person might have -noted a restless anxiety underlying Diana's gaiety. She glanced often at -the clock; looked through her pile of letters, but left them all -unopened; gazed long and yearningly at the wide expanse of snowy park, -and at the leafless arms of ancient spreading trees; drank several cups -of strong coffee, and ate next to nothing. - -This was the day which would decide her fate. Before evening she would -know whether this lovely and beloved home would remain hers, or whether -she must lose all, and go out to face a life of comparative poverty. - -If David had taken the nine o'clock train he was now on his way to -town, to consult Sir Deryck Brand. - -What would be Sir Deryck's opinion? She knew him for a man of many -ideals, holding particularly exalted views of marriage and of the -relation of man to woman. On the other hand, his judgment was clear and -well-balanced; he abhorred morbidness of any kind; his view of the -question would not be ecclesiastical; and his very genuine friendship -for herself would hold a strong brief in her behalf. - -No two men could be more unlike one another than David Rivers and Deryck -Brand. They were the two on earth of whom she held the highest opinion. -She trusted both, and knew she might rely implicitly upon the faithful -friendship of either. Yet her heart stood still, as she realised that -her whole future hung upon the conclusion reached in the conversation to -take place, that very morning, between these two men. - -She could almost see the consulting room in the doctor's house in -Wimpole Street; the doctor's calm strong face, as he listened intently -to David's statement of the case. There would be violets on the doctor's -table; and his finger-tips would meet very exactly, as he leaned back in -his revolving chair. - -David would look very thin and slight, in the large armchair, -upholstered in dark green leather, which had contained so many anxious -bodies, during the process of unfolding and revealing troubled minds. -David would tie himself up in knots, during the conversation. He would -cross one thin leg over the other, clasping the uppermost knee with long -nervous fingers. The whiteness of his forehead would accentuate the -beautiful wavy line of his thick black hair. Sir Deryck would see at -once in his eyes that look of the mystic, the enthusiast; and Sir -Deryck's commonsense would come down like a sledge-hammer! Ah, God grant -it might come down like a sledge-hammer! Yet, if David had made up his -mind, it would take more than a sledge-hammer to bend or to break it. - -Mrs. Vane passed her cup for more coffee, as she concluded a detailed -account of all she had had for tea at Eversleigh, the day before. "And -really, my dear Diana," she whispered, "if we could find out where to -obtain those scones, it would give us just cause to look forward every -day, to half-past four o'clock in the afternoon." - -"We _will_ find out," cried Diana, gaily. "Who would miss hours of daily -anticipation for lack of a little judicious pumping of the households -of our friends? We have but to instruct my maid to call upon their cook. -The thing is as good as done! You may embark upon your pleasurable -anticipations, Chappie.... If I were as stout as you, dear, I should -take one spoonful of cream, rather than two.... But, as we are -anticipating, tell me: What is to become of me, after I have duly been -bridesmaid at your wedding? I shall have to advertise for a stately but -_plain_ chaperon, who will not be snapped up by all the young sparks of -the neighbourhood." - -Mrs. Marmaduke Vane's many chains and necklets tinkled with the upheaval -of her delighted laughter. - -"Foo-foolish girl!" she whispered, spasmodically. "Why, of course, you -must get married, too." - -"Not I, sir," laughed Diana. "You will not find me importing a lord and -master into my own domain. My liberty is too dear unto me. And who but a -Rivers, should reign at Riverscourt?" - -"Marry your cousin, child," whispered Mrs. Vane, hoarsely. "One of your -silly objections to marriage is changing your name. Well--marry your -cousin, child, and remain Diana Rivers." - -"Your advice is excellent, dear Chappie. But we must lose no time in -laying your proposition before my cousin. He sails for Central Africa in -ten days." - -"Gracious heavens!" cried Mrs. Vane, surprised out of her usual thick -whisper. "I do not mean the thin missionary! I mean Rupert!" - -"Rupert, we have many times discussed and dismissed," said Diana. "The -'thin missionary,' as you very aptly call my cousin David, is quite a -new proposition. The idea is excellent and appeals to me. Let us----" - -The butler stood at her elbow with a telegram on a salver. - -She took it; opened it, and read it swiftly. - -"No answer, Rodgers; but I will see Knox in the hall, in five minutes. -Let us adjourn, my dear Chappie. I have a full morning before me; and, -by your leave, I intend spending it in the seclusion of the library. We -shall meet at luncheon." - -Diana moved swiftly across the hall, and stood in the recess of a bay -window overlooking the park. - -She heard Mrs. Vane go panting and tinkling upstairs, and close the -door of her boudoir. Then she drew David's message from the envelope, -and read it again. - -"If convenient kindly send motor for me early this morning. Not going to -town. Consultation unnecessary. Have decided." - -Diana screwed the paper and envelope into two little hard balls, between -her strong white fingers. - -"_Have decided._" Those two words were rock impregnable, when said by -David Rivers. No cannon of argument; no shrapnel of tears; no battery of -promises or reproaches, would prevail against the stronghold of his -will, if David Rivers had decided that he ought to refuse her request. - -It seemed to her that the words, "Consultation unnecessary," implied an -adverse decision; because, had he come round to her view of the matter, -he would have wished it confirmed by Sir Deryck's calm judgment; -whereas, if he had made up his mind to refuse, owing to conscientious -reasons, no contrary opinion, expressed by another, would serve to turn -him from his own idea of right. - -Already Diana seemed to be looking her last, on her childhood's lovely -and belovèd home. - -She turned from the window as her chauffeur stepped into the hall. - -"Knox," she said, "you will motor immediately to Brambledene, to fetch -Mr. Rivers from the Rectory. He wishes to see me on a matter of -business. His time is valuable; so do not lose a moment." - -The automaton in leather livery lifted his hand to his forehead in -respectful salute; turned smartly on his heel, and disappeared through a -swing-door. Five minutes later, Diana saw her Napier car flying down the -avenue. - -And soon--she would be chasing after omnibuses, in the Euston Road. And -grimy men, with no touch to their caps, would give her five dirty -coppers for her sixpence; and a grubby ticket, with a hole punched in -it. - -And David Rivers would be in Central Africa, educating savages. And it -could have made no possible difference to him, to have stood beside her -for a few minutes, in an empty church, and repeated a few words, -entailing no after consequences; whereas to her---- - -Diana's beautiful white teeth bit into her lower lip. She had always -been accustomed to men who did her bidding, without any "Why" or -"Wherefore." Yet she could not feel angry with David Rivers. He and his -Lord were so one in her mind. Whatever they decided must be right. - -As she crossed the hall, on her way to the staircase, she met the -butler. - -"Rodgers," she said, "Mr. Rivers wishes to see me on business this -morning. He will be here in about three quarters of an hour. When he -arrives show him into the library, and see that we are not disturbed." - -Diana mounted the stairs. Every line of carving on the dark oak -balustrades was dear and was familiar. - -The clear wintry sun shone through stained glass windows on the first -landing, representing Rivers knights, in silver armour, leaning on their -shields. One of these, with a red cross upon his breast, his plumed -helmet held in his arm, his close-cropped dark head rising firm and -strong above his corselet, was not unlike David Rivers. - -"Ah," said Diana, "if he had but cared a little! Not enough to make him -troublesome; but just enough to make him glad to do this thing for me." - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -DAVID'S DECISION - - -Diana found it quite impossible to await in the library, the return of -the motor. - -She moved restlessly to and fro in her own bedroom, from the windows of -which she could see far down the avenue. - -When at last her car came speeding through the trees, it seemed to her a -swiftly approaching Nemesis, a relentless hurrying Fate, which she could -neither delay nor avoid. It ran beneath the portico; paused for one -moment; then glided away towards the garage. She had not seen David -alight; but she knew he must now be in the house. - -She waited a few moments, then passed slowly down the stairs. - -Oh, lovely and belovèd home of childhood's days! - - * * * * * - -White and cold, yet striving bravely after complete self-control, Diana -crossed the hall, and turned the handle of the library door. - -As she entered, David was standing with his back to her, looking up -intently at the portrait of Falcon Rivers. - -He turned as he heard the door close, and came forward, a casual remark -upon his lips, expressing the hope that it had not been inconvenient to -send the motor so early--then saw Diana's face. - -Instantly he took her trembling hands in his, saying gently: "It is all -right, Miss Rivers. I can do as you wish. I am quite clear about it, -to-day. You must forgive me for not having been able to decide -yesterday." - -Diana drew away her hands and clasped them upon her breast. - -Her eyes dilated. - -"David? Oh, David! You will? You will! You will----!" - -Her voice broke. She gazed at him, helplessly--dumbly. - -David's eyes, as he looked back into hers, were so calmly tender, that -it somehow gave her the feeling of being a little child. His voice was -very steadfast and unfaltering. He smiled reassuringly at Diana. - -"I hope to have the honour and privilege, Miss Rivers," he said, "of -marrying you on the morning of the day I sail for Central Africa." - -Diana swayed, for one second; then recovered, and walked over to the -mantel-piece. - -Not for nothing was she a descendant of those old knights in silver -armour, in the window on the staircase. She leaned her arms upon the -mantel-piece, and laid her head upon them. She stood thus quite still, -and quite silent, fighting for self-control. - -David, waiting silently behind her, lifted his eyes from that bowed -head, with its mass of golden hair, and encountered the keen quizzical -look of the portrait above her. - -"_I shall win_," said Uncle Falcon silently to David, over Diana's bowed -head. But David, who knew he was about to defeat Uncle Falcon's purpose -utterly, looked back in silent defiance. - -The amber eyes twinkled beneath their shaggy brows. "_I shall win, young -man_," said Uncle Falcon. - -Presently Diana lifted her head. Her lashes were wet, but the colour had -returned to her cheeks. Her lips smiled, and her eyes grew softly -bright. - -"David," she said, "you must think me _such_ a goose! But you can't -possibly know what my home means to me; my home and--and everything. Do -you know, when I read your telegram saying: 'Consultation unnecessary. -Have decided,' I felt quite convinced you had decided that you could not -do it; and, oh, David, I have left Riverscourt forever, a hundred times -during this terrible hour! Really it would have been kinder to have -said: 'I will marry you,' in the telegram." - -David smiled. "I am afraid that might have caused a good deal of comment -at both post-offices," he said. "But I was a thoughtless ass not to have -put in a clear indication as to which way the decision had gone." - -"Hush!" cried Diana, with uplifted finger. "Don't call yourself names, -my dear David, before the person who is going to promise to honour and -obey you!" Diana's spirits were rising rapidly. "Now sit down and tell -me all about it. What made you feel you could do it? Why didn't you need -to consult Sir Deryck? Did you come to a decision last night, or this -morning? You will keep to it, David?" - -David sat down in an armchair opposite to Diana, who had flung herself -into Uncle Falcon's. - -The portrait, hanging high above their heads, twinkled down on both of -them. - -"_I shall win_," said Uncle Falcon. - -David did not "tie himself up in knots" to-day. He sat very still, -looking at Diana with those calm steadfast eyes, which made her feel so -young and inconsequential, and far removed from him. - -He looked ill and worn, but happy and at rest; and, as he talked, his -face wore an expression she had often noted when, in preaching, he -became carried away by his subject; a radiance, as of inner glory -shining out; a look as of being detached from the world, and independent -of all actual surroundings. - -"Undoubtedly I shall keep to it, Miss Rivers," he said, "unless, for any -reason, you change your mind. And I saw light on the subject this -morning." - -"Oh, then you 'slept on it,' as our old nurses used to say?" - -David smiled. - -"I never had an old nurse," he said. "My mother was my nurse." - -Diana did not notice that her question had been parried. "And what made -you feel it right this morning?" she asked. - -David hesitated. - -"Light came--through--the Word," he said at last, slowly. - -"Ha!" cried Diana. "I felt sure you would look for it there. And I sat -up nearly all night--I mean until midnight--searching my Bible and -Prayer-book. But the only applicable thing I found was: 'I will not fail -David.' It would have been more comforting to have found: 'David will -not fail _me_!'" - -David laughed. - -"We shall not fail each other, Miss Rivers." - -"Why do you call me 'Miss Rivers'? It is quite absurd to do so, now we -are engaged." - -"I do not call ladies by their Christian names, when I have known them -only a few days," said David. - -"Not when you are going to marry them?" - -"I have not been going to marry them, before," replied David. - -"Oh, don't be tiresome, Cousin David! Are you determined to accentuate -our unusual circumstances?" - -David's clear eyes met hers, and held them. - -"I think they require accentuating," he said, slowly. - -Diana's eyes fell before his. She felt reproved. She realised that in -the reaction of her immense relief, she was taking the whole thing too -lightly. - -"Cousin David," she said, humbly, "indeed I do realise the greatness of -this that you are doing for me. It means so much; and yet it means so -little. And just because it means so little, and never can mean more, it -was difficult to you to feel it right to do it. Is not that so? Do you -know, I think it would help me so much, if you would tell me exactly -what seemed to you doubtful; and exactly what it was which dispelled -that doubt." - -"My chief difficulty," replied David, speaking very slowly, without -looking at Diana--"my chief difficulty was: that I could not consider it -right, in the sight of God, to enter into matrimony for reasons other -than those for which matrimony was ordained; and to do so, knowing that -each distinctly understood that there was never to be any question of -fulfilling any of the ordinary conditions and obligations of that sacred -tie." - -David paused. - -"In fact," he said, after a few moments of deliberation, "we proposed -marrying each other for the sake of other people." - -"Yes," cried Diana, eagerly; "your savages, and my tenantry. We wrong -no one; we benefit many. Therefore--it _must_ be right." - -"Not so," resumed David, gently. "We are never justified in doing wrong -in order that good may result. No amount of after good can justify one -wrong or crooked action. It seemed to me that, according to the revealed -mind and will of God, the only admissible considerations in marriage -were those affecting the man and the woman, themselves; that to wed one -another, entirely for the sake of benefiting other people, would make of -that sacred act an impious unreality, and could not be done by those -seeking to live in accordance with the Divine Will." - -Again David paused. - -"Well?" breathed Diana, rather wide-eyed and anxious. This undoubted -impediment to her wishes, sounded insuperable. - -David heard the trepidation in her voice, and smiled at her, -reassuringly. - -"Well," he said, "I was guided to a passage in the Word--a wonderful Old -Testament story--which proved that, at all events in one case, God -Himself had put out of consideration the man and the woman, their -personal happiness, their home together, and had dealt with that wedded -life in a manner which was solely to benefit a community of people. -This one case was enough for me. It furnished the answer to all my -questions; set at rest all my doubts. True, the case was unique. But so -is ours. Undoubtedly it took place many centuries ago; but were not the -Divine Law and Will, in their entirety, revealed in what we call 'olden -days'? Biblical manners and customs may vary according to clime, -century, or conditions; but Bible ethics are the same from Genesis to -Revelation; they never vary throughout the centuries, and are therefore -changeless for all time. I stand or fall by the Word of my God, revealed -in Eden; just as confidently as I stand or fall by the Word of my God, -spoken from the rainbow throne of Revelation; or, as it shall one day be -spoken, from the great white throne, which is yet to come. It is the -same, yesterday, to-day, and forever. I hold the Bible to be inspired -from the first word to the last. Let one line go, and you may as well -give up the whole. If men begin to pick and choose, the whole great book -is swept into uncertainty. Either it is impregnable rock beneath our -feet, or it is mere shifting sand of man's concoction and contrivance; -in which case, where can essential certainties be found?" - -David's eyes shone. His voice rang, clarion clear in its assurance. He -had forgotten Diana; he had forgotten himself; he had forgotten the -vital question under discussion. - -Her anxious eyes recalled him. - -"Ah, where were we? Yes; the Divine ethics are unchangeable. We can say -of our God: 'He is the Father of Lights, with Whom is no variableness, -neither shadow that is cast by turning.' Therefore there is no shadow in -the clear light which came to me last night--from above, I honestly -believe. I may be wrong, Miss Rivers; a man can but act according to his -conscientious convictions. I am convinced, to-day, that your suggestion -is God's will for us, in order that we may be made a greater blessing to -many. I believe I was guided to that passage so that it might dispel a -doubt, which otherwise would certainly have remained an insurmountable -obstacle in the way of the fulfilment of your wishes." - -"Who were the people?" asked Diana, eagerly. "Where was the passage?" - -David turned his head, and looked out of the window. - -He had expected this, but, until Diana actually put the question, he had -postponed a definite decision as to what he should answer. - -He looked at the clear frosty sky. A slight wind was stirring the -leafless branches of the beeches. He could see the powdery snow fall -from them in glistening showers. - -He did not wish Diana to read that passage in Ezekiel. It seemed to him, -she could not fail to know at once, that _she_ was the desire of his -eyes, if she read it. This would dawn on her, as it had dawned on him--a -sudden beam of blinding illumination--and there would be an end to any -service he might otherwise have rendered her. - -"I would rather you did not read the passage," he said. "Much of it is -not applicable. In fact, it required logical deduction, and reasoning by -analogy, in order to arrive at the main point." - -"And do you not consider me capable of logical deduction, or of -reasoning by analogy, Cousin David?" - -He flushed. - -"How stupidly I express myself. Of course I did not mean that. -But--there are things in the story, Miss Rivers, I do not wish you to -see." - -Diana laughed. - -"My good Cousin David, it is quite too late to begin shielding me! In -fact I never have been the carefully guarded 'young person.' I have -read heaps of naughty books, of which, I daresay, you have never even -heard!" - -David winced. "Once more, I must have expressed myself badly," he said. -"I will not try again. But you must forgive me if I still decline to -give you the passage." - -"Very well. But I shall hunt until I find it," smiled Diana, in playful -defiance. "Did you use a concordance last night, Cousin David? I did. I -looked out 'David'--pages and pages of it! I wondered whether you were -looking out 'Diana.'" - -He smiled. "I should only have found 'Diana of the Ephesians,'" he said; -"and, though she fell mysteriously from heaven, she was quite unlike my -Lady of Mystery." - -"Who arrived in a motor-car," laughed Diana. "Do you know, when you told -me you had called me--that, I thought it quite the most funnily -unsuitable name I had ever heard. I realised how the Hunt would roar if -they knew." - -"You see," said David, "the Greek meaning of 'mystery' is: 'What is -known only to the initiated.'" - -"And you were not yet initiated?" suggested Diana. - -"No," replied David. "The Hunt was not initiated." - -Diana looked at him keenly. Cousin David was proving less easy to -understand than she had imagined. - -"Let us talk business," she said. "I will send for Mr. Inglestry this -afternoon. How immensely relieved he will be! He can manage all legal -details for us--the special license, and so forth. Of course we must be -married in London; and I should like the wedding to be in St. Botolph's, -that dear old church in Bishopsgate; because Saint Botolph is the patron -saint of travellers, and that church is one where people go to pray for -safe-keeping, before a voyage; or for absent friends who are travelling. -I can return there to pray for you, whenever I am in town. So shall it -be St. Botolph's, David?" - -"If you wish it," he said. - -"You see, we could not have the wedding here or at Brambledene. It would -be such a nine days' wonder. We should never get through the crowds of -people who would come to gaze at us. I don't intend to make any mystery -of it. I shall send a notice of our engagement to the papers. But I -shall say of the wedding: 'To take place shortly, owing to the early -date already fixed for the departure of the Rev. David Rivers to Central -Africa.' Then no one need know the exact day. Chappie and Mr. Inglestry -can be our witnesses; and you might get Sir Deryck. What time does the -boat start?" - -"In the afternoon, from Southampton. The special train leaves Waterloo -at noon." - -"Capital!" cried Diana. "We can be married at half-past ten, and drive -straight to the station, afterwards. There is sure to be a luncheon-car -on the train. We can have our wedding-breakfast _en route_, and I can -see you off from Southampton. I have always wanted to see over one of -those big liners. I may see you off, mayn't I, Cousin David?" - -"If you wish," he said, gently. - -"I can send my own motor down to Southampton the day before, and it will -be an easy run back home, from there. We can hire a car for the wedding. -Wouldn't that be a good plan?" - -"Quite a good plan," agreed David. - -"God-papa shall marry us," said Diana; "and then I can make him leave -out anything in the service I don't want to have read." - -David sat up instantly. - -"No," he said; "to that I cannot agree. Not one word must be omitted. If -we are married according to the prescribed rules of our Church, we must -not pick and choose as to what our Church shall say to us, as we humbly -stand before her altar. I refuse to go through the service if a word is -omitted." - -Diana's eyes flashed rebellion. - -"My dear Cousin David, have you read the wedding service?" - -"I know it by heart," said David Rivers. - -"Then you must surely know that it would simply make a farce of it, to -read the whole, at such a wedding as ours." - -"Nothing can make a farce of a Church service," said David firmly. "We -may make a sham of our own part in it; but every word the Church will -say to us, will be right and true." - -"I _must_ have certain passages omitted," flashed Diana. - -"Very well," said David, quietly. "Then there can be no wedding." - -"David, you are unreasonable and obstinate!" - -David regarded her quietly, and made no answer. - -Diana's angry flush was suddenly modified by dimples. - -"Is this what people call finding one's master?" she inquired. "It is -fortunate for our peace, dear Cousin, that we part on the wedding-day! I -am accustomed to having my own way." - -David's eyes, as he looked into hers, were sad, yet tender. - -"The Church will require you, Miss Rivers, to promise to obey. Even your -god-father will hardly go on with the ceremony, if you decline to repeat -the word. I don't think I am a tyrant, or a particularly domineering -person. But if, between the time we leave the church and the sailing of -my boat, I should feel it necessary to ask you to do--or not to do--a -thing, I shall expect you to obey." - -"Brute!" cried Diana. "I doubt if I shall venture so far as the station. -Just to the church door, we might arrive, without a wrangle!" Then she -sprang up, all smiles and sunshine. "Come, my lord and master! An it -please you, I hear the luncheon-gong. Also the approach of Chappie, who -responds to the call of the gong with a prompt and unhesitating -obedience, which is more than wifely! Quick, my dear David, your -hand.... Come in, Chappie! We want you to congratulate us! Your advice -to me at breakfast appeared so excellent, that I have lost no time in -following it. I have promised to marry my Cousin David, before he sails -for Central Africa!" - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -THE EVE OF EPIPHANY - - -It was the eve of the wedding-day. - -Diana lay back in an easy-chair in the sitting-room of the suite she -always occupied at the Hotel Metropole, when in town. - -A cheerful fire blazed in the grate. Every electric light in the -room--and there were many--was turned on. Even the little portable lamp -on the writing-table, beneath its soft silken shade, illumined its own -corner. Diana's present mood required a blaze of light everywhere. The -gorgeous colouring, the rapid movement, the continual bustle and rush of -life in a huge London hotel, exactly suited her just now; especially as -the movement was noiseless, on the thick Persian carpets; and the rush -went swiftly up and down, in silently rapid elevators. - -Within five days of her wedding, Diana had reached a point, when she -could no longer stand the old oak staircase; the fatherly deportment of -Rodgers; and meals alone with Mrs. Marmaduke Vane. Also David, pleading -many pressing engagements in town, came no more to Riverscourt. - -So Diana had packed her chaperon and her maid into the motor; and flown -up to London, to be near David. - - * * * * * - -There was, for Diana, a peculiar and indefinable happiness in the days -that followed. It was so long since she had had anybody who, in some -sort, really belonged to her. David, when once they had met again, -proved more amenable to reason than Diana had dared to hope. He allowed -himself to be taken about in the motor to his various appointments each -day. He let Diana superintend his simple outfit; he even let her -supplement it, where she considered necessary. He was certainly very -meek, for a tyrant; and very humbly gentle, for a despotic lord and -master. - -When he found Diana's heart was set upon it, he allowed her to pay for -the elaborate medicine-chest he was taking out, and spent the money he -had earned for this purpose, on the wedding-ring; and on a simple, yet -beautiful, guard-ring. This, Diana wore already, upon the third finger -of her left hand; a plain gold band, with just one diamond, cut star -shape, inset. Round the inside of the ring, David had had engraved the -three words: Gold, frankincense, and myrrh. - -Diana, who quickly formed habits, had already got into the way of -twisting this ring, with the diamond turned inwards, when anything tried -or annoyed her. Rather often, during those few days, the stone was -hidden from Mrs. Vane's complacent sight; but when David was with her, -it always shone upon her hand. - -One afternoon, when they were out together, he mentioned, with pleasure, -having secured a berth in the cabin he had had on the homeward voyage, -on that same ship. - -"It will seem quite home-like," said David. - -"You have it to yourself?" inquired Diana. - -"Oh, no!" replied David. "Two other fellows will share it with me. A -state-room all to myself, would be too palatial for a missionary." - -"But supposing the two other fellows are not the kind of people you like -to be cooped up with at close quarters, during a long voyage?" - -"Oh, one chances that," replied David. "And it is always possible to -make the best of the most adverse circumstances." - -Diana became suddenly anxious to be rid of David. At their next place of -call, she arranged to leave him for twenty minutes. - -No sooner had David disappeared, than Diana ordered her chauffeur to -speed to Cockspur Street. - -She swept into the office of the steamship company, asking for a plan of -the boat, the manager of the booking department, the secretary of the -company, and the captain of the ship, if he happened to be handy, all in -a breath, and in so regal a manner, that she soon found herself in an -inner sanctum, and in the presence of a supreme official. While there, -after much consultation over a plan of the ship, she sat down and wrote -a cheque for so large a sum, that she was bowed out to her motor by the -great man, himself. - -"And mind," said Diana, turning in the doorway, "no mention of my name -is to appear. It is to be done 'with the compliments of the Company.'" - -"Your instructions shall be implicitly obeyed, madam," said the supreme -official, with a final bow. - -"Nice man," remarked Diana to herself, as the motor glided off into the -whirl of traffic. "Now that is the kind of person it would be quite -possible to marry, and live with, without ructions. No amount of -training would ever induce David to bow and implicitly obey -instructions." - -The ready dimples peeped out, as Diana leaned back, enjoying the narrow -shaves by which her chauffeur escaped collisions all along Piccadilly. - -"'Between the time we leave the church, and the sailing of my boat ... I -shall expect you to _obey_'," she whispered, in gleeful amusement. "Poor -David! I wonder how he will behave between Waterloo and Southampton. -And, oh, I wonder how _I_ shall behave! I am inclined to think it might -be wise to let Chappie come with us." - -Diana's eyes danced. It never failed to provide her with infinite -amusement, when her chaperon and David got on each other's nerves. - -"No, I won't do that," she decided, as they flew up Park Lane; "it would -be cowardly. And he can't bully me much, in two hours and a half. Poor -David!" - -So the days had passed, and the eve of the wedding had now arrived. - -David had refused to dine and spend the evening, pleading a promise of -long standing to his friend, the doctor. But they had had tea together, -an hour before; Mrs. Marmaduke Vane absorbing most of the conversation, -and nearly all the tea cake; and David had risen and made his adieux, -before Diana could think of any pretext for dismissing her chaperon. - -She would not now meet David again, until they stood together, on the -following morning, at the chancel step of St. Botolph's Church. - -All preparations were complete; yet Diana was now awaiting something -unforeseen and unexpected. - -David had not left the room ten minutes--Mrs. Vane was still discussing -the perfectly appointed teas, the charming roseleaf china, and debating -which frock-coated official in the office would be the correct person of -whom to make inquiries concerning the particular brand of the -marmalade--when the telephone-bell rang sharply; and Diana, going to the -mantel-piece, took up the receiver. - -Mr. Inglestry was speaking from his club. He must see her at once, on a -matter of importance. Mr. Ford, of the firm of Ford & Davis, of -Riversmead, was with him, having brought up a sealed package to hand -over to Miss Rivers in his--Mr. Inglestry's--presence. Would they find -her at home and disengaged, if they called, in half an hour's time? - -"Certainly," said Diana, "I will be here." Adding, as an after-thought, -before ringing off: "Mr. Inglestry! Are you there?--No, wait a minute, -Central!--Mr. Inglestry! What is it about?" just for the fun of hearing -old Inglestry sigh at the other end of the telephone and patiently -explain once more that the package was sealed. - -There was no telephone at Riverscourt, and Diana found endless amusement -in a place where she had one in her sitting-room, and one in her -bedroom. She loved ringing people up, when Mrs. Vane was present; -holding mysterious one-sided conversations, for the express purpose of -exciting her chaperon's curiosity to a positively maddening extent. One -evening she rang up David, and gave him a bad five minutes. She could -say things into the telephone to David, which she could not possibly -have said with his grave clear eyes upon her. And David always took you -quite seriously, even at the other end of the telephone; which made it -all the more amusing; especially with Chappie whispering hoarsely from -the sofa; "My _dear_ Diana! What _can_ your Cousin David be saying!" -when, as a matter of fact, poor Cousin David was merely gasping -inarticulately, unable to make head or tail of Diana's remarks. - - * * * * * - -But now Diana waited; a query of perplexity on her brow. Mr. Ford was -the young lawyer sent for in haste by Uncle Falcon, shortly before his -death. What on earth was in the sealed package? - -All legal matters had gone forward smoothly, so far, in the experienced -hands of Mr. Inglestry. In his presence, David had quietly acquiesced in -all Diana wished, and in all Mr. Inglestry arranged. Settlements had -been signed; Diana's regal gifts to David's work had been duly put into -form and ratified. Only--once or twice, as David's eyes met his, the -older man had surprised in them a look of suffering and of tragedy, -which perplexed and haunted him. What further development lay before -this unexpected solution to all difficulties, arranged so suddenly, at -the eleventh hour, by his fair client? The old family lawyer was too -wise to ask many questions, yet too shrewd not to foresee possible -complications in this strange and unusual marriage. Of one thing, -however, he was certain: David Rivers was a man to be trusted. - - - - -CHAPTER XV - -THE CODICIL - - -As the gilt clock on the mantel-piece hurriedly struck six, corroborated -in the distance by the slow booming of Big Ben, a page boy knocked at -Diana's sitting-room door, announcing two gentlemen waiting below, to -see Miss Rivers. - -"Show them up," commanded Diana; and, rising, stood on the hearthrug to -receive them. - -Mr. Inglestry entered, suave and fatherly, as usual; followed by a dark -young man, who, hat in hand, looked with nervous admiration at the tall -girl in green velvet, standing straight and slim, with her back to the -fire. - -She shook hands with Mr. Inglestry, who presented Mr. Ford, of the firm -of Ford & Davis, of Riversmead. - -"Well?" said Diana. - -She did not sit down herself, nor did she offer a chair to Mr. Ford, of -the firm of Ford & Davis, of Riversmead. A gleam of sudden anger had -come into her eyes at sight of the young man. She evidently intended to -arrive at once at the reason for this unexpected interview. - -So Mr. Ford presented a sealed envelope to Diana. - -"Under private instructions, Miss Rivers," he said, with a somewhat -pompous air of importance; "under private instructions, from your uncle, -the late Mr. Falcon Rivers, of Riverscourt, I am to deliver this -envelope unopened into your hands, in the presence of Mr. Inglestry, on -the eve of your marriage; or, should no marriage previously have taken -place, on the eve of the anniversary of the death of your late uncle." - -Diana took the envelope, and read the endorsement in her uncle's -characteristic and unmistakable handwriting. - -"So I see," she said. "And furthermore, if you carry out these -instructions, and deliver this envelope at the right time, and in every -respect in the manner arranged, payment of fifty guineas is to be made -to you, out of the estate, for so doing. Also, I see I am instructed to -open this envelope in the presence of Mr. Inglestry alone. Well, you -have exactly carried out your instructions, Mr. Ford, and no doubt Mr. -Inglestry will see that you receive your fee. Good-evening." - -"Wait for me downstairs, Ford," said Mr. Inglestry, nervously. "You -will find papers in the reading-room. Miss Rivers is naturally anxious -to acquaint herself with the contents of this package." - -Mr. Ford, of the firm of Ford & Davis, of Riversmead, bowed himself out -of the room. He afterwards described Miss Rivers, of Riverscourt, as "a -haughty young woman; but handsome as they make 'em!" - -Alone with her old friend and adviser, Diana turned to him, impetuously. - -"What is the meaning of this?" she inquired, wrath and indignation in -her voice. "Why did my uncle instruct that greasy young man to intrude -upon me with a sealed letter from himself, a year after his death?" - -"Open it, my dear; open it and see," counselled Mr. Inglestry, removing -his glasses and polishing them with a silk pocket-handkerchief. "Sit -down quietly, and open it. And it is not prudent to allude to Mr. Ford -as 'greasy,' when the door has barely closed upon him. I cannot conceive -what Mr. Ford has done, to bring upon himself your evident displeasure." - -"Done!" cried Diana. "Why I knew him the moment he entered the room! He -had the impudence, the other day, to join the hunt on a hired hack, and -to ride in among the hounds, while they were picking up the scent. Of -all the undesirable bounders----" - -"My dear young lady," implored Mr. Inglestry, "do lower your voice. Mr. -Ford is probably still upon the--the, ah--mat. He is merely the bearer -of your uncle's missive. I do beg of you to turn your thoughts from -offences in the hunting-field, and to give your attention to the matter -in hand." - -"Well, shoo him off the mat," said Diana, "and hustle him into the lift! -I decline to receive letters from a person who comes into the room -heralded by hair-oil.... All right! Don't look so distressed. Sit down -in this comfy chair, and we will see what surprise Uncle Falcon has -prepared for us. Really, when one comes to think of it, a letter from a -person who has been dead a year is a rather wonderful thing to receive." - -Diana seated herself on the sofa, after pushing forward an armchair for -the old lawyer. Then, in the full blaze of the electric light, she -opened the sealed envelope, and drew out a letter addressed to herself, -in her uncle's own handwriting. A folded paper from within it, fell -unheeded on her lap. - -She read the letter aloud to Mr. Inglestry. As she read her grey eyes -widened; her colour came and went; but her voice did not falter. - -And this was Uncle Falcon's letter: - - - "MY DEAR NIECE: - - "If Ford does his duty--and most men do their duty for - fifty guineas--you will be reading these words either on - the eve of your wedding-day, or on the eve of the day on - which you will be preparing to leave Riverscourt, and to - give up all that which, since my death, has been your own. - - "Feeling sure that I was right, my dear Diana, in our many - arguments, and that I have won in the contest of our wills, - I would bet a good deal--if betting is allowed in the other - world--that you are reading this on the eve of your - wedding-day--am I right, Inglestry, old chap?--having found - a man who will soon teach you that wifehood and motherhood - and dependence on the stronger sex are a woman's true - vocation, and her best chance of real happiness in life. - - "If so, look up, honestly, and say: 'Uncle Falcon, you have - won'; and I hereby forgive Inglestry all his fuss and - bluster, and you, the obstinacy of years--and may Heaven - bless the wedding-day. - - "But--ah, there's a 'but' in all things human! Perhaps the - world where I shall be, when you are reading these lines, - is the only place where buts cease to be, and where all - things go straight on to fulfilment. - - "But--your happiness, my own dear girl, is of too much real - importance for me to risk it, on the possible chance of the - right man not having turned up; or of you--true Rivers that - you are--proving obstinate to the end. - - "Therefore--enclosed herewith you will find a later codicil - than that known to you and Inglestry, duly witnessed by - Ford and his clerk, nullifying the other, and leaving you - my entire property as stated in my will, subject to no - conditions whatsoever. - - "Thus, my dear Diana, if you are on the eve of preparing to - leave Riverscourt, you may unpack your trunks, and stay - there, with your uncle's love and blessing. It is all your - own. - - "Or--but knowing you as I do, I hardly think this - likely--if you are on the eve of making a marriage which is - not one of love, and which is causing you in prospect - distress and unhappiness--why, break it off, child, and - send the man packing. If he is marrying you for your money, - he deserves the lesson; and if he loves you for your - splendid self, why he is not much of a man if he has been - engaged to such a girl as my niece Diana, without having - been able to win her, before the eve of the wedding-day! - - "Anyway, you now have a free hand, child; and if my whim of - testing fate for you with the first codicil, has put you in - a tight place, old Inglestry will see you through, and you - must forgive your departed uncle, who loves you more than - you ever knew, - - "FALCON RIVERS." - -Diana dropped the letter, flung herself down on the sofa cushions, and -burst into a passion of weeping. - -Mr. Inglestry, helpless and dismayed, took off his glasses and polished -them with his silk pocket-handkerchief; put them on again; leaned -forward and patted Diana's shoulder; even ventured to stroke her shining -hair, repeating, hurriedly: "It can all be arranged, my dear. I beg of -you not to upset yourself. It can all be arranged." - -Then he picked up the codicil, and examined it carefully. It was correct -in every detail. It simply nullified the private codicil, and confirmed -the original will. - -"It can all be arranged, my dear," he repeated, laying a fatherly hand -on Diana's heaving shoulder. "Do not upset yourself over this -unfortunate marriage complication. I will undertake----" - -"It is not that!" cried Diana, sitting up, and pushing back her rumpled -hair. "Oh, you unimaginative old thing! Can't you understand? All these -months it has been so hard to have to think that Uncle Falcon's love for -me had really been worth so little, that, in order to prove himself -right on one silly point, he could treat me as he did in that cruel -codicil. He could not have foreseen the simply miraculous way in which -Providence and my Cousin David were coming to my rescue, at the eleventh -hour. Otherwise it must have meant, either a hateful marriage, or the -loss of home, and money, and everything I hold most dear. But by far the -worst loss of all was to lose faith in the truest love I had ever known. -In my whole life, no love had ever seemed to me so true, so faithful, so -completely to be trusted, as Uncle Falcon's. To have lost my belief in -it, was beginning to make of me a hard and a bitter woman. That codicil -was costing me more than home and income. And now it turns out to have -been merely a test--a risky test, indeed! Think if either of us had told -Rupert of it, before the time specified; or if I had been going to marry -Rupert or any other worldly-minded man, who would have made endless -trouble over being jilted! But--dear old thing! He didn't think of that. -He was so sure his plan would lead to my making a happy marriage, -notwithstanding my prejudices and my principles. He was wrong, of -course. But the main point brought out by this second codicil is: that -he really cared. I can forgive him all the rest, now I know that Uncle -Falcon loved me too well really to risk spoiling my life." - -Diana dried her eyes; then raised her head, snuffing the air with the -keenness of one of her own splendid hounds. - -"Oh, Mr. Inglestry," she said; "do go and see if that person is still on -the mat! I have been talking at the top of my voice, and I believe I -scent hair-oil!" - -The old lawyer tiptoed to the door, opened it cautiously, and looked up -and down the brightly lighted corridor. From the distance came the -constant clang of the closing of the elevator gates, and the sharp ting -of electric bells. - -He shut the door, and returned to his seat. - -Diana was reading the codicil. - -"I wonder why he called in that Ford creature," she said. "Why did he -not intrust this envelope to you?" - -"My dear," suggested Mr. Inglestry, "knowing my affection for you, -knowing how deeply I have your interests at heart, your uncle may have -feared that, if I saw you in much perplexity, in great distress of mind -over the matter, I might have let fall some hint--have given you some -indication----" - -"Why, of course!" said Diana. "Think how you would have caught it -to-day, if you hadn't. You would have been much more afraid of me, on -earth, than of Uncle Falcon, in heaven!" - -Mr. Inglestry lifted his hand in mute protest; then took off his -glasses, and polished them. The remarks of Miss Rivers were so apt to be -perplexing and unanswerable. - -"Let us leave that question, my dear young lady," he said. "Your uncle -adopted a remarkably shrewd course for attaining the end he desired. -Meanwhile, it remains for us to deal with the present situation. I -advise that we send immediately for your cousin, David Rivers. Of course -this marriage of--of convenience, need not now take place." - -Diana looked straight at the old lawyer for a few moments, in blank -silence. She turned the ring upon her finger, so that the diamond was -hidden. Then she said, slowly: - -"You suggest that we send for David Rivers, and tell him that--this -second codicil having turned up--we shall not, after all, require his -services: that he may sail for Central Africa to-morrow, without going -through the marriage ceremony with me?" - -"Just so," said Mr. Inglestry, "just so." Something in Diana's eyes -arresting further inspiration, he repeated rather nervously: "Just so." - -"Well, I absolutely decline to do anything of the kind," flashed Diana. -"Think of the intolerable humiliation to David! After overcoming his own -doubts in the matter; after disposing of his first conscientious -scruples; after making up his mind to go through with this for my sake, -and being so faithful about it. After all the papers we have signed, and -the arrangements we have made! To be sent for, and calmly told his -services are no longer required! Besides--though I don't propose to be -much to him, I know--I am all he has in the world. He will sail -to-morrow feeling that at least there is one person on this earth who -belongs to him, and to whom he belongs; one person to whom he can write -freely, and who cares to know of his joys or sorrows; his successes or -failures. Poor boy! Could I possibly, to avoid a little bother to -myself, rob him of this? I--who owe him more than I can ever express? -Besides, he could never--after such a slight on my part--accept the -money I am giving to his work. In fact, I doubt if he would accept so -much, even now, were it not that he believes I owe my whole fortune to -the fact of his marriage with me." - -Diana turned the ring again; and the diamond shone like a star on her -hand. - -"No, Mr. Inglestry," she said, with decision. "The marriage will take -place to-morrow, as arranged; and my Cousin David must never know of -this new codicil." - -The lawyer looked doubtful and dissatisfied. - -"The fact of the codicil remains," he said. "Your whole property is now -safely your own, subject to no conditions whatever. You have nothing to -gain by this marriage with your cousin; you might--eventually--have -serious cause to regret the loss of liberty it will entail. I do not -consider that we are justified in allowing the ceremony to take place -without informing him of the complete change of circumstances, and -acquainting him with the existence of this second codicil." - -"Very well," said Diana. - -With a sudden movement, she rose to her feet, whirled round on the -hearthrug, tore the codicil to fragments, and flung them into the -flames. - -"There!" she cried, towering over the astonished little lawyer in the -large armchair. "Now, no second codicil exists! I can still keep my -restored faith in the love of Uncle Falcon; but I shall owe my home, my -fortune, and all I possess, to my husband, David Rivers." - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - -IN OLD ST. BOTOLPH'S - - -At twenty minutes past ten, on the morning of the Feast of Epiphany, -David Rivers stood in the empty church of St Botolph's, Bishopsgate, -awaiting his bride. - -Perhaps no man ever came to his wedding looking less like a bridegroom -than did David Rivers. - -Diana had scorned the suggestion, first mooted by Mrs. Marmaduke Vane, -of clerical broadcloth of more fashionable cut, to be worn by David for -this one occasion. - -"Rubbish, my dear Chappie!" had said Diana. "You are just the sort of -person who would marry the clothes, without giving much thought to the -man inside them. _I_ don't propose to be in white satin; so why should -David be in broadcloth? I shall not be crowned with orange-blossom, so -why should David go to the expense of an unnecessary topper? He could -hardly wear it out, among his savages in Central Africa. They might get -hold of it; make of it a fetish; and, eventually, build for it a little -shrine, and worship it. An article might then be written for a -missionary magazine, entitled: 'The Apotheosis of the silk top-hat of -the Rev. David Rivers!' I shall not wear a train, so why should David -appear in a long coat. Have a new one for the occasion, David, because -undoubtedly this little friend, though dear, is an _old_ friend. But -keep to your favourite cut. You would alarm me in tails or clerical -skirts, even more than you do already." - -So David on his wedding morning looked, quite simply, what he really -was: the young enthusiast, to whom outward appearance meant little or -nothing, just ready to start on his journey to Central Africa. - -His friend, the doctor, with whom David had spent his last night in -England, might, with his frock coat, lavender tie, and buttonhole, -easily have been mistaken for the bridegroom, as the two stood together -in the chancel of St. Botolph's. - -"I cannot be your best man, old boy," Sir Deryck had said, "because, -years ago, I did, myself, the best thing a man can do. But I will come -to your wedding, and see you through, if it is really to take place at -half-past ten in the morning, and if I may be off immediately -afterwards. You are marrying a splendid girl, old chap. I only wish she -were going with you to Ugonduma. Yet, I admit, you are doing the right -thing in refusing to let her face the dangers and hardships of such life -and travel. Only--David, old man--if you want any married life at all, -you must be back within the year. With this unexpected attraction -drawing you to England and home, you will hardly keep to your former -resolution, or remain for longer in that deadly climate." - -David had smiled, bravely, and gripped the doctor's hand. "I must see -how the work goes on," he said; and prayed to be forgiven the evasion. - -Mr. Goldsworthy was robing in the vestry, and kept peeping out, in order -to make his entry into the chancel just before Diana's arrival. There -could not, under the circumstances, be much processioning in connection -with this wedding; but, what there was should be dignified, and might as -well be effectively timed. - -Mr. Goldsworthy had passed through some strenuous moments in the vestry -with David, over the question of omissions or non-omissions from the -wedding service. He knew Diana's point of view; in fact he had received -private instructions from his god-daughter to bully David into -submission--"just as Sarah bullies you, you know, god-papa." He knew -Sarah's methods of bullying, quite well; but felt doubtful about -applying them to David. In fact, when the question came up, and the -moment for bullying had arrived, he turned his attention to buttoning -his cassock, and meekly agreed to David's firmly expressed ultimatum. - -You cannot button a cassock--a somewhat tight cassock--(why do cassocks -display so inconvenient a tendency to grow tighter each week?) and at -the same time satisfactorily discuss a difficult ecclesiastical point -(why do ecclesiastical points become more and more involved every year?) -with a very determined young man. This should be his excuse to Diana for -failing to bully David into submission. - -In his heart of hearts he knew the younger man was right. He himself had -grown slack about these matters. It was years since he had repeated the -creed of Saint Athanasius. It had a tendency to make him so breathless. -When David had recited it on Christmas morning, the congregation had not -known where to find it in the prayer-book; and Mr. Churchwarden Smith -had written the absent Rector an indignant letter accusing David of -popery. He was glad to remember that, in his reply, though feeling very -unequal to letter-writing, he had fully justified his locum-tenens. - -The clock struck the half-hour. Mr. Goldsworthy peeped out again. - -David and the doctor were walking quietly about in the chancel, -examining the quaint oak carvings. At that moment they stood, with their -backs to the body of the church, studying the lectern. David did not -need to watch for the arrival of Diana. He knew Mrs. Marmaduke Vane was -to enter first, with Mr. Inglestry. Diana had told him she should walk -up the church alone. - -As yet, beside the usual church officials, Sarah Dolman was the only -person present. Sarah, having a married niece in town, who could put her -up for the night, had insisted upon attending the wedding of her dear -Miss Diana and that "blessed young gentleman," of whom the worst that -could be said, in Sarah's estimation, appeared to be: that it was a pity -there was not more of him! - -She was early at the church, "to get a good place"; and had shifted her -seat several times, before David arrived. In fact she tried so many -pews, that the careful woman always on duty as verger at St. Botolph's, -began to look upon her with suspicion. - -Sarah had feared she would not succeed in catching David's eye; but -David had seen her directly he came into the chancel. He had also -noticed, in Sarah's bonnet, the exact counterpart of Mrs. Churchwarden -Smith's red feather. He knew at once how much this meant, because Sarah -had told him that she only "went to beads." Often, in the lonely times -to come, when David chanced to see a gaily plumaged bird, in the great -forests of Ugonduma, he thought of Sarah's bonnet, and the red feather -worn in honour of his wedding. - -He now went straight down the church, and shook the good woman by the -hand: "Which was beyond m' proudest dreams," Sarah always explained in -telling the story afterwards. - -"Hullo, Sarah! How delightful of you to come; and how nice you look!" -Then as he felt Sarah's white cotton glove still warmly clasping his own -hand, he remembered the Christmas card. David possessed that priceless -knack of always remembering the things people expected him to remember. - -"Sarah," he said, glancing down at their clasped hands, "you should have -brought me a buttonhole of forget-me-nots." - -Sarah released his hand, and held up an impressive cotton finger. - -"Ah, Mr. Rivers, sir," she said; "I knew you would say that. But who -could 'a' thought that card of mine would ha' bin prophetic!" - -"Prophetic?" repeated David, quite at a loss. - -"The turtle-doves," whispered Sarah, with a wink, infinitely romantic -and suggestive. - -Then David understood. He and Diana were the pair of turtle-doves, -flying above the forget-me-nots, united by a festoon of ribbon, held in -either beak. - -At first he shook with silent laughter. Good old Sarah, with her -prophetic card! He and Diana were the turtle-doves! How it would amuse -Diana! - -Then a sharp pang smote him. Tragedy and comedy moved on either side of -David, as he walked back to the chancel. - -He and Diana were the turtle-doves. - -Soon after the half-hour, a stir and bustle occurred at the bottom of -the church. Mrs. Marmaduke Vane entered, on the arm of Mr. Inglestry. -The dapper little lawyer was completely overshadowed by the large and -portly person of Diana's chaperon. She tinkled and rustled up the -church, all chains, and bangles, and nodding plumes. She seemed to be -bowing right and left to the empty pews. Mr. Inglestry put her into the -front seat on the left, just below the quaintly carved lectern; then -went himself to the vestry for a word with Mr. Goldsworthy. - -Sarah, from her pew on the opposite side, glared at Mrs. Marmaduke Vane. -The glories of her own new bonnet and crimson feather had suffered -eclipse. Yet--though the nodding purple plumes opposite seemed to beckon -him--she marked, with satisfaction, that David did not even glance in -their direction. She--Sarah--had had a hand-shake from the bridegroom. -Mrs. Marmaduke Vane, in all her grandeur, had failed to catch his eye. - -Truth to tell, no sooner did David become aware of the arrival of -Diana's chaperon and of her lawyer, who were, he knew, accompanying her, -than he ceased to have eyes for any one or anything save for the place -where she herself would presently appear. - -He took up his position alone, at the chancel step, slightly to the -right; and, standing sideways to the altar, fixed his eyes upon the -distant entrance at the bottom of the church. - -Suddenly, from the organ-loft above it, where the golden pipes and -carved wood casing stand so quaintly on either side of a stained-glass -window, there wafted down the softest, sweetest strains of tender -harmony. A musician, with the touch and soul of a true artist, was -playing a lovely setting of David's own, to "Lead, kindly Light." This -was a surprise of Diana's. Diana loved arranging artistic surprises. - -In his astonishment and delight at hearing so unexpected and so -beautiful a rendering of his own theme, David lifted his eyes for a -moment to the organ-loft. - -During that moment the door must have opened and closed without making -any sound, for, when he dropped his eyes once more to the entrance, -there, at the bottom of the church, pausing--as if uncertain whether to -advance or to retreat--was standing his Lady of Mystery. - -David's heart stood still. - -He had been watching for Diana--that bewildering compound of sweetness -and torment, for whose sake he had undertaken to do this thing--and here -was his own dear Lady of Mystery, the personification of softness and of -silence, waiting irresolute at the bottom of this great London church, -just as she had waited in the little church at Brambledene, on that -Sunday evening, seven weeks ago. - -How far Diana consciously intended to appear thus to David, it would be -difficult to say; but she purposely wore in every detail just what she -had been wearing on the Sunday evening when he saw her first; and -possibly the remembrance of that evening, now also strongly in her own -mind, accounted for her seeming once more to be enveloped in that -atmosphere of soft, silent detachment from the outer world, which had -led David to call her his Lady of Mystery. - -In a swift flash of self-revelation, David realised, more clearly than -before, that he had loved this girl he was now going to marry, ever -since he first saw her, standing as she now stood--tall, graceful, -irresolute; uncertain whether to advance or to retreat. - -Down the full length of that dimly lighted church, David's look met the -hesitating sweetness of those soft grey eyes; met, and held them. - -Then--as if the deep earnestness of his gaze drew her to him, she moved -slowly and softly up the church to take her place beside him. - -The fragrance of violets came with her. She seemed wafted to him, in -the dim light, by the melody of his own organ music: "Lead, kindly -Light, amid the encircling gloom; lead Thou me on." - -David's senses reeled. He turned to the altar, and closed his eyes. - -When he opened them again, his Lady of Mystery stood at his side, and -the opening words of the marriage service broke the silence of the empty -church. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - -DIANA'S READJUSTMENT - - -Diana had waited a minute or two in the motor, in order to allow time -for the entrance and seating of Mrs. Vane; also, Mr. Inglestry was to -give the signal to the musician at the organ. - -Even after she had left the motor, and walked down the stone paving, -leading from Bishopsgate to the main entrance of St. Botolph's, she -paused, watching the sparrows and pigeons at the fountain, in the garden -enclosure--now very bare and leafless--opposite the church. Here she -waited until she heard the strains of organ music within. Then she -pushed open the door, and entered. - -Once inside, a sudden feeling of awe and hesitancy overwhelmed Diana. -There seemed an unusual brooding sense of sanctity about this old -church. All light, which entered there, filtered devoutly through some -sacred scene, and still bore upon its beams the apostle's halo, the -Virgin's robe, or the radiance of transfiguration glory. - -The shock of contrast, as Diana passed from the noise and whirl of -Bishopsgate's busy traffic into this silent waiting atmosphere of -stained glass, old oak carving, and the sheen of the distant altar, held -her senses for a moment in abeyance. - -Then she took in every detail: Mr. Goldsworthy peeping from the vestry, -catching sight of her, and immediately proceeding within the communion -rails, and kneeling at the table; Mrs. Vane and Mr. Inglestry on one -side of the church; Sarah and Sir Deryck, in different pews, on the -other. Lastly, she saw David, and the place at his side which awaited -her; David, looking very slim and youthful, standing with his left hand -plunged deep into the pocket of his short coat--a boyish attitude he -often unconsciously adopted in moments of nervous strain. Slight and -boyish he looked in figure; but the intellectual strength and spiritual -power in the thin face had never been more apparent to Diana than at -this moment, as he stood with his head slightly thrown back, awaiting -her advance. - -Then a complete mental readjustment came to Diana. How could she go -through with this marriage, for which she herself had worked and -schemed? It suddenly stood revealed as a thing so much more sacred, so -far more holy, so infinitely deeper in its significance, than she had -ever realised. - -She knew, now, why David had felt it impossible, at first, for any -reasons save the one paramount cause--the reverent seeking of the -Church's sanction and blessing upon the union of two people who needed -one another utterly. - -Had she loved David--had David loved her--she could have moved swiftly -to his side, without a shade of hesitancy. - -As it was, her feet seemed to refuse to carry her one step forward. - -Then Diana realised that had this ceremony been about to take place in -order that the benefits accruing to her under her uncle's will should -remain hers, she must, at that moment, have fled back to the motor, -bidding the chauffeur drive off--anywhere, anywhere--where she would -never see St. Botolph's church again, or look upon the face of David -Rivers. - -But, by the happenings of the previous evening, the conditions were -changed--ah, thank God, they were changed! David still thought he was -doing this for her; but she knew she was doing it for him. He believed -he gave her all. She knew he actually gave her nothing, save this honest -desire to give her all. And, in return, she could give him much:--not -herself--_that_ he did not want--but much, oh, much! - -All this passed through Diana's mind, in those few moments of paralysing -indecision, while she stood, startled and unnerved, beneath the gallery. - -Then, as her eyes grew more accustomed to the dim light, David's look -reached her--reached her, and called her to his side. - -And down from the organ-loft wafted the prayer for all uncertain souls: -"Lead, kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom; lead Thou--lead -Thou--lead Thou me on." - -With this prayer on her lips, and her eyes held by the summons in -David's, Diana moved up the church, and took her place at his side. - -No word of the service penetrated her consciousness, until she heard her -god-father's voice inquire, in confidential tones: "Who giveth this -woman to be married to this man?" - -No one replied. Apparently no one took the responsibility of giving her -to David, to whom she did not really give herself. But in the silence of -the slight pause following the question, Uncle Falcon's voice said, -with startling clearness, in her ear: "_Diana--I have won_." - -This inarticulate sentence seemed to Diana the clearest thing in the -whole of that service. She often wondered afterwards why all actual -spoken words had held so little conscious meaning. She could recall the -strong clasp of David's hand, and when his voice, steadfast yet quiet, -said: "I will," she looked at him and smiled; simply because his voice -seemed the only real and natural thing in the whole service. - -When they walked up the chancel together, and knelt at the altar rail, -she raised her eyes to the pictured presentment of the crucified Christ; -but there was something too painful to be borne, in the agony of that -suffering form as pictured there. "Myrrh!" cried her troubled heart; -"myrrh, was _His_ final offering. Must gold and frankincense always -culminate in myrrh?" - - * * * * * - -In the vestry, Sir Deryck Brand was the first to offer well-expressed -congratulations. But, after the signing of the registers, as he took her -hand in his in bidding her farewell, he said with quiet emphasis: "I -have told your husband, Mrs. Rivers, that he must come home within the -year." - -Diana, at a loss what to answer, turned to David. - -"Do you hear that, David?" - -"Yes," said David, gently; "I hear." - -As they passed out together, her hand resting lightly on David's arm, -Diana looked up and saw above the organ gallery, between the golden -pipes, the beautiful stained-glass window, representing the Infant -Christ brought by His mother to the temple, and taken into the arms of -the agèd Simeon. - -"Oh, look, David," whispered Diana; "I like this window better than the -others. It does not give us our Wise Men from the East, but it gives us -the new-born King. Do you see Him in the arms of Simeon?" - -David lifted his eyes; and suddenly she saw the light of a great joy -dawn in them. - -"Yes," he said, "yes. And do you remember what Simeon said?" - -They had reached the threshold of St. Botolph's. Diana took her hand -from his coat sleeve; and, pausing a moment, looked into his face. - -"What did he say, David?" - -"Lord, _now_ lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace," replied David, -quietly. - -"And what have you just remembered, David, which has filled your face -with glory?" - -"That this afternoon, I start for Central Africa," replied David Rivers, -as he put his bride into the motor. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - -DAVID'S NUNC DIMITTIS - - -The doctor was responsible for Diana's shyness during the drive from St. -Botolph's to Waterloo. - -He had said: "I have told your husband, Mrs. Rivers." This was unlike -Sir Deryck's usual tact. It seemed so impossible that that dream-like -service had transformed her from _Miss_ Rivers, into _Mrs._ Rivers; and -it was so very much calling "a spade a spade," to speak of David as -"your husband." - -The only thing which as yet stood out clearly to Diana in the whole -service, was David's resolute "I will"; and the essential part of -David's "I will," in his own mind, and therefore of course in hers, -appeared to be: "I will go at once to Central Africa; and I will start -for that distant spot in four hours' time!" - -Diana took herself instantly to task for the pang she had experienced at -sight of the sudden flash of intense relief in David's eyes, as he -quoted the Nunc Dimittis. - -That he should "depart" on the wedding-day, had been an indispensable -factor in the making of her plan; and, that he should depart "in peace," -untroubled by the fact that he was leaving her, was surely a cause for -thanksgiving, rather than for regret. - -Diana, who prided herself upon being far removed from all ordinary -feminine weaknesses and failings, now rated herself scornfully for the -utter unreasonableness of feeling hurt at David's very obvious relief -over the prospect of a speedy departure, now he had faithfully fulfilled -the letter of the undertaking between them. He had generously done as -she had asked, at the cost of much preliminary heart-searching and -perplexity; yet she, whose express stipulation had been that he should -go, now grudged the ease with which he was going, and would have had him -a little sad--a little sorry. - -"Oh," cried Diana, giving herself a mental shake, "it is unreasonable; -it is odious; it is like an ordinary woman! I don't want the poor boy to -stay, so why should I want him to regret going? How perfectly natural -that he should be relieved that this complicated time is over; and how -glad _I_ ought to be, that whatever else connected with me he has found -difficult, at all events he finds it easy to leave me! Any mild regrets -would spoil the whole thing, and reduce us to the level of an ordinary -couple. Sir Deryck's remark in the vestry was most untactful. No wonder -it has had the immediate effect of making us both realise with relief -that, excepting in outward seeming, we each leave the church as free as -when we entered it." - -Yet, undoubtedly David _was_ now her husband; and as Diana sat silently -beside him, she felt as an experienced fighter might feel, who had -handed over all his weapons to the enemy. What advantage would David -take, of this new condition of things, during the four hours which -remained to him? She felt defenceless. - -Diana plunged both her hands into her muff. If David took one of them, -there was no knowing what might happen next. She remembered the -compelling power of his eyes, as they drew her up the church, to take -her place at his side. How would she feel, what would she do, if he -turned and looked so, at her--now? - -But David appeared to be quite intent on the sights of London, eagerly -looking his last upon each well-known spot. - -"I am glad this is a hired motor," he said, "and not your own chauffeur. -This fellow does not drive so rapidly. One gets a chance to look out of -the window. Ah, here is the Bank of England. I have never felt much -interest in that. But I like seeing the Royal Exchange, because of the -Prince Consort's text on the marble slab, high up in the centre of its -façade." - -They were held up for a moment in the stream of cross-traffic. - -"My father pointed it out to me when I was a very little chap," -continued David. "I really must see it again, for the last time." - -He leaned forward to look up through the window on her side of the -motor. His arm rested for a moment against Diana's knee. - -"Yes, there it is, in golden letters, on the marble slab! 'The earth is -the Lord's, and the fulness thereof.' Wasn't it a grand idea? That those -words should dominate this wonderful centre of the world's commerce, -wealth, and enterprise. As if so great, so mighty, so influential a -nation as our own, upon whose glorious flag the sun never sets, is yet -humbly proud to look up and inscribe, in letters of gold, upon the very -pinnacle of her supremacy: '_The earth is the Lord's!_' All this -wealth, all this power; these noble colonies, this world-encircling -influence, may be mine; but--'_The earth is the Lord's_.'" - -David's eyes glowed. "I am glad I have seen it once more. It is not so -clear as when, holding tightly to my father's hand, I first looked up -and saw it, twenty-two years ago. The letters are tarnished. If I were a -rich man, I should like to have them regilt." - -"You _are_ a rich man," said Diana, smiling, "and it shall be done, -David, if private enterprise is allowed the privilege." - -"Ah, thanks," said David. "That would really please me. You must write -and say whether it proved possible. Sometimes when alone, in the utter -silence of our great expanse of jungle and forest, I like to picture the -rush and rumble, the perpetual movement of this very heart of our grand -old London, going on--on--on, all the time. It is my final farewell to -it, to-day. Ah, here is the Mansion House. On the day my old dad showed -me the Royal Exchange, we also saw the Lord Mayor's show. I remember I -was much impressed. I fully intended then to be Lord Mayor, one day! I -always used to imagine myself as being every important personage I -admired." - -"You remind me," said Diana, "of a very great man of whom it has been -said that he never enjoys a wedding, because he cannot be the bride; and -that he hates attending funerals, because he cannot be the corpse." - -David laughed. "A clever skit on an undoubted trait," he said; "but that -trait makes for greatness. All who climb high see themselves at the top -of the tree, long before they get there." Then suddenly he remarked: -"There won't be any éclat about _my_ funeral. It will be a very simple -affair; just a stowing away of the worn-out suit of clothes, under a -great giant tree in our silent forests." - -"Please don't be nasty," said Diana; and, though the words were abrupt, -there was such a note of pain in her voice, that David turned and looked -at her. There was also pain in her sweet grey eyes. David put out his -hand, impulsively, and laid it on Diana's muff. - -"You must not mind the thought," he said. "We know it has to come; and I -want you to get used to it, just as I have done. To me it only seems -like a future plan for a quite easy journey; only there's a lot to be -done first. Oh, I say! The Thames. May I tell the man to go along the -Embankment, and over Westminster Bridge? I should like a last sight of -the Houses of Parliament, and Big Ben; and, best of all, of Westminster -Abbey." - -David leaned out of the window, and directed the chauffeur. - -Diana slipped her hands out of her muff. - -They passed the royal statue of England's great and belovèd Queen. David -leaned forward and saluted. - -"The memory of the Just is blessèd," he said. "I always like to realise -how truly the Royal Psalm applies to our Queen Victoria. 'Thou gavest -him a long life; even forever and ever.' She lives on forever in the -hearts of her people. This--is true immortality!" - -Diana removed her gloves, and looked at the bright new wedding-ring, -encircling the third finger of her left hand. - -David glanced at it also, and looked away. - -"Good-bye, old Metropole!" he said, as they sped past Northumberland -Avenue. "We have had some jolly times there. Ah, here is the Abbey! I -must set my watch by Big Ben." - -"Would you like to stop, and go into the Abbey?" suggested Diana. "We -have time." - -"No, I think not," said David. "I made my final adieu to English -cathedrals at Winchester, last Monday. And I had such a surprise and -pleasure there. Nothing the Abbey could provide would equal it." - -"What was that?" asked Diana, and her hand stole very near to David's. - -David folded his arms across his breast, and turned to her with delight -in his eyes. - -"Why, the day before you came to town, I went down to Winchester to say -good-bye to some very old friends. Before leaving that beautiful city I -went into the cathedral, and there I found--what do you think? A -side-chapel called the Chapel of the Epiphany, with a stained-glass -window representing the Wise Men opening their treasures and offering -their gifts to the Infant Saviour." - -"Were there three Wise Men?" asked Diana. For some reason, her lips were -trembling. - -David smiled. "Yes, there were three. Mrs. Churchwarden Smith would have -considered her opinion triumphantly vindicated. But, do you know, that -little chapel was such a holy place. I knelt there and prayed that I -might live to see the completion and consecration of our 'Church of the -Holy Star.'" - -Diana drew on her gloves, and slipped her hands back into her muff. - -"Where did you kneel, David? I will make a pilgrimage to Canterbury, and -kneel there too." - -"It wasn't Canterbury," said David gently. "It was Winchester. I knelt -at the altar rail; right in the middle." - -"I will go there," said Diana. "And I will kneel where you knelt, -David." - -"Do," said David, simply. "That little chapel meant a lot to me." - -They had turned out of York Road, and plunged into the dark subway -leading up to the main station at Waterloo. - -Diana lifted her muff to her lips, and looked at David over it, with -starry eyes. - -"Shall you remember sometimes, David, when you are so far away, that I -am making pilgrimages, and doing these things which you have done?" - -"Of course I shall," said David. "Why, here we are; with plenty of time -to spare." - -He saw Diana to their reserved compartment in the boat train; then went -off to the cloak-room to find his luggage. - -Before long they were gliding out of Waterloo Station, and David Rivers -had looked his last on London; and had bidden a silent farewell to all -for which London stands, to the heart of every true-born Englishman. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - -DAVID STUDIES THE SCENERY - - -The railway journey passed with surprising ease and swiftness. David's -unusually high spirits were perhaps responsible for this. - -To Diana it seemed that their positions were suddenly and unaccountably -reversed. David led, and she followed. David set the tone of the -conversation; and, as he chose that it should be gay and bantering, -Diana found it impossible to strike the personal and pathetic note, -bordering on the intimate and romantic, which she, somehow, now felt -suitable to the occasion. - -So they had a merry wedding-breakfast in the dining-car; and laughed -much over the fact that they had left Mrs. Marmaduke Vane, with two -strings to her bow--Diana's godfather, and Diana's lawyer. - -"Both are old flames of Chappie's," explained Diana. "She will be -between two fires. But I am inclined to think Sarah's presence will -quench god-papa's ardour. In which case, Mr. Inglestry will carry -Chappie off to luncheon, and will probably dance attendance upon her -during the remainder of the day. After which, even if he does not -actually propose, I shall have to hear the oft-told tale: 'He made his -meaning very clear, my dear Diana.' How clever all these old boys must -be, to be perpetually 'making their meaning clear' to Chappie, which, I -admit, must be a fascinating occupation, and yet remaining triumphantly -unwed! Chappie does not return home until to-morrow. David--I shall be -quite alone at Riverscourt to-night." - -"Oh, look at the undulating line of those distant hills!" cried David, -polishing the window with his table-napkin. "And the gorse in bloom, on -this glorious common. It seems a waste to look for a moment on one's -plate, while passing, for the last time, through beautiful England. Even -in winter this scenery is lovely, gentle, home-like. I don't want to -miss the sight of one cosy farmhouse, leafless orchard, nestling -village, or old church tower. All upon which I am now looking, will be -memory's treasured picture-gallery to visit eagerly in the long months -to come." - -Apparently there were to be only landscapes in David's picture gallery. -Portraits, however lovely, were not admitted. A very lovely face was -opposite to him at the little table. A firm white chin rested -thoughtfully in the rounded palm of the hand on which gleamed his golden -wedding-ring. Soft grey eyes, half-veiled by drooping lids and long dark -lashes, looked wistfully, earnestly, at the thin lines of his strong -eager face. Diana was striving to imprint upon her memory a portrait of -David, which should not fade. But David polished the window at intervals -with his table-napkin, and assiduously studied Hampshire orchards, and -frost-covered fields and gardens. - - * * * * * - -Back in their own compartment, within an hour of Southampton, Diana made -a desperate attempt to arrive at a clear understanding about the rapidly -approaching future--those two years, possibly three, while they would be -husband and wife, yet on different sides of the globe. - -She was sitting beside David, who occupied the corner seat, facing the -engine, on her left. Diana had been seated in the corner opposite to -him; but had crossed over, in order to sit beside him; and now asked -him, on pretext of being dazzled, to draw down the blinds on his side -of the compartment. - -David complied at once, shutting out the pale wintry sunlight; which, -pale though it was, yet made a golden glory of Diana's hair. - -Thus excluded from his refuge in the leafless orchards, David launched -into a graphic description of the difficulties and adventure of African -travel. - -"You see," he was saying, "the jungle grasses grow to such a height that -it becomes almost impossible to force one's way through them; and they -make equally good cover for wild beasts, or mosquitoes"--when Diana laid -her hand upon his coat sleeve. - -Either the sleeve was thick, or David was dense--or both. The account of -African swamps continued, with increased animation. - -"As soon as the wet season is over, the natives fire the grass all -around their villages; and then wild beasts get no cover for close -approach; shooting becomes possible, and the women can get down to the -river to fetch water, or into the forests to cut firewood. The burning -kills millions of mosquitoes, makes it possible to go out in safety, and -to shoot game. When the grass is high, mosquitoes are rampant, and game -impossible to view. Before the burning was done round my place, last -year, I found a hippopotamus in my flower garden, when I came down to -breakfast one morning. He had danced a cake-walk among my oleanders, -which was a trial, because oleanders bloom gloriously all the year round -when once they get a hold." - -Suddenly Diana turned upon him, took his right hand between both hers, -and caught it to her, impulsively. - -"David," she said, "do you consider it right in our last hour together, -completely to ignore the person you have just married?" - -David's startled face showed very white against the green window-blind. - -"I--I was not ignoring you," he stammered, "I was telling you about----" - -"Oh, I know!" cried Diana, uncontrollable pain in her voice, and the -look of a wounded leopard in her eyes, "Bother your tall grasses, and -your oleanders, and your hippopotamus!" Then more gently, but still -holding his hand pressed against her velvet coat: "Oh, don't let's -quarrel, David! I don't want to be horrid! But we can't ignore the fact -that we were married this morning; and you are wasting the only time -left to us, in which to discuss our future." - -David gently drew away his hand, folded his arms across his breast, -leaned back in his corner, and looked at Diana, with that expression of -patient tenderness which always had the effect of making her feel -absurdly young, and far removed from him. - -"Have we not said all there is to say about it?" he asked, gently. - -"No, silly, we have not!" cried Diana, furiously. "Oh, how glad I am -that you are going to Central Africa!" - -David's face whitened to a terrible pallor. - -"There is nothing new in that," he said, speaking very low. "It has been -understood all along." - -"Oh, David, forgive me," cried Diana. "I did not mean to say anything -unkind. But I am so miserable and unhappy; and if you say another word -about Hampshire scenery or African travel, I shall either swear and -break the windows, or fall upon your shoulder and weep. Either course -would involve you in an unpleasant predicament. So, for your own sake, -help me, David." - -David's earnest eyes searched her face. - -"How can I help you?" he asked, his deep voice vibrating with an -intensity which assured Diana of having gained at last his full -attention. "What has made you miserable?" - -"Our wedding-service," replied Diana, with tears in her voice. "It meant -so much more than I had ever dreamed it possibly could mean." - -Then a look leapt into David's eyes such as Diana had never seen in -mortal eyes, before. - -"How?" he said; the one word holding so much of question, of amazement, -of hope, of suspense, that its utterance seemed to arrest the train; to -stop the beating of both their hearts; to stay the universe a breathing -space; while he looked, with a world of agonised hope and yearning, into -those sweet grey eyes, brimming over with tears. - -Perhaps the tears blinded them to the meaning of the look in David's. -Anyway, his sudden "How?" bursting as a bomb-shell into the silent -railway-carriage, only brought an expression of startled surprise, to -add to the trouble in Diana's sweet face. - -David pulled himself together. - -"How?" he asked again, more gently; while the train, the hearts, and the -universe went on once more. - -"Oh, I don't know," said Diana, with a little break in her voice. "I -think I realised suddenly, how much it might mean between two people -who really cared for one another--I mean really _loved_--for we do -'care'; don't we, Cousin David?" - -"Yes, we do care," said David, gently. - -"I want you to talk to me about it; because the service was so much more -solemn than I had expected; I have never been at any but flippant -weddings--what?... Oh, yes, weddings are often 'flippant,' Cousin David. -But ours was not. And I am so afraid, after you are gone, it will come -back and haunt me. I want you to tell me, quite plainly, how little it -_really_ meant; although it seemed to mean so appallingly much." - -David laid his hand gently on hers, as it lay upon her muff, and the -restless working of her fingers ceased. - -"It meant no more," he said, quietly, "than we intended it should mean. -It meant nothing which could cause you distress or trouble. All was -quite clear between us, beforehand; was it not? That service meant for -you--your home, your fortune, your position in the county, your -influence for good; deliverance from undesired suitors; and--I hope--a -friend you can trust--though far away--until death takes him--farther." - -He kept his hand lightly on hers, and Diana's mind grew restful. She -laid her other hand over his. She was so afraid he would take it away. - -"Oh, go on David," she said. "I feel better." - -"You must not let it haunt you when I am gone," continued David. "You -urged me to do this thing, for a given reason; and, when once I felt -convinced we were not wrong in doing it, I went through with it, as I -had promised you I would. There was nothing in that to frighten or to -distress you. We could not help it that the service was so wonderful. -That was partly your fault," added David, with a gentle smile, "for -providing organ music, and for choosing to impersonate my Lady of -Mystery." - -Diana considered this. Then: "Oh, I am so comforted, Cousin David," she -said. "I was so horribly afraid it had--somehow--meant more than I -wanted it to mean." - -"How could it have meant more than you wanted it to mean?" - -"I don't know. I begin to think Uncle Falcon was right, when he called -me ignorant and inexperienced." - -David laughed. "Oh, you mustn't begin to give in to Uncle Falcon," he -said. "And to-day, of all days, when our campaign has succeeded, and we -have defeated him. You can go into the library this evening, look Uncle -Falcon full in the eyes, and say: 'Uncle Falcon, _I_ have won!'" - -"Can I?" said Diana, doubtfully. "I am a little bit afraid of Uncle -Falcon. I could, if you were there, Cousin David." - -David tried to withdraw his hand; but the hand lying lightly upon it -immediately tightened. - -"Are you _sure_ I shan't be haunted after you are gone?" asked Diana, -with eyes that searched his face. - -"Not by me," smiled David. - -"Of course not. But by the service?" - -"Are any special words troubling you?" he asked, gently. - -"Goodness, no!" cried Diana. "I realised nothing clearly excepting 'I -will,' when you said it. I haven't a ghost of a notion what I promised." - -"Then if you haven't a ghost--" began David. - -"Oh, don't joke about it," implored Diana. "I am really in earnest. I -was horribly afraid; and I did not know of what. I began to think I -should be obliged to ask you to put off, and to go by a later boat." - -"Why?" - -"So as to have you here, to tell me it had not meant more than we -intended it should mean." - -Diana took off her large hat, and threw it on to the seat opposite. Then -she rested her head against the cushion, close to David's. - -"Oh, this is so restful," she sighed; "and I am so comforted and happy! -Do let's stop arguing." - -"We are not arguing," said David. - -"Oh, then let's stop _not_ arguing!" - -She lifted his hand and her muff together, holding them closer to her. - -"Let's sit quite still, David, and realise that the whole thing is -safely over, and we are none the worse for it; and have got all we -wanted in the world." - -David said nothing. He had stopped "not arguing." - - * * * * * - -The train sped onward. - -A sense of complete calm and rest came over the two who sat silent in -their compartment, moving so rapidly toward the moment of inevitable -parting. Diana's head was so near to David's that a loose strand of her -soft hair blew against his face. She let her muff drop, but still held -his hand to her breast. She closed her eyes, sitting so still that David -thought she had fallen asleep. - -At length, without stirring, she said: "We shall write to each other, -Cousin David?" - -"If you wish." - -"Of course I wish. Will you promise to tell me exactly how you are?" - -"I never speak, think, or write, about my own health." - -"Tiresome boy! Do you call this 'obeying' me?" - -"I did not promise to obey you." - -"Oh, no; I forgot. How wickedly one-sided the marriage service is! That -is one reason why I always declared I never would marry. One law for the -man, and another for the woman; and in a civilized country! We might as -well be Hottentots! And what a slur on a woman to have to change her -name--often for the worse. I knew a Miss Pound who married a Mr. Penny." - -David did not laugh. He had caught sight of the distant ships on -Southampton water. - -"Everybody made endless puns on the wedding-day," continued Diana. "I -should have been in such a rage before the reception was over, had I -been the bride, that no one would have dared come near me. It got on her -nerves, poor girl; and when some one asked her just as they were -starting whether she was going to take care of the Penny and leave the -Pounds to take care of themselves, she burst into tears, and drove away, -amid showers of rice, weeping! I think Mr. Penny must have felt rather -'cheap'; don't you? Well, anyway, I have kept my own name." - -"You have taken mine," said David, with his eyes on the masts and -funnels. - -"How funny it will seem to get letters addressed: _Mrs. David Rivers_. -If my friends put D only, it might stand for 'Diana.' David--" she -turned her head suddenly, without lifting it, and her soft eyes looked -full into his dark ones--"David, what shall you call me, when you write? -I am no longer _Miss Rivers_, and you can hardly begin your letters: _My -dear Mrs. Rivers_! That would be too formal, even for you! At last you -will _have_ to call me 'Diana.'" - -David smiled. "Not necessarily," he said. "In fact, I know how I shall -begin my letters; and I shall not call you 'Diana.'" - -"What then?" she asked; and her lips were very close to his. - -David sat up, and touched the springs of the window-blind. - -"I will tell you, as we say good-bye; not before. Look! We are running -through Southampton. We shall be at the quay in two minutes." - - - - -CHAPTER XX - -WITH THE COMPLIMENTS OF THE COMPANY - - -Diana followed David up the gangway of the big liner, and looked around -with intense interest at the floating hotel he was to inhabit during so -many days; the vessel which was to bear him away to the land from which -he never intended to return. - -Diana experienced an exhilarating excitement as she and David stepped on -board, amid a bustling crowd of other passengers and their friends; the -former already beginning to eye one another with interest; the latter, -to follow with wistful gaze those from whom they would so soon be -parted. - -Diana had left the train, at the dock station, with very different -sensations from those with which she had entered it at Waterloo. She now -felt so indescribably happy and at rest; so completely reassured as to -the future. David had been so tender and understanding, so perfect in -all he had said and done, when once she had succeeded in making him -realise how much more their new relationship meant to her, than it did -to him. He had so patiently allowed her to hold his hand, during the -remainder of the journey. She could feel it still, where she had pressed -it against her bosom. It seemed to her that she would always feel it -there, in any time of doubt or of difficulty. It must be because of -David's essential goodness, that his touch possessed such soothing -power. The moment he had laid his hand on hers, she had thought of the -last verse of his favourite hymn. - -Her car, sent down from town the day before, to be in readiness to take -her home, awaited her as near the gangway of the steamer as the -regulations of the wharf would allow. It was comforting to know that -there would not be the need for a train journey, after David's -departure. It might have seemed lonely without him. Once safely tucked -into her motor, she was at home, no matter how long the run to -Riverscourt might chance to be. - -David caught sight of the car; and she had to stand, an amused -spectator, while he ran quickly down to say good-bye to her footman and -to her chauffeur. She saw the wooden stiffness of the footman, and the -iron impassivity of the chauffeur, subside into humanity, as David shook -them each by the hand, with a kindly word of remembrance and farewell. -Both automata, for the moment, became men. Diana could see the glow on -their faces, as they looked after David. Had he tipped them each a -five-pound note, they would have touched their hats, without a change of -feature. In the warmth of this farewell, they forgot to touch their -hats; but David had touched their hearts, which was better; and their -love went with him, as he boarded the steamer. - -This little episode was so characteristic of David. Diana thought it -over, with tender amusement in her eyes, as she followed him up the -gangway. Wherever he went he won the hearts of those who served him. He -found out their names, their joys and sorrows, their hopes and -histories, with astonishing rapidity. "I cannot stand the plan of -calling people by their occupation," he used to say. "Like the crude -British matron in the French hotel, who addressed the first man she met -in a green apron, as 'Bottines!'" - -So "Boots," "Waiter," and "Ostler," became "Tom," "Dick," and "Harry," -to David, wherever he went; and while other people were served by -machines, for so much a day, he was hailed by men, and waited on with -affection. And he, who never forgot a face, also had the knack of never -forgetting the name appertaining to that face, nor the time and -circumstance in which he had previously come in contact with it. - -Diana soon had evidence of this as they boarded the liner, on which -David had already travelled. On all sides, impassive faces suddenly -brightened into smiles of welcome; and David's "Hullo, Jim!" or "Still -on board, Harry?" would be met with: "Glad to see you looking better, -Mr. Rivers"; or "We heard you was a-coming, sir." David, who had left -love behind, found love awaiting him. - -Opposite the purser's office, he hesitated, and turned to Diana. - -"Where would you like to go?" he said. "We have nearly an hour." - -"I want to see over the whole ship," said Diana. "But first of all, of -course, your cabin." David looked pleased, and led the way down to a -lower deck, and along a narrow passage, with doors on either side. At -number 24 he stopped. - -"Here we are," he said, cheerfully. - -Diana entered a small cabin, already choked with luggage. It contained -three berths. On two of them were deposited rugs, hand-bags, and men's -cloth caps. A lower one was empty. Several portmanteaux blocked the -middle of the small room. David followed her in, and looked around. - -"Hullo!" he said. "Where is my baggage? Apparently it has not turned up. -This is my bunk, right enough." - -"What a squash!" exclaimed Diana. - -Before David could reply, a steward put his head in at the door. - -"Well, Martin," said David, "I'm back in my old quarters, you see. I am -glad you are still on duty down this passage." - -The man saluted, and came in with an air of importance. - -"Glad to see you, sir, I'm sure; and looking a deal better than when you -came home, sir. But I'm not to have the pleasure of waiting on you this -time, Mr. Rivers. The purser gave orders that I was to hand you this, as -soon as you arrived." - -He handed David a letter, addressed to himself. - -David tore it open, glanced at it; then turned to Diana, his face aglow -with surprise and pleasure. - -"I say!" he exclaimed. "They ask me to accept better accommodation, -'with the compliments of the company.' Well, I've heard of such a thing -happening to actors, public singers, and authors; but this is the first -time I have known it happen to a missionary! Where is number 74, -Martin?" - -"On the promenade deck, sir; nicely midship. Allow me to show you." - -Martin led the way. David, full of excitement, pleasure, and surprise, -followed, with Diana. - -Diana took it very quietly--this astonishing attention of the company's. -But her eyes shone like stars. Diana loved seeing people have surprises. - -Number 74 proved to be a large airy state-room for three; but only one -lower berth was made up. David was in sole possession. It contained an -easy chair, a wardrobe, a writing table, a movable electric lamp, and -was so spacious, that David's baggage, standing in one corner, looked -quite lost, and took up practically no room. - -"A private bathroom is attached, sir," explained Martin, indicating a -side door; "and a mate of mine is looking forward to waiting on you, -sir. I'm right sorry not to have you in 24, but glad to see you in more -roomy quarters, Mr. Rivers." - -"Oh, I say!" exclaimed David, boyishly, as Martin retired, closing the -door. "They've actually given me an eighty guinea state-room, all to -myself! Heaven send there's no mistake! 'With the compliments of the -company!' Think what that means!" - -"Will it add very much to your comfort, David?" asked Diana, innocently. - -"Comfort?" cried David. "Why it's a palace! And just think of being to -oneself--and an armchair! Four electric lights in the ceiling"--David -turned them all on--"and this jolly little reading lamp to move about. I -shall be able to read in my bunk. And two big windows. Oh, I say! I -shall feel I ought to invite two other fellows in. It is too sumptuous -for a missionary!" - -"No, you mustn't do that, David," said Diana. "It would be too -disappointing to--to the company. Look upon it as an offering of gold -and frankincense, and do not rob the giver of the privilege of having -offered the gift. Promise me, David." - -"Of course I promise," he said. "I am too absolutely thankfully -grateful, to demur for a moment, about accepting it. Only, it _is_ a -bit overwhelming." - -"Now trot me all over the ship," commanded Diana. "And then let us -return here, to say good-bye." - - - - -CHAPTER XXI - -"ALL ASHORE!" - - -It had not taken long to see over the liner. Diana had flown about, from -dining-saloon to hurricane-deck, in feverish haste to be back in number -74, in order to have a few quiet moments alone with David. - -They were back there, now; and ten minutes remained before the sounding -of the gong, warning friends to leave the ship. - -"Sit in your easy chair, David," commanded Diana; "I shall like to be -able to picture you there." - -She moved about the room, examining everything; giving little touches -here and there. - -She paused at the berth. "What a queer little place to sleep in!" she -said; and laid her hand, for a moment, on the pillow. - -Then she poured water into one of the tumblers, placed it on the writing -table, took the Parma violets from her breast and from her muff, and -arranged them in the tumbler. - -"Put a little pinch of salt into the water, David, when you come up from -dinner, and they will soon revive; and serve, for a few days, to remind -you of me! I am never without violets; as you may have noticed." - -She hung up his coat and hat. "I wish I could unpack for you," she said. -"This cosy little room makes me feel quite domesticated. I never felt -domesticated, before; and I am doubtful whether the feeling would last -many minutes. But how jolly it all is! I believe I should love a voyage -on a liner. Don't be surprised if I turn up one day, and call on you in -Ugonduma." - -"You must not do that," said David. - -"What fun it would be to arrive in the little garden, where the -hippopotamuses dance their morning cake walk; pass up the path, between -the oleanders; ring the bell--I suppose there is a bell?--and send in my -card: _Mrs. David Rivers_! Tableau! Poor David! It would be so -impossible to say: 'Not at home' in Ugonduma, especially to _Mrs. David -Rivers_! The butler--are there butlers?--would be bound to show me in. -It would be more astonishing than the hippopotamus! though less -destructive to the oleanders! Oh, why am I so flippant!--David, I must -see Martin's mate. I want to talk to him about taking proper care of -you. Will he come if I ring this bell?... Oh, all right. But I am -perfectly certain that while you are finding out how many children he -has, and whether they have all had measles, he will fail to notice your -most obvious wants." - -Diana took off her hat, and laid it on the writing table. Then she came -and knelt beside the arm of David's chair. - -"David," she said, "before I go, will you give me your blessing, as you -did on the night when you led me to the feet of the King?" - -David stood up; but he did not lay his hands on that bowed head. - -"Let us kneel together," he said, "and together let us ask, that our -mistakes--if any--may be overruled; that our sins may be forgiven; that -we may remain true to our highest ideals; and that--whether in life or -by death--we may glorify our King, and be faithful followers of the -Star." - - * * * * * - -The gong, following closely on the final words of David's prayer, -crashed and clanged through the ship; booming out, to all concerned, the -knell of inevitable parting. - -Diana rose in silence, put on her hat, took a final look round the room; -then, together, they passed out, and moved toward the gangway, down -which the friends of passengers were already hurrying, calling back, as -they went, final words of farewell. - -Near the gangway Diana paused, and turned to David. - -"You are sure all the dates and addresses you have given me are right?" -she said. - -David smiled. "Quite sure. I would not risk losing one of your letters." - -"You do care that I should write?" - -"I count on it," replied David. - -"And you will write to me?" - -"Undoubtedly I will." - -"Quite soon?" - -"I will begin a letter to-morrow, and tell you whether Martin's mate has -any children; and, if so, whether they have had the measles." - -"It would be more to the point to tell me whether he takes proper care -of you. David--I wish you were not going!" - -A look leapt into David's eyes as of a drowning man sinking for the -third and last time, who suddenly sees a rope dangling almost within his -reach. - -"Why?" - -"I don't know. It seems so far. Are you sure you are quite well? Why -are you so ghastly white?" - -"Quite well," smiled David. "We cannot all have Mrs. Vane's fine colour. -Bid her good-bye for me." - -All who were going, seemed to have gone. The gangway was empty. -Passengers crowded to the side of the ship, waving in tearful silence, -or gaily shouting last words, to friends lined up on the dock. - -"All ashore!" shouted the sailor in charge of the gangway, looking at -Diana. - -She moved toward it, slowly; David at her side. - -"Look here," said David, speaking hurriedly; "I should hate to watch you -standing alone in that crowd, while we slowly pull out into mid-stream. -Don't do it. Don't wait to see us go. I would so much rather you went -straight to your car. It is just within sight. I shall see William -arrange the rug, and shut you in. I shall be able to watch you actually -safely on your way to Riverscourt; which will be much better than -gradually losing sight of you in the midst of a crowd of strange faces. -You don't know how long-drawn-out these dock partings are. Will -you--will you do as I ask?" - -"Why of course, I will, David," she said. "It is the only thing you -have bidden me do since I promised to obey." Her lips trembled. "I hate -saying good-bye, David. And you really look ill. I wish I had insisted -on seeing Martin's mate." - -"I'm all right," said David, with dry lips. "Don't you worry." - -"All ashore!" remarked the sailor, confidentially, in their direction. - -Diana placed one foot on the gangway; then turned, and put her hand into -David's. - -"Good-bye, David," said Diana. - -His deep eyes looked hungrily into her face--one last long earnest look. - -Then he loosed her hand, and bent over her, as she began to descend the -gangway. - -"Good-bye--_my wife_"--said David Rivers. - - - - -CHAPTER XXII - -DIANA WINS - - -The steady hum, and rapid onward rush, of the motor were a physical -relief to Diana, after the continuous strain of the happenings of that -eventful day. - -She lay back, watching the flying houses, hedges, trees, and -meadows,--and allowed every nerve to relax. - -She felt so thankful it was all over, and that she was going -home--alone. - -She felt very much as she had felt on her return to Riverscourt after -Uncle Falcon's funeral. It had been such a relief then to be returning -to a perfectly normal house, where every-day life could be resumed as -usual. She had realised with thankfulness that the blinds would be up -once more. There would be no hushed and silent room, which must be -passed with reverent step, and bated breath, because of the awesome -unnaturalness of the Thing which lay within. She had lost Uncle Falcon -on the night of his death. The day of the funeral involved no further -loss. It simply brought relief from a time of unnatural strain and -tension. - -This shrinking of Life from Death, is the strongest verification of the -statement of Holy Scripture, that death came by sin. The redeemed soul -in its pure radiance has gone on to fuller life. "The body is dead, -because of sin." All that is left behind is "sinful flesh." Death lays a -relentless hand on this, claiming it as his due. Change and decay set -in; and even the tenderest mourning heart has to welcome the coffin lid, -grateful to kind Mother Earth for receiving and hiding that which--once -so precious--has now become a burden. Happy they who, standing at the -open grave, can appropriate and realise the great resurrection message: -"He is not here! He is risen!" - -Diana shifted her seat in the bounding car, drawing the rugs more -closely around her. - -Why was her mind dwelling thus on death and funerals, on the afternoon -of her wedding-day? - -How wonderful it was that this should actually be her wedding-day; and -yet that she should still be Diana Rivers of Riverscourt, returning -alone to her own domain, free and unfettered. - -How well her plan had succeeded; and what an unexpected touch of pure -romance had been added thereto, by the fact that, after all, she had, at -the last, done for David's sake, that which he thought he was doing for -hers. There was a selflessness about the motives of both, in this -marriage, which made it fragrant with the sublimest essence of -frankincense. Surely only good and blessing could ensue. - -Diana contemplated with satisfaction the additional prestige and -assurance given to her position in the neighbourhood, by the fact that -she could now take her place in society as a married woman. - -How much hateful gossip would be silenced forever; how many insolent -expectations would be disappointed; how many prudish criticisms and -censorious remarks would have to whisper themselves into shame-faced -silence. - -Diana looked forward with gleeful amusement to answering the astonished -questions of her many friends. How perfectly she had vindicated the line -she had always taken up. Here she was, safely established, with all a -married woman's privileges, and none of her odious obligations. - -The old frumps, whom it was amusing to shock, would be more shocked than -ever; while the younger spirits, who acclaimed her already, would hail -her more loudly than ever: "Diana! Victress! Queen!" - -And all this she undoubtedly owed to David, who had made her his---- - -Then suddenly she found herself confronted by that which, ever since the -motor started, she had been fighting resolutely into her mental -background; a quiet retrospection of the moment of her parting with -David. - -Brought face to face with it, by the chance mention of one word, Diana -at once--giving up fencing with side issues, past and future--turned and -faced this problem of the present. Brave at all times, she was not a -coward when alone. - -She took off her hat, rested her head against the soft springiness of -the padded back of her motor; closed her eyes, and pressed both hands -tightly against her breast. - -David had said: "Good-bye, my wife." It was the name he meant to use in -all his letters. "Good-bye, _my wife_." - - * * * * * - -It now seemed to Diana that the happenings of that whole day had been -moving toward that culminating moment, when David's deep tender voice -should call her his wife; yet he had not done so, until only a narrow -shifting plank, on which her feet already stood, lay between them, and -a last earthly farewell. - -Diana had sped down the gangway; and when her feet touched the wharf she -had fled to her car, without looking back; knowing that if she looked -back, and saw David's earnest eyes watching her from the top, his boyish -figure standing, slim and erect--she would have turned and rushed back -up the gangway, caught his hand to her breast, and asked him to say -those words again. And, if David had called her his wife again--in that -tone which made all things sway and reel around her, and fortune, home, -friends, position seem as nothing to the fact that she was _that_ to -him--she could never have let go his hand again. They must have remained -forever on the same side of the gangway; either she sailing with David -to Central Africa, or David returning with her to Riverscourt. - -Yet she did not want to go to Africa; and she certainly did not want -David at Riverscourt! Her whole plan of life was to reign supreme in her -own possessions, mistress of her home, mistress of her time, and, most -important of all, mistress of herself. - -Then what was the meaning of this strange disturbance in the hitherto -unruffled calm of her inner being? What angel had come down, on -lightning wing, to trouble the still waters of her deepest self? - -Diana was confronted by that most illusive of psychological problems, -the solving of the mystery of a woman's heart--and she possessed no key -thereto. Her knowledge of the world, her advanced ideas, her -indiscriminate reading, had not supplied her with the golden key, which -lies in the fact of the utter surrender of a noble woman, to the mighty -love, and the infinite need, of a strong, good, man. - -She had chosen to go home alone. She had preferred this parting of the -ways. Then why was it so desperately sweet to recall David's voice -saying: "Good-bye, _my wife_"? Why did nothing still this strange aching -at her breast, save the remembrance of the touch of his hand, as she had -pressed it against her? - -She would have stopped the motor and bidden her man race back to the -wharf, on the chance of having a last sight of David, standing on the -deck of the liner, had he not bidden her go at once, without delay; so -that, in thus going, she was rendering him the one act of obedience -possible, in their brief wedded life. - - * * * * * - -The wintry sun soon set behind the Hampshire hills. - -The primrose of the sky faded into purple twilight; twilight was quickly -merged in chilly darkness. - -The car paused a moment for the kindling of its huge acetylene lamps; -then rushed onward, more rapidly than before. - -Diana sat on in shadow. One touch of a button would have flooded the -interior of her motor with light; but she preferred the quiet darkness. -In it she could better hear her husband's voice, and see the gleam of -his deep earnest eyes. - -"Good-bye, my wife--my wife--my wife--. Good-bye, my wife!" - - * * * * * - -Diana must have fallen asleep. The opening of the door of the motor -roused her. - -William had turned on the lights, lifted out the rug, and stood with it -flung over his arm, waiting for her to step out. - -Half dazed, she took up her hat and smoothed her tumbled hair. - -She glanced at the seat beside her, almost expecting to see David. - -Then she remembered, and quickly stepped out of the motor. - -The great doors of Riverscourt stood wide. A ruddy light from the -blazing log fire in the hall, streamed out over the newly fallen snow. - -Old Rodgers, deferential, yet very consciously paternal, his hands -shaking with suppressed excitement, stood just within. - -The housekeeper, expectant and alert, a bow of white satin ribbon in a -prominent position in her cap, waited at the foot of the wide oak -staircase. - -The poodle, his tufts tied up with white ribbon, moved forward to greet -his mistress; then advanced gravely into the portico, and inspected the -empty motor. The poodle's heart was in the grave of Uncle Falcon. -Weddings did not interest him. But the non-arrival of the -bridegroom--who had once, with a lack of discrimination quite -remarkable, even in a human being, mistaken him for Mrs. Marmaduke -Vane--seemed a fact which required verification and investigation. The -poodle returned, smiling, from his inspection of the empty interior of -the motor. He had not paid much attention to the lengthy discussions in -the servants' hall. But this much he knew. Old Rodgers had won his bet. -The housekeeper would have to pay. This pleased the poodle, who resented -the fact that the housekeeper had first trimmed her own cap, and then -tied him up with the remnants;--adding to this obvious slight, a callous -disregard of his known preference for green or crimson, where the colour -of his bows was concerned. - -As Diana entered the house, the old clock in the hall began to strike -six; distant Westminster chimes sounded from an upper landing; an unseen -cuckoo jerked out its note six times, then slammed its door; while the -old clock, measured and sonorous, refusing to be either hurried or -interrupted, slowly finished its six strokes. - -Diana flung her cloak to Rodgers, and ordered tea in the library. Then, -with a greeting to her housekeeper, she passed upstairs to her own room. - -Mrs. David Rivers had come home. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII - -UNCLE FALCON WINS - - -Diana dined alone at the little round table in the big dining-room. She -wore the white satin gown she had worn on the evening of Christmas-day, -when David dined with her. The table decoration was lilies of the valley -and Parma violets. - -After dinner she went to the library, restless and lonely, yet glad to -be alone; thankful she had postponed to the morrow, the return of Mrs. -Marmaduke Vane. - -On her writing-table, in a silver frame, stood the photograph of a -special chum of hers, a man with whom she frequently played tennis in -summer, and rode in winter; a good-looking fellow, with the appearance -of an all round sportsman. His gay friendly eyes looked out at her with -an air of easy comradeship, as she paused for a moment beside the table. - -Diana was fond of this portrait of Ronald Ingram. It always stood on -her writing-table. But, this evening, she suddenly took it up, and put -it, face downwards, into a drawer. It had served to remind her that she -possessed no photograph of David. - -She moved over to the fireplace, tall and lovely, perfectly gowned, -surrounded by all the luxury she loved--yet indescribably desolate. - -She stood, wrapped in thought, warming her hands at the fire; then sank -into Uncle Falcon's armchair, in which she had sat while she and David -discussed their intended marriage. - -Did she need a portrait of David? - -Hardly. He was so vividly pictured in her mental vision. - -She could see him in the pulpit of the little church at -Brambledene--keen, eager, inspired; full of his subject; the dark eyes -shining in his thin worn face. - -She could see him in the vestry, seated on the high stool; boyish, shy; -very much taken aback by her unexpected entry. - -She could see him at the piano in the drawing-room, completely -unconscious of his surroundings; enveloped in the music he himself was -making. - -She could see him seated opposite to her in the chair now empty, a look -of strange detachment upon his tired face, as with infinite tact and -gentleness he explained to her why he felt able, after all, to accede to -her request; never departing from his own standpoint in the matter; yet -making the thing as easy for her as possible. - -She could see him in the church of St. Botolph, as he had stood that -morning--was it really only that morning?--awaiting her. How strange had -been the summons in his eyes, which drew her to his side. Ah, if there -had but been _love_ between them, how wonderful a memory would have been -that look in David's eyes! - -She could see him in the railway train--in boyishly high spirits, -because nothing now stood between him and his departure for his belovèd -sphere of work--seated opposite to her at the little table in the -dining-car, rubbing the mist off the windows with his table napkin, and -exclaiming over the beauties of the Hampshire hills and villages. - -"Lord _now_ lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace." Poor David! She -had certainly interfered with his peace of mind during the fortnight -which had preceded their strange wedding. Well, he had departed in -peace, and was undoubtedly gone "to be a light to lighten the -Gentiles." And what a difference her money would make to the success of -his work. - -And then--she could see him as he bent down to her from the top of the -gangway, his dark eyes gazing into hers, and said: "Good-bye, my wife." -Surely, for the moment, it had meant something to David to call her his -wife? She had never before seen quite such a look in any man's eyes. Was -it fancy, or was there a hunger in them, which seemed to match the ache -at her own breast? Sentimental fancy on her own part, no doubt; for had -not David said of their wedding service: "It meant no more than we -intended it should mean"? - -How odious and impossible a state of things, if she--Diana Rivers--who -had proposed this marriage, as a mere business transaction--should now -be imagining into it sentiment which she had expressly stipulated should -never enter therein. If David knew of it, would she not be forced to bow -her head in shame, before his clear honest eyes? - -No; certainly she needed no photograph of David! - - * * * * * - -She glanced at the portrait of Uncle Falcon hanging over the -mantel-piece; then looked away at once. She was rather afraid of Uncle -Falcon to-night. David had said she was to flaunt her victory in Uncle -Falcon's face. She had replied that she might have done so, if _he_ had -been going to be with her. David had made no reply; but she had felt him -shrink into himself. He had been too honest to express regret to his -bride, that his engagements took him elsewhere on his wedding evening; -and too kind, to show relief. When she had said: "David, I shall be -quite alone at Riverscourt to-night," David had remarked: "Oh, look at -the undulating line of those distant hills!" - -A little gleam of amusement illumined the sad face, resting against the -dark leather of Uncle Falcon's big chair; and, as the firelight played -upon it, dimples peeped out. Had she looked up, she would have seen a -corresponding twinkle in Uncle Falcon's amber eyes. - -It really was rather funny. David and his table napkin! She knew she had -not behaved quite well towards David, who was such a very faithful and -very proper person. She felt she should always hate the distant line of -undulating hills! If only he had tried to kiss her, and she could have -boxed his ears, she would have enjoyed that journey better. - -But, the next moment, a rush of tears drowned the gleam of fun in those -sweet eyes. She had remembered David's face, as he said: "Good-bye, my -wife." It seemed sacrilege even to _think_ of boxing his ears! How ill -he had looked, during those final minutes on the boat. It made it so -terribly easy to picture David's face as it would look when he lay -dying--dead. - -Diana's tears fell silently. She, who scarcely ever wept, now found -herself weeping without restraint, in a vague, helpless sort of way; and -about nothing--that was the foolish part of it--she was crying about -absolutely nothing! - -"This will never do!" said Diana. "I am being as silly as an _ordinary_ -married woman. I must find something sensible to think about." - -She rose from her chair, stretched her beautiful arms over her head; -then walked across to a table to look for a book. Her eye fell upon a -concordance, lying where she had left it on that evening of indecision -and perplexity. - -Suddenly she remembered words of David's in his sermon on Christmas-eve. -They came back to her as clearly as if they had that moment been spoken. - -"Myrrh, in the Bible," David had said, "stands for other things besides -death. We must not pause to do so now; but, sometime, at your leisure, -look out each mention of myrrh. You will find it stands for love--love, -of the sweetest, tenderest kind; love so complete, that it must bring -with it self-abnegation, and a mingling of pain with its bliss." - -Yes, David had said this. How suitable that to-night--of all nights--she -should do as he had wished. - -But, first, she went to the window, drew aside the curtains, and looked -out. - -Snow had ceased to fall. The sky was clear and cloudless. There was no -moon; but, low on the horizon, shone one brilliant star. - -It seemed to Diana, that at that very moment, from somewhere out on the -ocean, David's eyes were also on that star. It brought him very near. It -made his last prayer very real. - -She leaned her head against the window frame, and watched it silently. - -"Whether in life or in death," said David's quiet voice, "may we glorify -our King, and be faithful followers of the star." - -Then she drew the curtain close once more, found a Bible, took up the -concordance, and went back to Uncle Falcon's chair to do as David had -suggested. - -The first reference to which she turned, chanced to be the thirteenth -verse of the first chapter of the Book of Canticles--divinest love-poem -ever written. - -Bending over it, in the firelight, Diana read the opening words. - -"_A bundle of myrrh is my well-belovèd unto me_----" - -Then, suddenly, her eyes dilated. She pressed her hands against her -breast. - -Then she bent over, and finished the verse; reading each word slowly, to -the very last. - - * * * * * - -"David! David! David!" - -_A bundle of myrrh is my well-belovèd unto me!_ Oh, David, speeding each -moment farther and farther away, on life's relentless ocean; hastening -to that distant land "that is very far off," from which there is no -return! - -She lay back in the chair; opened her arms wide; then closed them--on -nothingness. - - * * * * * - -"David! David!" - -She understood, now. - -This pain at her breast, this ache of her heart, would never be stilled, -until David's dear head rested here where his hand had been pressed. -And David had gone from her--forever. - -"Good-bye, my wife.... It meant no more than we intended it should -mean.... Good-bye, my wife." - -She held her hands clasped to her bosom. She looked, wide-eyed, at the -empty chair, opposite. - -"David," she whispered, "David, come back to me!" - -It seemed, to her, that David must hear, and must return. This agony of -awful loneliness could not endure.... David!... David!... David!... - - * * * * * - -At last she rose, leaned her arms upon the marble mantel-piece, and -looked up into the searching eyes of the portrait. - -"Uncle Falcon," she whispered bravely; "Uncle Falcon--_you have won_." - -The eyes of the old man who had loved her, seemed to look down sadly, -sorrowfully, into hers. She had won; and he had won; but there was no -triumph in either victory. - -The only undisputed victor, in that hour, was Love who is lord of all; -and even Love fled, with drooping wings, from a desolation which had -been brought about by sacrilege at the altar. - -Diana laid her golden head upon her arms. Its coronet of pride fell from -it. She was shaken from head to foot by desperate weeping. - -David had said: "A love so complete that it must bring with it -self-abnegation, and a mingling of pain with its bliss." She had had one -glimpse of what the bliss might have been. She was tasting the pain to -the full. - - * * * * * - -Self stepped forever off the throne of her woman's heart; and Love, -undisputed, held full sway. - -She turned from the fireplace, sank upon the floor beside the chair in -which David had sat; then laid her head upon it, clasping her arms -around its unresponsive emptiness. - -"David!... David!... David!" - -But the distant liner was ploughing steadily through the dark waters. -Each moment took him farther from her; nearer to the land from which -there is no return. - -"_Good-bye, my wife._" - - * * * * * - -After a while, Diana ceased to call him. - -She lay very still. No sound broke the silence of the room, save the low -shuddering sobs of a breaking heart. - -But the star in the sky still shone, though heavy curtains veiled it. - -And David, pacing the hurricane deck, where were no curtains, lifted his -eyes to its clear shining; and, in the midst of his own desperate pain, -saw in it an emblem of hope, a promise of guidance, a beacon light in -this vast desert of utter desolation. - - * * * * * - -And midnight brought merciful sleep to both. - - -_Here endeth_ GOLD. - - - - -FRANKINCENSE - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV - -THE HIDDEN LEAVEN - - -Christmas-eve had come round again. The successive changes of each -season had passed over Riverscourt;--the awakening of early spring, when -earth threw off her pall of snow, and budding life won its annual -triumph over the darkening chill of winter;--the bloom and blossom of -summer, when all nature lifted up its voice and sang to the sunshine, -amid fragrance of flowers and shade of soft green foliage;--the rich -fulfilment of autumn, when blossom ripened into fruit, and trees turned -to crimson and gold, emblem of the royal wealth of yielded harvest. - -All this had come, and gone; and now, once more, earth slept 'neath -leaden skies; and bare branches forked out, hopeless, over the sodden -turf. - -"Is this the end?" rasped the dead leaves, as the north wind swept them -in unresisting herds down the avenue of beeches. "The end! The end!" -wailed the north wind. "_The grass withereth, the flower fadeth--_" -Then Hope, born of Faith and Experience, cried: "_But the word of our -God shall stand forever! While the earth remaineth, seedtime and -harvest, and cold and heat, and summer and winter, and day and night -shall not cease._ This is not death, but sleep. When spring sounds the -reveillé, life will stir and move again beneath the sod; all nature will -respond, and there shall come once more the great awakening; the dismal -sentries of darkness and of death may cease to challenge; the troops of -light and life march on their way. Again the victory will be with -spring." - - * * * * * - -During the year, now nearly over, Diana's inner life had reflected each -of these transitions, going on around her, in her own park and gardens. - -In the lonely despairing weeks following her wedding-day, her heart -seemed numb and dead; her empty arms stiffened like leafless branches. -Her love had awakened, only to find itself entombed. - -But, with the arrival of David's first letter, there burst upon her -winter the glad promise of spring. - -"My dear wife," wrote David; and, as she read the words, strong -possessive arms seemed to enfold her. Though distance divided, she was, -unalterably, _that_ to him: "My dear wife." - -The letter proceeded, in calm friendliness, to give her a full account -of his voyage; nothing more; yet with an intimacy of detail, an -assurance of her interest, which came as balm to Diana's sore heart. And -the letter ended: "Yours ever, David Rivers." - -Then followed a sweet summer-time of wonderful promise. David's letters -reached her by every mail. They always began: "My dear wife"; they -always ended: "Yours ever, David Rivers"; they held no word of anything -closer or more intimate in their tie, than was in the bond; yet, as -Diana shared his hopes and expectations, his difficulties, and their -surmounting; as she followed with him along each step in the new -development of his work, the materialising of his ideas, the fulfilment -of his plans, by means of her gift of gold--it seemed to her that all -this was but the promise of spring; that a glad summer must soon come, -when David's heart should awaken to a need--not only of her sympathy and -of her help, but of _herself_; that, at no distant date, the mail would -bring a letter, saying: "My wife, I want you. Come to me!" - -She forgot that, owing to their unnatural marriage, she was, of all -women, the one whom David could not, however much he might desire to do -so, attempt to woo and win. She realised her side of the question; yet, -womanlike, forgot his. No hint of her need of him was allowed to creep -into her letters, even between the lines; yet she eagerly searched -David's for some indication that his heart was beginning to turn toward -her, in more than friendliness. It seemed to her, that her growing love -for him must awaken in him a corresponding love for her. - -But David's letters continued calm and friendly; and, as his work became -more absorbing, they held even less of personal detail, or of intimate -allusion to her life at home. - -Yet this summer-time was one of growth and bloom to Diana, for there -blossomed up, between him and herself, by means of constant letters, a -wonderful friendship. - -Their position, the one toward the other, was so unique; and, having no -one else with whom to share their inner lives and closest interests, -they turned to one another with a completeness which made a diary of -their correspondence. - -The one subject upon which neither dared to be frank, was their love the -one for the other. Each was the very soul of honour, and each felt bound -by their mutual compact to hide from the other how infinitely more their -marriage had meant than they had ever dreamed it could, or intended it -should, mean. - - * * * * * - -With the awakening of her love for David, Diana passed through agonies -of shame at the recollection of the crude, calm way in which she had -asked him to marry her. - -During the long days before the arrival of his first letter, she used, -almost every evening, to stand as she had stood that afternoon, facing -the empty chair which had then held David; and, whispering the fateful -words recall his face of protest; his look of horrified dismay. This was -the penance she imposed on her proud spirit; and she would creep -upstairs afterwards, her fair head bowed in shame; a beautiful Godiva, -who had ridden forth, not to save her townspeople, but to gain her own -desired ends. - -Poor David! How he had leapt up in instant protest: "I cannot do this -thing!" Her suggestion to him had not even partaken of the nature of a -royal proposal of marriage, when the young man knows that the choice has -fallen upon himself, and stands waiting, with ready penknife, to slit -the breast of his tightly buttoned tunic, and insert therein the fair -white rose of a maiden's proffered love. David's uniform of amazed -manhood, had provided no improvised buttonhole for Diana's undesired -flower. He had stood before her, dismayed but implacable: "I cannot do -this thing!" Poor David, in his shabby jacket, with his thin, worn face, -and eyes ablaze. Diana cowered before the Peeping Tom of her own vivid -remembrance. - -But, with the reading of his first letter, the words, "my dear wife," -stole around her as protective arms, shielding her from shame, and -comforting her in her loneliness, with the fact of how much she had, -after all, been able to give him. Yet never--never--must word from her -reveal to David that she had given him, unasked, the whole love of her -woman's heart. Should he come to need it, and ask for it, he would find -it had all along been his. - -At first, Diana's life had moved along its accustomed lines; with David, -and all he was to her, as a sweet central secret, hidden deeply in her -heart of hearts. - -But, before long, she began to experience that which has been -beautifully described as "the expulsive power of a new affection." -David--like the little leaven, which a woman took and hid in three -measures of meal--David, working outward, from that inner shrine, -leavened her whole life. - -He had not asked her to give up hunting, or dancing, or any of the -gaiety in which she delighted. Yet the more she lived in touch with his -strenuous life of earnest self-sacrifice, the less these things -attracted her. - -Diana's friends never found her dull; but they gradually grew to realise -that her horizon had widened immeasurably beyond their own; that the -focussing points in her field of vision were things totally unseen by -themselves; that, in some subtle way, she had developed and grown beyond -their comprehension. They loved her still, but they left her. Diana -Rivers, of Riverscourt, ceased to be the centre of an admiring crowd. - -They left her; but she was not conscious of their going. - -She stood alone; yet did not know that she was lonely. - -The only leaving of which she was aware, was that David had left her on -their wedding-day; the only loneliness, that David never intended to -return. - -Truly, the little leaven had leavened the whole lump. - -The glitter and the glamour of the kingdoms of this world had passed -away. The kingdom of heaven held sway in Diana's heart. - -But the King of that kingdom, at this period of Diana's life, was -David. - - - - -CHAPTER XXV - -THE PROPERTY OF THE CROWN - - -The summer passed in perpetual expectation; which, when autumn arrived, -seemed ripe for fulfilment. - -Diana's mind was so absorbed by her love for David, that she scarcely -realised how completely she kept it out of her letters; or that his -reticence might merely have been a reflection of her own. Also she every -now and then relieved her feelings by writing him a complete outpouring. -This, often written side by side with her letter for the mail, she would -seal up in an envelope addressed to David, and place in a compartment of -the sandal-wood box in which she kept all his letters, with a vague idea -that some day she herself would be able to place in his hands these -unposted missives. - -One afternoon, just as she was closing both envelopes, callers arrived. -They stayed to tea; leaving, only a few minutes before Rodgers came in -with the post-bag. - -Diana stamped her letter, and placed it in the bag. Then spent half an -hour looking through some of David's before locking them up with the one -she had just written. This was especially full of tenderness and -longing; and, though the quick blood mantled her cheek at the -recollection of words it contained, her heart felt lightened and -relieved. - -"How foolish I am," she thought; "no wiser than the ordinary married -women, whom I used to despise." - -She took up a little pile of these letters, lying safely in their own -compartment in the sandal-wood casket. - -"They all belong to David," she whispered. "Some day--he will see them." - -Then something about the address of the one she had just placed with the -rest, caught her eye. The writing was hurried, and more like that which -she had rapidly finished for posting, while Rodgers waited. - -She tore it open. - -_My dear David._ - -She glanced at the end. Then she sprang up and pealed the bell. - -_Yours affectionately_, _Diana Rivers_, was in her hand. _Your wife_, -_who loves you and longs for you_, had gone to David! - -Rodgers reported, in an unmoved undertone, that the man with the -post-bag had started for Riversmead, on his bicycle, twenty minutes ago. - -"Order the motor," commanded Diana. "Tell Knox to come round as quickly -as possible. I must overtake the post-bag." - -She placed her letter in a fresh envelope, rapidly addressed, sealed, -and stamped it; flew up for a hat and coat, and was downstairs, ready to -start, within five minutes of her discovery of the mistake. - -She paced the hall like a caged lion. Every word she had written stood -out in letters of fire. Oh folly, folly, to have let the two letters lie -side by side! - -"It meant no more than we intended it should mean".... _Your wife, who -loves you and longs for you._ - -At last the motor hummed up to the portico. Diana was in it before it -drew up. - -"Overtake Jarvis," she said, and sat back, palpitating. - -They flew down the avenue, and along the high road. But Jarvis had had -nearly half-an-hour's start, and was a dependable man. A little way from -the lodge gates they met him returning. - -"On! To the post-office!" cried Diana. - -It so happened that a smart, new post-office had lately been opened, in -the centre of the little town--a stone building, very official in -appearance. Its workings were carried out with great precision and -authority. The old postmaster was living up to the grandeur of his new -building. - -Diana walked in, letting the door swing behind her. - -"Has the Riverscourt bag been emptied yet?" she enquired. "If not, bring -it to me, unopened." - -A clerk went into the sorting-room, and returned in a few minutes with -the letter-bag, open and empty. - -"Has the mail gone?" demanded Diana. - -No, the mail had not gone. It was due out, in a few minutes. - -The letters were being sorted. She could hear the double bang-bang of -the postmarking. - -"I wish to see the Postmaster," said Diana. - -The Postmaster was summoned, and, hurrying out, bowed low before the -mistress of Riverscourt. She did not often come, in person, even to the -_new_ post-office. - -Diana knew she had a difficult matter to broach, and realised that she -must not be imperious. - -D. R. might reign at Riverscourt; but E. R. was sovereign of the realm! -Her love-letter to David had now become the property of the King; and -this courteous little person, bowing before her, was, very consciously, -the King's official in Riversmead. Was not E. R. carved with many -flourishes on a stone escutcheon on the face of the new post-office? - -Diana, curbing her impatience, smiled graciously at the Postmaster. - -"May I have a few words with you, in your private room, Mr. Holdsworth?" -she said. - -Full of pleased importance, the little great man ushered her into his -private sanctum, adjoining the sorting-room. - -A bright fire burned in the grate. The room was new, and not yet -papered; and the autumn evening was chill. Diana walked up to the fire, -drew off her gloves, and, stooping, warmed her hands at the blaze. - -Then she turned and faced the Postmaster. - -"Mr. Holdsworth, I want you to do me a great kindness. An hour ago, I -put by mistake into our post-bag, a letter addressed to my husband, -which it is most important that he should not receive. It was a mistake. -Here is the letter I intended for him. I want you to find the other in -the sorting-room, and to get it back for me." - -The little man stiffened visibly. E. R. seemed writ large all over him. - -"That is impossible, madam," he said, "absolutely impossible. Once -posted, a letter becomes the property of the Crown until it reaches the -hands of the addressee. I, as a servant of the King, have to see that -all Crown-property is safeguarded. I could not, under any circumstances -whatever, return a letter once posted." - -"But it is my own letter!" exclaimed Diana. "An hour ago it lay on my -writing-table, side by side with this one, for which it was mistaken. It -is my own property; and I _must_ have it back." - -"It ceased to be your property, Mrs. Rivers, when it was taken from your -private post-bag and placed among other posted letters. Neither you nor -I have any further control over it." - -Diana's imperious temper flashed from her eyes, and flamed into her -cheeks. Her first impulse was to fling this little person aside, stride -into the sorting-room, and retrieve her letter to David, at any cost. - -Then a wiser mood prevailed. She came a step nearer, looking down upon -him with soft pleading eyes. - -"Mr. Holdsworth," she said, "you are an official of the Crown, and a -faithful one; but, even before that, you are a man. Listen! I shall -suffer days and nights of unspeakable anguish of mind, if that letter -goes. My husband is out in the far wilds of Central Africa. That letter -would mean endless worry and perplexity to him, in the midst of his -important work; and also the wrecking of a thing very dear to us both. -So strongly do I feel about it, that, if it goes, I shall sail on the -same boat, travelling night and day, by the fastest route, in order to -intercept it at his very gate! See how I trust you, when I tell you all -this!" - -The Postmaster hesitated. "You could cable him to return it to you -unopened," he said. - -"I could," replied Diana; "but that would involve a mystery and a worry; -and I would give my life to shield him from worry. See! Here is the -letter intended for this mail, ready stamped and sealed. All I ask you -to do, is to substitute this one for the other." - -She held out the letter, and looked at the Postmaster. - -His eyes fell before the pleading in hers. - -He was a Crown official and an Englishman. Had she offered him a hundred -pounds to do this thing, he would have shown her out of his office with -scant ceremony. But the haughty young lady of Riverscourt, in all her -fearless beauty, had looked at him with tears in her grey eyes, and had -said: "See how I trust you." - -He hesitated: his hand moved in the direction of the letter, his fingers -working nervously. - -Diana laid her hand upon his arm, bending towards him. - -"_Please_," she said. - -He took the letter. - -"I will see whether the other is already gone," he mumbled, and -disappeared through a side door, into the sorting-room. - -In a few moments he returned, still holding Diana's letter. His plump -face was rather pale, and his hand shook. He laid Diana's letter on the -table between them. - -"I am very sorry, Mrs. Rivers," he said. "I cannot possibly give you -back a letter once posted. Were I known to have done such a thing, I -should at once be dismissed." - -Diana paled, and stood very still, considering her next move. - -"I cannot _give_ you back the letter," said the Postmaster. His eyes met -hers; then dropped to the letter lying on the table between them. - -Then the stars in their courses fought against David, for suddenly Diana -understood. This was the letter she wanted, placed within her reach. - -With a rapid movement she pounced upon it, verified it at a glance; -tore it to fragments, and flung them into the flames. - -"There!" she said. "You did not give it to me, and I have not taken it. -It is simply gone--as if it had never been either written or posted." - -Then she turned to the little fat man near the door, and impulsively -held out her hand. "God bless you, my friend!" she said. "I shall never -forget what you have done for me this day." - -"We had best both forget it," whispered the Postmaster, thickly. "If a -word of it gets about, I lose my place." - -"Never you fear!" cried Diana, her buoyancy returning, in her relief and -thankfulness. "I trusted you, and you may safely trust me." - -"Hush," cautioned Mr. Holdsworth, as he opened the door; "we had best -both forget." Then, as she passed out: "Your letter was just in time, -m'am," he remarked aloud, for the benefit of the clerks in the office. -"I placed it in the bag myself." - -"Thank you," said Diana. "It would have troubled me greatly to have -missed this evening's mail. I am much obliged to you, Mr. Holdsworth." - - * * * * * - -Leaning back in the motor, on her homeward way, her heart felt sick at -the suspense through which she had passed. - -A reaction set in. The chill of a second winter nipped the bloom of her -summer, and the rich fulfilment promised by her golden autumn. The fact -that it seemed such an impossible horror that one of her tender -love-letters should really reach David, proved to her the fallacy of the -consolation she had found in writing them. - -It placed him far away--and far away forever. He would never know; he -would never care; he would never come.... _It meant no more than we -intended it should mean_.... _Good-bye, my wife._ - - * * * * * - -Tears stole from beneath Diana's closed lids, and rolled silently down -her cheeks. - -_Your wife, who loves you and longs for you!_ But David would never -know. It was so true--oh, so true! But David would never know. - - * * * * * - -And, away in the African swamps, at that very hour, David, lying in his -wooden hut, recovering from one of the short bouts of fever, now -becoming so frequent, leaned upon his elbow and drew from beneath his -pillow Diana's last letter, which he had been too ill to read when the -mail came in; scanned it through eagerly, seeking for some word which -might breathe more than mere friendliness; pressed his hot lips against -the signature, _yours affectionately_, _Diana Rivers_; then lay back and -fought the hopeless consuming longing, which grew as the months passed -by, strengthening as he weakened. - -"I promised it should never mean more than she intended," he said. "She -chose me, because she trusted me. I should be a hound, to go back! But -oh, my wife--my wife--my wife!" - - * * * * * - -"You can serve dinner for me in the library to-night, Rodgers," said -Diana. "Tell Mrs. Mallory I shall dine there alone. I am tired. Yes, -thank you; I caught the mail." - -She shivered. "Order fires everywhere, please. The place is like an -ice-house. Winter has taken us unawares." - -She moved wearily across the great silent hall, and slowly mounted the -staircase. - -No light shone through the stained-glass window at the bend of the -staircase; the stern outline of Rivers knights stood unrelieved by glow -of colour. The knight with the dark bared head, his helmet beneath his -arm, more than ever seemed to resemble David; not David in his usual -quiet gentleness; but David, standing white and rigid, protesting, in -startled dismay: "Why not? Why, because, even if I wished--even if you -wished--even if we both wished for each other--in that way, Central -Africa is no place for a woman. I would never take a woman there." - -As she looked at the young knight with the close-cropped dark head, and -white face, she remembered her sudden gust of fury against David; and -the mighty effort with which she had surmounted it. Her answer came back -to her with merciless accuracy; and, turning half way up the second -flight of stairs, she faced the shadowy knight, and repeated it in low -tones. - -"My dear Cousin David, you absolutely mistake my meaning. I gave you -credit for more perspicacity. I have not the smallest intention of going -to Central Africa, or of ever inflicting my presence or my -companionship, upon you.... And you yourself have told me, over and -over, that you never expect to return to England." - -Diana's hand tightened upon the balustrade, as she stood looking across -at the big window. These were the words she had spoken to David. - -The bareheaded knight remained immovable; but his face seemed to whiten, -and his outline to become more uncompromisingly mail-clad. - -"David," came the low tender voice from the staircase, "oh, David, I -_do_ want you--'in that way'! I would go to Central Africa or anywhere -else in the wide world to be with you, David. Send for me, David, or -come to me--oh, David, come to me!" - -The tall slim figure on the staircase leaned towards the shadowy window, -holding out appealing arms. - -A bitter smile seemed to gather on the white face of the steel-clad -knight. "_I_ am to provide the myrrh," said David's voice. - -Diana turned and moved slowly upward. - -She could hear the log fire in the hall beginning to hiss and crackle. - -She shivered. "Yes, it is winter," she said; "it is winter again; and it -has taken us unawares." - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI - -A PILGRIMAGE - - -On the afternoon of Christmas-eve, Diana sat in the library writing to -David. She had drawn up a small table close to the fire. The room was -cosy, and perfectly quiet, excepting for the leap and crackle of flames -among the huge pine logs. - -Diana dated her letter; then laid aside her pen, and, resting her chin -in her hand, read over once again David's Christmas letter, which had -reached her that morning. - -It was very full of the consecration of the Church of the Holy Star, -which was to take place before the Feast of Epiphany. - -It held no allusions to the anniversaries, so soon coming round; the -days which, a year ago, had been fraught with happenings of such deep -importance to them both. - -Long after she had reached _Yours ever_, _David Rivers_, Diana sat with -bent head, pondering over the closely written sheets, so pregnant with -omissions, trying to make up her mind as to whether she should take her -cue from David, and ignore the significance of these days; or whether -she should act upon her first instinctive impulse, and write freely of -them. - -The firelight flickered on her coils of golden hair, and revealed the -fact that her face had lost the rounded contour of that perfect buoyancy -of health, which had been hers a year ago. Its thinness, and the purple -shadows beneath the eyes, made her look older; but, as she lifted her -eyes from the closely written sheets of foreign paper, and gazed, with a -wistful little smile, into the fire, there was in them such a depth of -chastened tenderness, and in her whole expression so gentle a look of -quiet patience--as of a heart keeping long vigil, and not yet within -sight of dawn--that the mellowing and softening of the spirit looking -forth from it, fully compensated for the thinning and aging of the -lovely face. Diana, in her independent radiance, was there no longer; -but David's wife took up her pen to write to David, with a look upon her -face, which would have brought David to his knees at her feet, could he -but have seen it. - -Uncle Falcon's amber eyes gleamed down upon her. They had never twinkled -since her wedding night; but they often shone with a strangely -comprehending light. Sometimes they said: "We have both won, Diana;" at -other times: "We have both lost;" according to her mood. But always they -were kindly; and always they gave her sympathy; and, unfailingly, they -understood. - -The old house rang with the merry voices of children. Notwithstanding -the solemn protestations of old Rodgers, they were apparently playing -hide-and-seek up and down the oak staircase, along the upper corridors, -and in and out of the deep hall cupboards. - -Diana was not fond of children. An extra loud whoop or bang in her -vicinity, did not call up an indulgent smile upon her face; and, at -last, when the whole party apparently fell headlong down the stairs -together, Diana, with a frown of annoyance, rang the bell and told -Rodgers to request Mrs. Mallory to see that there was less roughness in -the games. - -Certainly Diana was not naturally fond of children. Yet during these -years in which she was striving to let her whole life be a perpetual -offering of frankincense, she filled her house with them, at Christmas, -Easter, and mid-summer. - -They were the children of missionaries; boys and girls at school in -England, whose parents in far distant parts of the world, could give -them no welcome home in holiday time. They would have had a sad travesty -of holidays, at school, had not Diana invited them to Riverscourt, -giving them a right royal time, under the gentle supervision of Mrs. -Mallory, the young widow of a missionary killed in China, who now lived -with Diana, as her companion and secretary. Mrs. Marmaduke Vane had -wedded Mr. Inglestry, within three months of Diana's own marriage. - -As the house grew more quiet, Diana again took up her pen. She could -hear Mrs. Mallory shepherding the children along the upper corridors, -into a play-room at the further end of the house. - -For a moment she felt a pang of compunction at having so peremptorily -stopped the hide-and-seek; but salved her conscience by the remembrance -of the magnificent Christmas-tree, loaded with gifts, standing ready in -the ante-room, for the morrow's festivities. - -Poor little forsaken girls and boys! She had no mother-love to give -them. But she gave them what she could--gold, frankincense; in many -cases the climate in which their parents lived provided the myrrh, when -they had to be told at school of the death, in a far-off land, of a -passionately loved and longed-for mother, whose possible home-coming -before long, had been the one gleam of light on the grey horizon of a -lonely little heart's school-life. - -Poor desolate little children; orphaned, yet not orphans! - -Diana laid down her pen, and stretched her hand towards the bell, to -send word that the hide-and-seek might go on. Then smiled at her own -weakness. Why, even their mothers would have been obliged sometimes to -say: "Hush!" If only Diana had known it, their own mothers would have -said "Hush!" far more often than she did! - -She took up her pen, and her surroundings were completely forgotten, as -she talked to David. - - - "RIVERSCOURT, Christmas-eve. - - "MY DEAR DAVID,--How well you timed your Christmas letter. - It reached me this morning. So I have it for Christmas-eve, - Christmas-day, and Boxing-day--all three important - anniversaries to us. Had I but thought of it in time, I - might have kept a sheet for each day. Instead of which, in - my eagerness for news concerning the Church of the Holy - Star, I read your whole long letter through, the very - moment I received it. However, it will bear reading twice, - or even three times; it is so full of interest. - - "Indeed I shall be with you in thought at the opening - ceremony. I intend to motor over to Winchester, and spend - the time in prayer and meditation in your little Chapel of - the Epiphany. - - "It will not by any means be my first pilgrimage there, - David. It is the place of all others where I find I can - most easily pray for your work. I kneel where you knelt, - and look up at the stained glass representation of the Wise - Men. It brings back every word of the sermon you preached - this day last year. - - "When you were there, did you happen to notice the window - on the left, as you kneel at the rail? It represents the - Virgin bending over the Baby Christ. She is holding both - His little feet in one of her hands. I can't understand - why; but that action seems so extraordinarily to depict the - tenderness of her mother-love. I dislike babies myself, - exceedingly; yet, ever since I saw that window, I have been - pursued by the desire to hold a baby's two little feet in - my hand that way, just to see how it feels! I am certain - your mother often held your feet so, when you were a wee - baby, David; and I am equally certain my mother never held - mine. Don't you think tenderness, shown to little children, - before they are old enough to know what tenderness means, - makes a difference to their whole lives? I am sure I grew - up hard-hearted, simply because no demonstration of - affection was ever poured out upon me in my infancy. You - grew up so sweet and affectionate to every one, simply - because your mother lavished love upon you, kissed your - curls, and held both your baby feet in one of her tender - hands, when you were a tiny wee little kiddie, and knew - nothing at all about it! There! Now you have one of my - theories of life, thought out as I knelt in your little - chapel, meaning to spend the whole time in prayer for your - work. - - "Last time I was there, just as I left the chapel, - Even-song was beginning. I slipt quietly down the cathedral - and sat at the very bottom of the vast nave. The service - was going on away up in the choir, through distant gates. - The music seemed to come floating down from heaven. They - sang the 'Nunc Dimittis' to Garrett in F. 'Lord,' whispered - the angel voices, on gently floating harmony: 'Lord, now - lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace.' 'Depart in - peace,' repeated the silvery trebles, soaring back to - heaven! I thought of you; and of how you quoted it, looking - up at the picture of Simeon in the temple, as we walked - down old St. Botolph's Church. How relieved you were to be - off, David; and how glad to go. - - "I still make pilgrimages to St. Botolph's, when spending - any time in town; or when I take a panic over your health, - or your many African perils, snakes, poisoned darts, and - such like things--not to mention an early hippopotamus, - dancing a cake-walk in your front-garden, before breakfast. - - "The verger is becoming accustomed to my visits. At first - she watched me with suspicion, evidently fearing lest I had - designs on the cherubs of the lectern, or purposed carving - my name upon the altar-rail. When she found my prayer and - meditation covered no such sinister intentions, she gave up - prowling round, and merely kept an eye on me from her seat - at the bottom of the church. Last time I went, I had quite - a long talk with her, and found her a most interesting and - well-informed person; well up in the history of the old - church, and taking a touching pride and delight in it; - evidently fulfilling her duties with reverent love and - care; not in the perfunctory spirit one finds only too - often among church officials. - - "But, oh David, what a contrast between this refined, - well-educated woman, and the extraordinary old caretaker at - that church to which you went when you were first ordained! - Did I tell you, I made a pilgrimage there? I thought it a - beautiful church, and took a quite particular interest in - seeing the pulpit, and all the other places in which you - performed, for the first time, the sacred functions of your - holy office. - - "But I can't return there, David, or remember it with - pleasure, because of the appalling old gnome who haunts it, - and calls herself the 'curtiker'. I never saw anything - quite so terrifyingly dirty, or so weirdly coming to pieces - in every possible place and yet keeping together. And there - was no avoiding her. She appeared to be ubiquitous. - - "When I first entered the church, she was on her knees in - the aisle, flopping a very grimy piece of house flannel in - and out of a zinc pail, containing what looked like an - unpleasant compound of ink and soapsuds. Our acquaintance - began by her exhorting me, in a very loud voice, to keep - out of the 'pile.' The pail was the very last place into - which one would desire to go. So, carefully keeping out of - it, and avoiding the flops of the flannel, which landed - each time in quite unexpected places, I fled up the church. - A moment later, as I walked round the pulpit examining the - panels, she popped up in it triumphant, waving a black rag, - which I suppose did duty for a duster. Her sudden - appearance, in the place where I was picturing you giving - out your first text, made me jump nearly out of my skin. - Whereupon she said: 'Garn!' and came chuckling down the - steps, flapping her black rag on the balustrade. I hadn't - a notion what 'garn' meant; but concluded it was cockney - for 'go on,' and hurriedly went. - - "But it was no good dodging round pillars or taking - circuitous routes down one aisle and up another, in - attempts to avoid her. Wherever I went, she was there - before me; always brandishing some fresh implement - connected with the process which, in any other hands, might - have been church cleaning. So at last I gave up trying to - avoid her, and stood my ground bravely, in the hopes of - gleaning information from her very remarkable conversation. - I say 'bravely,' because she became much more terrifying - when she talked. She held her left eye shut, with her left - hand, put her face very close to mine, and looked at me out - of the right eye. She didn't seem able to talk without - looking at me; or to look at me, without holding one eye - shut. - - "I was dining at the Brands' that evening, and happened to - say to the man who took me in: 'Do you know how terrifying - it is to talk to a person who holds one eye shut, and looks - at you with the other?' He wanted to know what I meant; so - I showed how my old lady had done it, with head pushed - forward, and elbow well up. Everybody else went into fits; - but my man turned out to be a rising oculist, and took it - quite seriously; declared it must be a bad case of - astigmatism; asked the name of the church, and is going off - there to examine her eyes and prescribe glasses! - - "I tell you all this, in case she was a protégé of yours; - for she remembers you, David. - - "I am doubtful as to what manner of reception she will give - to my friend the oculist. I felt bound to tell him she - would most probably say 'Garn!' and his convulsive - amusement, seemed to me disproportionate to the mildness of - the joke. Her incomprehensible remarks, and her astonishing - cockney make rational conversation with her very difficult. - While I was in the church, a mild-looking curate came in, - and tried to explain something which was wanted. I could - not hear the conversation, but I saw her, at the bottom of - the church, holding her eye, and glaring at him. She came - back to me, brandishing a dustpan. ''Ear that?' she said. - 'Garn! As I always say to 'em: "A nod's as good as a wink - to a blind 'orse!'" - - "Now that sounded like a proverb, and she said it as if it - were a very deep pronouncement, which might settle all - ecclesiastical difficulties, and solve all parochial - problems. But, when one comes to think of it, what on earth - does it mean? - - "Well, David, she remembers you; so I have no doubt - whatever that you know all about her; when she became a - widow--all caretakers are widows, aren't they? how, and - from what cause; the exact number of her children; how many - she has buried, and how many are out in the world; what - 'carried off' the former, and what are the various - occupations of the latter. Not possessing your wonderful - faculty for unearthing the family history and inner life of - caretakers, I only know, that her favourite conviction is: - that a nod's as good as a wink to a blind horse; and--that - she remembers you. - - "I felt shy about mentioning you, while I was examining all - the places of special interest; but when I reached the - door, to which she accompanied me, gaily twirling a - moulting feather broom, I turned, and ventured to ask - whether she remembered you. She instantly clapped her hand - over her eye; but the other gleamed at me, with a - concentrated scorn, for asking so needless a question; and - with ill-disguised mistrust, as if I were a person who had - no business to have even a nodding acquaintance with you. - - "'It would taike a lot of furgittin' ter furgit _'im_!' she - observed, her face threateningly near mine; the whirling - feather broom moulting freely over both of us. ''E's the - sort of gent as maikes a body remember?' - - "So now, my dear David, we know why I never forget to write - to you by each mail. You are the sort of gent who makes a - body remember! - - "I asked her what she chiefly recollected about you. She - stared at me for a minute, with chill disapproval. Then her - face illumined, suddenly. ''Is smoile,' she said. - - "I fled to my motor. I felt suddenly hysterical. She had - such quaint black grapes in her bonnet; and you _have_ - rather a nice smile you know, David. - - "Not many smiles come my way, nowadays, excepting Mrs. - Mallory's; and they are so very ready-made. You feel you - could buy them in Houndsditch, at so much a gross. I know - about Houndsditch, because it is exactly opposite St. - Botolph's, out of Bishopsgate Street. I tried to have a - little friendly conversation with the people who stand in - the gutter all along there, selling extraordinary little - toys for a penny; also studs and buttonhooks, and - bootlaces. They told me they bought them in Houndsditch by - the gross. One man very kindly offered to take me to - Houndsditch, and show me where they bought them. It was - close by; so I went. He walked beside me, talking volubly - all the way. He called me 'Lidy,' all the time. It sounded - uncomfortably like a sort of pet-name, such as 'Liza or - 'Tilda; but I believe it was Bishopsgate for 'Lady', and - intended to be very respectful. - - "The wholesale shop was a marvellous place; so full of - little toys, and beads, and scent-bottles, and bootlaces, - that you just crowded in amongst them, and wondered whether - you would ever get out again. - - "My very dirty friend, was also very eager, and pushed our - way through to the counter. He explained to a salesman that - I was a 'lidy' who wanted to 'buoy.' The salesman looked - amused; but there seemed no let or hindrance in the way of - my 'buoying,' so I bought heaps of queer things, kept - samples of each, and gave all the rest to my friend for his - stock-in-trade. He was so vociferous in his thanks and - praises, and indiscriminate mention of both future states, - that I dreaded the walk back to Bishopsgate. But, - fortunately, Knox, having seen me cross the road, had had - the gumption to follow; so there stood the motor blocking - the way in Houndsditch. Into it I fled, and was whirled - westward, followed by a final: 'Gawd bless yur, lidy!' from - my grateful guide. - - "These people alarm me so, because I am never sure what - they may not be going to say next. When _you_ talk to them, - David, you always seem able to hold the conversation. But - if _I_ talk to them, almost immediately it is they who are - talking to me; while I am nervously trying to find a way to - escape from what I fear they are about to say. - - "But I was telling you of Mrs. Mallory's smiles---- - - * * * * * - - "Just as I wrote that, my dear David, Mrs. Mallory appeared - at the door, wearing one of them, and inquired whether I - was aware that it was nearly eleven o'clock; all the - children were asleep, and she was waiting to help me 'do - Santa Claus'? - - "So I had to leave off writing, then and there, and 'do - Santa Claus' for my large family, with Mrs. Mallory's help. - I began my letter early in the afternoon; and, with only - short breaks for tea and dinner, have been writing ever - since. Time seems to fly while I sit scribbling to you of - all my foolish doings. I only hope they do not bore you, - David. If the reading of them amuses you, as much as the - writing amuses me, we ought both to be fairly well - entertained. - - "Now I am back in the library, having been round to all the - beds, leaving behind at each a fat, mysterious, lumpy, - rustling, stocking! Oh, do you remember the feel of it, as - one sat up in the dark? One had fallen asleep, after a - final fingering of its limp emptiness. One - woke--remembered!--sat up--reached out a breathless - hand--and lo! it was plump and full--filled to overflowing. - Santa Claus had come! - - "I wish Santa Claus would come to empty hearts! - - "David you don't know how hard it is to go the round of - those little beds upstairs, and see the curly tumbled heads - on the pillows; feeling so little oneself about each - individual head, yet knowing that each one represents a - poor mother, thousands of miles away, who has gone to bed - aching for a sight of the tumbled curls on which I look - unmoved; who would give anything--anything--to be in my - shoes just for that five minutes. - - "There is a tiny girl here now, we call her 'Little Fairy,' - whose mother died eight weeks ago, just as the parents were - preparing to return to England. The little one is not to be - told until the father arrives, and tells her himself. She - thinks both are on the way. She talks very little of the - father, who appears to be a somewhat austere man; but every - day she says: 'Mummie's tumming home! Mummie's tumming - home!' When her little feet begin to dance as she trips - across the hall, I know they are dancing to the tune of - 'Mummie's tumming home!' Each evening she gives me a soft - little cheek to kiss, saying anxiously: 'Not my mouf, Mrs. - Rivers; I's keeping that for mummie!' It's breaking me, - David. If it goes on much longer I shall have to gather her - into my arms, and tell her the truth, myself. - - "Oh, why--why--why do people do these things in the name of - religion; on account of so-called Christian work. - - "I wish I loved children! Do you think there is something - radically wrong with one's whole nature, when one isn't - naturally fond of children? - - * * * * * - - "Hark! I hear chimes! David, it is Christmas morning! This - day last year, you dined with me. Where shall we be this - time next year, I wonder? What shall we be doing? - - "I wish you a happy Christmas, David. - - "Do you remember Sarah's Christmas card? Yes, of course you - do. You never forget such things. Sarah retailed to me the - conversation in St. Botolph's about it; all you said to - her; all she said to you. So you and I were the - turtle-doves! No wonder you 'fair shook with laughin'!' - Good old Sarah! I wonder whether she has 'gone to a - chicken' for god-papa. Oh, no! I believe I sent him a - turkey. - - "There are the 'waits' under the portico. '_Hark the herald - angels sing!_' - - "I hope they won't wake my sleeping family, or there will - be a premature feeling in stockings. These self-same - 'waits' woke me at midnight when I was six years old. I - felt in my stocking, though I knew I ought not to do so - until morning. I drew out something which rattled - deliciously in the darkness. A little round box, filled - with 'hundreds and thousands.' Do you know those tiny, - coloured goodies? I poured them into my eager little palm. - I clapped it to my mouth, as I sat up in my cot, in the - dark. I shall never forget that first scrunch. They were - mixed beads! - - "Moral.... - - "No, you will draw a better moral than I. My morals usually - work out the wrong way. - - "I must finish this letter on Boxing-day. Christmas-day - will be very full, with a Christmas-tree and all sorts of - plans for these little children of other people. - - "Well the mail does not go until the 26th, and I shall like - to have written to you on _our_ three special - days--Christmas-eve, Christmas-day, and Boxing-day. - - "Good-night, David." - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII - -A QUESTION OF CONSCIENCE - - - - "Boxing-day. - - "Well, my dear David, all our festivities are over, and, - having piloted our party safely into the calm waters of - Boxing-day afternoon, I am free to retire to the library, - and resume my talk with you. - - "What a wonderful season is Christmas! It seems to - represent words entirely delightful. Light, warmth, gifts, - open hearts, open hands, goodwill--and, I suppose the - children would add: turkey, mince-pies, and plum-pudding. - Well, why not? I am by no means ashamed of looking forward - to my Christmas turkey; in fact I once mentioned it in a - vestry as an alluring prospect, to a stern young man in a - cassock! I must have had the courage of my convictions! - - "No, the fact of the matter is, I was very young then, - David; very crude; altogether inexperienced. You would find - me older now; mellowed, I hope; matured. Family cares have - aged me. - - "Yesterday, however, being Christmas-day, I threw off my - maturity, just as one gleefully leaves off wearing kid - gloves at the seaside, and became an infant with the - infants. How we romped, and how delightfully silly we were! - After the midday Christmas dinner, as we all sat round at - dessert, I could see Mrs. Mallory eying me with amazed - contempt, because I wore the contents of my cracker--a fine - guardsman's helmet, and an eyeglass, which I jerked out, - and screwed in again, at intervals, to amuse the children. - When I surprised Mrs. Mallory's gaze of pitying scorn, I - screwed in the eyeglass for her especial benefit, and - looked at her through it, saying: 'Don't I wear it as if to - the manner born, Mrs. Mallory?' 'Oh, quite,' said Mrs. - Mallory, with an appreciative smile. 'Quite, my dear Mrs. - Rivers; quite.' Which was so very 'quite quite,' that - nothing remained but for me to fix on my guardsman's helmet - more firmly, and salute. - - "Mrs. Mallory's cracker had produced a jockey cap, in green - and yellow, and it would have delighted the children if she - had worn it jauntily on her elaborately crimped coiffure. - But she insisted upon an exchange with a dear little girl - seated next her, who was feeling delightfully grown-up, in - a white frilled Marie Antoinette cap, with pink ribbons. - This, on Mrs. Mallory's head, except that it was made of - paper, was exactly what she might have bought for herself - in Bond Street; so she had achieved the conventional, and - successfully avoided amusing us by the grotesque. The - jockey cap was exactly the same shape as the black velvet - one I keep for the little girls to wear when they ride the - pony in the park. The disappointment on the face of the - small owner of the pretty mob-cap, passed quite unnoticed - by Mrs. Mallory. Yet she _adores_ children. I, who only - tolerate them, saw it. So did the oldest of the boys--such - a nice little fellow. 'I say, Mrs. Rivers,' he said, - 'Swapping shouldn't be allowed.' 'Quite right, Rodney,' - said I. 'Kiddies, there is to be no swapping!' 'Surely,' - remarked Mrs. Mallory, in her shocked voice, 'no one - present here, would think of _swapping_?' Rodney said, - 'Crikey!' under his breath; and I haven't a notion, to this - hour, what meaning the elegant verb 'to swap' holds for - Mrs. Mallory. - - "But here I go again, telling you of all sorts of - happenings in our home life, which must seem to you so - trivial. I wish I could write a more interesting letter; - especially this afternoon, David. This time last year you - and I were having our momentous talk. There was certainly - nothing trivial about that! I sometimes wish you could - know--oh, no matter what! It is useless to dwell - perpetually on vain regrets. And as we _are_ on the subject - of Mrs. Mallory, David, I want to ask your opinion on a - question of conscience which came up between her and - myself. - - "Oh, David, how often I wish you were here to tackle her - for me, as you used to tackle poor old Chappie; only the - difficulties caused by Chappie's sins, were as nothing, - compared with the complications caused by Lucy Mallory's - virtues. - - "She is such a gentle-looking little woman, in trailing - widow's weeds; a pink and white complexion, china blue - eyes, and masses of flaxen hair elaborately puffed and - crimped. She never knows her own mind, for five minutes at - a time; is never quite sure on any point, or able to give - you a straightforward yes or no. And yet, in some respects, - she is the most obstinate person I ever came across. My old - donkey, Jeshurun, isn't in it with Mrs. Mallory, when once - she puts her dainty foot down, and refuses to budge. - Jeshurun waxed fat and kicked, and did everything he - shouldn't; but always yielded to the seduction of a carrot. - But it is no good waving carrots at Mrs. Mallory. She won't - look at them! She reminds me of the deaf adder who stoppeth - her ears, lest she should hear the voice of the charmer. - And always about such silly little things, that they are - not worth a battle. - - "But the greatest trial of all is, that she has a morbid - conscience. - - "Oh, David! Did you ever have to live with a person who had - a morbid conscience? - - "Now--if it won't bore you--may I just give you an instance - of the working of Mrs. Mallory's morbid conscience, and - perhaps you will help me, by making a clear pronouncement - on the matter. Remember, I only have her here because she - is a missionary's widow, left badly off; and not strong - enough to undertake school teaching, or any arduous post - involving long hours. I have tried to make her feel at home - here, and she seems happy. Sometimes she is a really - charming companion. - - "The first evening she was here, she told me she had always - been 'a great Bible student.' She spends much time over a - very large Bible, which she marks in various coloured inks, - and with extraordinary criss-cross lines, which she calls - 'railways'. She explained the system to me one day, and - showed me a new 'line' she had just made. You started at - the top of a page at the word _little_. Then you followed - down a blue line, which brought you to a second mention of - the word _little_. From there you zigzagged off, still on - blue, right across to the opposite page; and there found - _little_, again. This was a junction! If you started down a - further blue line you arrived at yet a fourth _little_, but - if you adventured along a red line, you found _less_. - - "I had hoped to learn a lot from Mrs. Mallory, when she - said she was a _great_ Bible student, because I am so new - at Bible study, and have no one to help me. But I confess - these railway excursions from _little_ to _little_, and - from _little_ to _less_, appear to me somewhat futile! None - of the _littles_ had any connection with one another; that - is, until Mrs. Mallory's blue railway connected them. She - is now making a study of all the Marys of the Bible. She - has a system by which she is going to prove that they were - all one and the same person. I suggested that this would be - an infinite pity; as they all have such beautiful - individual characters, and such beautiful individual - histories. - - "'Truth before beauty, my dear Mrs. Rivers,' said Mrs. - Mallory. - - "'Cannot truth and beauty go together?' I inquired. - - "'No, indeed,' pronounced Mrs. Mallory, firmly. 'Truth is a - narrow line; beauty is a snare.' - - "According to which method of reasoning, my dear David, I - ought to have serious misgivings as to whether your - Christmas-eve sermon, which changed my whole outlook on - life, was true--seeing that it most certainly was - beautiful! - - "Now listen to my little story. - - "One morning, during this last autumn, Mrs. Mallory - received a business letter at breakfast, necessitating an - immediate journey to town, for a trying interview. After - much weighing of pros and cons, she decided upon a train; - and I sent her to the station in the motor. - - "A sadly worried and distressed little face looked out and - bowed a tearful farewell to me, as she departed. I knew she - had hoped I should offer to go with her; but it was a - lovely October day, and I wanted a morning in the garden, - and a ride in the afternoon. It happened to be a very free - day for me; and I did not feel at all like wasting the - golden sunshine over a day in town, in and out of shops - with Mrs. Mallory; watching her examine all the things - which she, after all, could not 'feel it quite right to - buy.' She never appears to question the rightness of giving - tired shop people endless unnecessary labour. I knew she - intended combining hours of this kind of negative - enjoyment, with her trying interview. - - "So I turned back into the house, sat down in the sunny bay - window of the breakfast room, and took _Times_; thankful - that the dear lady had departed by the earliest of the - three trains which had been under discussion during the - greater part of breakfast. - - "But my conscience would not let me enjoy my morning paper - in peace. I had not read five lines before I knew that it - would have been kind to have gone with Mrs. Mallory; I had - not read ten, before I knew that it was unkind to have let - the poor little soul go alone. She was a widow and worried; - and she had mentioned the departed Philip, as a bitterly - regretted shield, prop, and mainstay, many times during - breakfast. - - "I looked at the clock. The motor was, of course, gone; and - the quarter of an hour it would take to send down to the - stables and put in a horse would lose me the train. I could - just do it on my bicycle if I got off in four minutes, and - rode hard. - - "Rodgers trotted out my machine, while I rushed up for a - hat and gloves. I was wearing the short tweed skirt, - Norfolk coat, and stout boots, in which I had intended to - tramp about the park and gardens; but there was not time to - change. I caught up the first hat I could lay hands on, - slipped on a pair of reindeer gloves as I ran downstairs, - jumped on to my bicycle, and was half-way down the avenue, - before old Rodgers had recovered his breath, temporarily - taken by the haste with which he had answered my pealing - bell. - - "By dint of hard riding, I got into the station just in - time to fling my bicycle to a porter, and leap into the - guard's van of the already moving train. - - "At the first stop, I went along, and found Mrs. Mallory, - alone and melancholy, in an empty compartment. Her surprise - and pleasure at sight of me, seemed ample reward. She - pressed my hand, in genuine delight and gratitude. - - "'I couldn't let you go alone,' I said. Then, as I sat down - opposite to her, something--it may have been her own dainty - best attire--made me suddenly conscious of the shortness of - my serviceable skirt, and the roughness of my tweed. 'So I - am coming with you, after all,' I added; 'unless you think - me too countrified, in this get-up; and will be ashamed to - be seen with me in town!' - - "Mrs. Mallory enveloped me, thick boots and all, in - grateful smiles. - - "'Oh, of _course not_!' she said. '_Dear_ Mrs. Rivers! Of - course not! You are quite _too_ kind!' - - "Now, will you believe it, David? Weeks afterwards she came - to me and said there was something she _must_ tell me, as - it was hindering her in her prayers, and she could not - enjoy 'fully restored communion,' until she had confessed - it, and thus relieved her mind. - - "I thought the dear lady must, at the very least, have - forged my signature to a cheque. I sat tight, and told her - to proceed. She thereupon reminded me of that October - morning, and said that she _had_ thought my clothes - countrified, and _had_ felt ashamed to be seen with me in - town. - - "Oh, David, can you understand how it hurt? When one had - given up the day, and raced to the station, and done it all - to help her in her trouble. It was not so much that she had - noticed that which was an obvious fact. It was the - pettiness of mind which could dwell on it for weeks, and - then wound the friend who had tried to be kind to her, by - bringing it up, and explaining it. - - "I looked at her for a moment, absolutely at a loss what to - reply. At last I said: 'I am very sorry, Mrs. Mallory. But - had I stopped, on that morning, to change into town - clothes, I could not have caught your train.' - - "'Oh, I know!' she cried, with protesting hands. 'It did - not matter at all. It is only that I felt I had not been - absolutely truthful.' - - "Now, David--you, who are by profession a guide of doubting - souls, an expounder of problems of casuistry, a discerner - of the thoughts and intents of the heart--will you give me - a pronouncement on this question? In itself it may be a - small matter; but it serves to illustrate a larger problem. - - "Which was the greater sin in Mrs. Mallory: to have lapsed - for a moment from absolute truthfulness; or, to wound - deliberately a friend who had tried to be kind to her? Am I - right in saying that such an episode is the outcome of the - workings of a morbid conscience? It is but one of many. - - "I am often tempted to regret my good old Chappie, though - she was not a Bible student, had not a halo of fluffy - flaxen hair, and never talked, with clasped hands, of the - perfections of departed Philips. I am afraid Chappie used - to lie with amazing readiness; but always in order to - please one, or to say what she considered the right thing. - - "By the way, Chappie and Mr. Inglestry dined here the other - night. Whenever I see them, David, I am reminded of how we - laughed in the luncheon-car, on our wedding-day, over - having left Chappie at the church, with two strings to her - bow. I remember you said: 'Two beaux to her string' more - exactly described the situation; a pun for which I should - have pinched you, had my spirits on that morning been as - exuberant as yours. Poor old Inglestry does not look as - well as he used to do. There may be a chance for god-papa, - yet! - - * * * * * - - "What an epistle! And it seems so full of trivialities, as - compared with the deep interest of yours. But it is not - given unto us all to build churches. Some of us can only - build cottages--humble little four-roomed places, with - thatched roof and anxious windows. I try to cultivate a - little garden in front of mine, full of fragrant gifts and - graces. But, just as I think I have obtained some promise - of bloom and beauty, Mrs. Mallory annoys me, or something - else goes wrong, and my quick temper, like your early - hippopotamus, dances a devastating cake-walk in the garden - of my best intentions, and tramples down my oleanders. - - "Mrs. Mallory spends most of her time building a mausoleum - to the memory of the Rev. Philip. Just now, she is gilding - the dome. I get so tired of hearing of Philip's - perfections. It almost tempts me to retaliate by suddenly - beginning to talk about you. It would be good for Mrs. - Mallory to realise that she is not the only person in the - world who has married a missionary, and lost him. However, - in that case, my elaborate parrying of many questions would - all be so much time wasted. Besides, she would never - understand you and me, and our--friendship. - - "When the late Philip proposed to her, he held her hand for - an hour in blissful silence, after she had murmured 'yes'; - then, bent over her and asked whether she took sugar in her - tea; because, if she did, they must take some out with - them; it was difficult to obtain in the place to which they - were going! Philip was evidently a domesticated man. I - should have _screamed_, long before the hour of silence was - up; and flatly refused to go to any country where I could - not buy sugar at a moment's notice! - - "Oh, David, I must stop! You will consider this flippant. - But Uncle Falcon enjoys the joke. He is looking more amused - than I have seen him look for many months. He would have - liked to see Philip trying to hold my hand. Uncle Falcon's - amber eyes are twinkling. - - "Talking of cottages, I was inspecting the schools the - other day, and the children recited 'po-tray' for my - benefit. They all remarked together, in a sing-song nasal - chant: 'The cottage was a thatched one,' with many - additional emphatic though unimportant facts. I suggested, - when it was over, that 'The cottage was a _thatched_ one,' - might better render the meaning of the poet. But the - schoolmaster and his wife regarded me doubtfully; saying, - that in the whole of their long experience it had always - been: 'The cottage _was_ a thatched one.' I hastily agreed - that undoubtedly a long established precedent must never be - disregarded; and what _has been_ should ever--in this good - conservative land of ours--for that reason, if for no - other, continue to be. Then I turned my attention to the - drawing and needlework. - - "How my old set would laugh if they knew how often I spend - a morning inspecting the schools. But many things in my - daily life now would be incomprehensible to them and, - therefore, amusing. - - "How much depends upon one's point of view. I jumped upon a - little lady in the train the other day, travelling up to - town for a day's shopping, for saying with a weary sigh and - dismal countenance, that she was 'facing Christmas'! Fancy - approaching the time of gifts and gladness and thought for - others, in such a spirit! I told her the best 'facing' for - her to do, would be to 'right about face' and go home to - bed, and remain there until Christmas festivities were - over! She pulled her furs more closely around her, and - tapped my arm with the jewelled pencil-case with which she - was writing her list of gifts. 'My dear Diana,' she said, - 'you have always been so fatiguingly energetic.' This gave - me food for thought. I suppose even the sight of the energy - of others is a weariness to easily exhausted people. A - favourite remark of Chappie's used to be, that the way I - came down to breakfast tired her out for the day. - - "Well, as I remarked before, I must close this long - epistle. I am becoming quite Pauline in my postscripts. As - I think of it on its way to you, I shall have cause to - recite with compunction: 'The letter _was_--a long one!' - - "Good-bye, my dear David. - - "May all best blessings rest upon the Church of the Holy - Star, and upon your ministry therein. - - - "Affectionately yours, - - Diana Rivers." - - "P.S. Don't you think you might relieve my natural wifely - anxiety, by giving me a few details as to your general - health? And please remember to answer my question about - Mrs. Mallory's conscience." - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII - -DAVID'S PRONOUNCEMENT - - -When David's reply arrived, in due course, he went straight to the point -in this matter of Mrs. Mallory's conscience, with a directness which -fully satisfied Diana. - -"It is impossible," wrote David, "to give an opinion as to which was the -greater or lesser wrong, when your friend had already advanced so far -down a crooked way. Undoubtedly it was a difficult moment for her in the -railway carriage, as in all probability her own critical thought gave -you the mental suggestion of not being suitably got up for town. But -you, in similar circumstances, would have said: 'Why, what does the fact -of your clothes being countrified matter, compared to the immense -comfort of having you with me. And if all the people we meet, could know -how kind you have been and how you raced to the train, they would not -give a second thought to what you happen to be wearing.' - -"But a straightforward answer, such as you would have given, would not -be a natural instinct to a mind habitually fencing and hedging, and -shifting away from facing facts. - -"Personally, on the difficult question of confession of wrong-doing, I -hold this: that if confession rights a wrong, and is clearly to the -advantage of the person to whom it is made, then confession is indeed an -obvious duty, which should be faced and performed without delay. - -"But--if confession is merely the method adopted by a stricken and -convicted conscience, for shifting the burden of its own wrong-doing by -imparting to another the knowledge of that wrong, especially if that -knowledge will cause pain, disappointment, or perplexity to an innocent -heart--then I hold it to be both morbid and useless. - -"Mrs. Mallory did not undo the fact of her lapse from absolute -truthfulness by telling you of it, in a way which she must have known -would cause you both mortification and pain. She simply added to the sin -of untruthfulness, the sins of ingratitude, and of inconsideration for -the feelings of another. Had she forged your signature to a cheque, she -would have been right to confess it; because confession would have been -a necessary step toward restitution. All confession which rights a -wrong, is legitimate and essential. Confession which merely lays a -burden upon another, is morbid and selfish. The loneliness of a -conscience under conviction, bearing in solitude the burden of acute -remembrance of past sins, is a part of the punishment those sins -deserve. Then--into that loneliness--there comes the comfort of the -thought: 'He Who knows all, understands all; and He Who knows and -understands already, may be fully told, all.' And, no sooner is that -complete confession made, than there breaks the radiance of the promise, -shining star-like in the darkness of despair: 'If we confess our sins, -He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from -all unrighteousness.' Mrs. Mallory could thus have got back into the -light of restored communion, without ever mentioning the matter to you. - -"But this kind of mind is so difficult to help, because its lapses are -due to a lack of straightforward directness, which would be, to another -mind, not an effort, but an instinct. - -"Such people stand in a chronic state of indecision, at perpetual -cross-roads; and are just as likely to take the wrong road, as the -right; then, after having travelled far along that road, are pulled up -by complications arising, not so much from the predicament of the -moment, as from the fact that they vacillated into the wrong path at the -crucial time when they stood hesitating. They need Elijah's clarion call -to the people of Israel: 'How long halt ye between two opinions? If the -Lord be God, follow Him; but, if Baal, then follow him'--honest idolatry -being better than vacillating indecision. - -"This species of mental lameness reminds me of a man I knew at college, -who had one leg longer than the other. He was no good at all at racing -on the straight; but, round the grass plot in the centre of one of our -courts, no one could beat him. He used to put his short leg inside, and -his long leg out, and round and round he would sprint, like a -lamplighter. People who halt between two opinions always argue in a -circle, but never arrive at any definite conclusion. They are no good on -the straight. They find themselves back where they originally started. -They get no farther. - -"Mrs. Mallory should take her place in the Pool of Bethesda among the -blind, and the halt, and the withered. She should get her eyes opened -to a larger outlook on life; her crooked walk made straight; and her -withered sensibilities quickened into fresh life. Then she would soon -cease to try you with her morbid conscience. - -"Mrs. Mallory should give up defacing her Bible with the ink of her own -ideas or the ideas of others. Human conceptions, however helpful, should -not find a permanent place, even in your own individual copy of the Word -of God. The particular line of truth they emphasised, may have been the -teaching intended for that particular hour of study. But, every time you -turn to a passage, you may expect fresh light, and a newly revealed line -of thought. If your eye is at once arrested by notes and comments, or -even by the underlining of special words, your mind slips into the -groove of a past meditation; thus the liberty of fresh light, and the -free course of fresh revelation, are checked and impeded. Do not crowd -into the sacred _sanctuary_ of the Word, ideas which may most helpfully -be garnered in the _classroom_ of your notebook. Remember that the Bible -differs from all human literature in this: that it is a living, vital -thing--ever new, ever replete with fresh surprises. The living Spirit -illumines its every line, the living Word meets you in its pages. As in -the glades of Eden, when the mysterious evening wind (_ruach_) stirred -the leaves of the trees, making of that hour 'the cool of the day'--you -can say, as the wind of the Spirit breathes upon your passage through -the Word: 'I hear the voice of the Lord God walking in the garden in the -cool of the day.' Then, passing down its quiet glades, straightway, face -to face, you meet your Lord. No unconfessed sin can remain hidden in the -light of that meeting. No conscience can continue morbid if illumined, -cleansed, adjusted, by habitual study of the Word. - - * * * * * - -"There! I have calmly given my view of the matter, as being 'by -profession, a guide of doubting souls, an expounder of problems of -casuistry,' and all the other excellent things it pleased you to call -me. - -"Now--as a man--allow me the relief of simply stating, that I should -dearly like to pound Mrs. Mallory to pulp, for her utter ingratitude to -you." - - * * * * * - -This sudden explosion on David's part, brought out delighted dimples in -Diana's cheeks; and, thereafter, whenever Mrs. Mallory proved trying, -she found consolation in whispering to herself: "David--my good, saintly -David--would dearly like to pound her to pulp!" - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX - -WHAT DAVID WONDERED - - -One more episode, culled from the year's correspondence, shows the -intimacy, constantly bordering on the personal, which grew up between -David and Diana. - -He had mentioned in one of his letters, that among a package of -illustrated papers which had reached his station, he had found one in -which was an excellent photograph of Diana, passing down the steps of -the Town Hall, to her motor, after opening a bazaar at Eversleigh. - -David had written with so much pleasure of this, that Diana, realising -he had no portrait of her, and knowing how her heart yearned for one of -him, went up to town, and was photographed especially for him. - -When the portrait arrived, and her own face looked out at her from the -silver wrappings, she was startled by its expression. It was not a look -she ever saw in her mirror. The depth of tenderness in the eyes, the -soft wistfulness of the mouth, were a revelation of her own heart to -Diana. She had been thinking of her husband, when the camera -unexpectedly opened its eye upon her. The clever artist had sacrificed -minor details of arrangement, in order to take her unawares before a -photographic expression closed the gates upon the luminous beauty of her -soul. - -Diana hurried the picture back into its wrappings. It had been taken for -David. To David it must go; and go immediately, if it were to go at all. -If it did not go at once to David, it would go into the fire. - -It went to David. - -With it went a letter. - - "MY DEAR DAVID,--I am much amused that you should have come - across a picture of me in an illustrated paper. I did not - see it myself; but I gather from your description, that it - must have been taken as I was leaving the Town Hall after - the function of which I told you in September. Fancy you - being able to recognise the motor and the men. I remember - having to stand for a minute at the top of the long flight - of steps, while some of the members of the committee, who - had organised the bazaar, made their adieus. I always hate - all the hand-shaking on these occasions. I suppose you - would enjoy it, David. To you, each hand would mean an - interesting personality behind it. I am afraid to me it - only means something unpleasantly hot, and unnecessarily - literal in the meaning it gives to 'hand-shake.' Don't you - know a certain style of story which says, in crucial - moments between the hero and the heroine: 'He wrung her - hand and left her?' They always wring your hand--a most - painful process--when you open bazaars, but they don't - leave you! You are constrained at last to flee to your - motor. - - "'The fellow in the topper'"--Diana paused here to refer to - David's letter, then continued writing, a little smile of - amusement curving the corners of her mouth,--"The - 'good-looking fellow in the topper' who was being 'so very - attentive' to me, and 'apparently enjoying himself on the - steps,' is our Member. His wife, a charming woman, is a - great friend of mine. She should appear just behind us. The - mayoress had presented me with the bouquet he was holding - for me. I foisted it upon the poor man because, personally, - I hate carrying bouquets. I daresay it had the effect in - the snapshot of making him look 'a festive chap.' But he - was not enjoying himself, any more than I was. We had both - just shaken hands with the Mayor! - - "It seems so funny to think that a reproduction of this - scene should have found its way to you in Central Africa; - and I am much gratified that you considered it worth - framing, and hanging up in your hut. - - "I am glad you thought me looking so like myself. I don't - think I am much given to looking like other people! Unlike - a little lady in this neighbourhood who is never herself, - but always some one else, and not the same person for many - weeks together. It is one of our mild amusements to wonder - who she will be next. She had a phase of being me once, - with a bunch of _artificial_ violets on her muff! - - "But, to return to the picture. It has occurred to me that, - as you were so pleased with it, you might like a better. It - is not right, my dear David, that the only likeness you - possess of your wife, should be a snapshot in a penny - paper. So, by this mail, I send a proper photograph, taken - the other day on purpose for you. Are you not flattered, - sir?" - -The letter then went on to speak of other things; but, before signing -her name, Diana drew the photograph once more from its wrappings, and -looked at it, shyly, wistfully. She could not help seeing that it was -very beautiful. She could not help knowing that her heart was in her -eyes. What would they say to David--those tender, yearning eyes? What -might they not lead David to say to her? - - * * * * * - -At last his answer came. - - "How kind of you to send me this beautiful large - photograph, and very good of you to have had it taken - expressly for me. I fear you will think me an ungrateful - fellow, if I confess that I still prefer the snapshot, and - cannot bring myself to take it from its frame. - - "This is lovely beyond words, of course; and immensely - artistic; but it gives me more the feeling of an extremely - beautiful fancy picture. You see, I never saw you look as - you are looking in this portrait, whereas the Town Hall - picture is you, exactly as I remember you always; tall and - gay, and immensely enjoying life, and life's best gifts. - - "Conscious of ingratitude, I put the portrait up on the - wall of my hut; but I could not leave it there; and it is - now safely locked away in my desk. - - "I could not leave it there for two reasons: its effect on - myself; and its effect on the natives. - - "Reason No. 1. Its effect on myself: I could not work, - while it was where I could see it. It set me wondering; and - a fellow is lost if he once starts wondering, out in the - wilds of Central Africa. - - "Reason No. 2. Its effect on the natives: They all began - worshipping it. It became a second goddess fallen from - heaven, like unto your namesake at Ephesus. They had seen a - Madonna, brought here by an artist travelling through. They - took this for a Madonna--and well they might. They asked: - Where was the little child? I said: There was no little - child. Yet still they worshipped. So I placed it under lock - and key." - -Diana laid her head down on the letter, after reading these words. When -she lifted it, the page was blotted with her tears. Sometimes her -punishment seemed heavier than she could bear. - -She took up her pen, and added a postscript to the letter she was just -mailing. - -"Dear David, what did you wonder? Tell me." - -And David, with white set face, wrote in answer: "I wondered who----" -then started up, and tore the sheet to fragments; threw prudence to the -winds; went out and beat his way for hours through the swampy jungle, -fighting the long grasses, and the evil clinging tendrils of poisonous -growths. - -When he regained his hut, worn out and exhausted, the stars were -pricking in golden pin-points through the sky; one planet hung luminous -and low on the horizon. - -David stood in his doorway, trying to gain a little refreshment from the -night wind, blowing up from the river. - -Suddenly he laughed, long and wildly; then caught his breath, in a short -dry sob. - -"My God," he said, "I have so little! Let me keep to the end the one -thing in my wife which I possess: my faith in her." - -Then he passed into the hut, closing the door; groped his way to the -rough wooden table; lighted a lamp, and sitting down at his desk, drew -Diana's portrait from its silver wrappings; placed it in front of him, -and sat long, looking at it intently; his head in his hands. - -At last he laid his hot mouth on those sweet pictured lips, parted in -wistful tenderness, as if offering much to one at whom the grey eyes -looked with love unmistakable. - -Then he laid it away, out of sight, and rewrote his letter. - - * * * * * - -"I wondered," he said, "at the great kindness which took so much -trouble, only for me." - - - - -CHAPTER XXX - -RESURGAM - - - "RIVERSCOURT, - - "Feast of Epiphany, - -"MY DEAR DAVID,--A wonderful thing has happened; and I am so glad it -happened on the Feast of the Star, which is also--as you will -remember--our wedding-day. - -"I want to tell you of it, David, because it is one of those utterly -unexpected, beautiful happenings, which, on the rare occasions when they -do occur, make one feel that, after all, nothing is irrevocably -hopeless, even in this poor world of ours, where mistakes usually appear -to be irretrievable, and where wisdom, bought too dearly and learned too -late, can bring forth no fruit save in the mournful land of -might-have-beens. - -"Last year, this day was one of frost and sunshine. This year, the -little Hampshire farms and homesteads, all along the railway, cannot -have looked either cosy or picturesque; and the distant line of -undulating hills must have been completely hidden by fog and mist. It -has sleeted, off and on, during the whole morning--a seasonable attempt -at snow somewhere up above, frustrated by the unseasonable murky -dampness of the earth, below. I wonder how often God's purposes for us, -of pure white beauty, are prevented by the murk and mist of our own -mental atmosphere. This sounds like moralising, and so it is! I thought -it out, in Brambledene church this morning, while god-papa was enjoying -himself in the pulpit. - -"He took for his text: 'They departed into their own country another -way.' He displayed a vast amount of geographical information, concerning -the various ways by which the three Wise Men--oh, David, there were -_three_ all through the sermon; and I felt so wrathful, because Mrs. -Smith's back view--I mean _my_ back view of Mrs. Smith--was so smugly -complacent, and she nodded her head in approval, every time god-papa -said 'three.' I could have hurled my Bible, open at Matthew ii. at -god-papa; and an agèd and mouldy copy of Hymns Ancient and Modern, at -Mrs. Smith; a performance which would have carried on, in a less helpful -way, your particular faculty for making that congregation sit up. This -desire on my part will possibly lead you to conclude, my dear David, -that your wife was giving way to an unchristian temper. But she was not. -She was simply experiencing a wifely pride in your sermons, and a quite -justifiable desire that every word they contained should be understood -and corroborated. Other ladies have hurled stools in defence of the -faith, and thereby taken their place in the annals of history. Why -should not your wife hurl a very, _very_ old copy of Ancient and Modern -Hymns and Tunes, and thus become famous? - -"Well, as I was saying, god-papa was being very learnèd as to the -probable route by which the Wise Men returned home, though he had -already told us it was impossible to be at all certain as to the -locality from which they started. This struck me as being so very like -the good people who tell us with authoritative detail where we are -going, although they know not whence we came. - -"This thought unhitched my mind from god-papa's rolling chariot of -eloquence, which went lumbering on along a highroad of Eastern lore and -geographical research, regardless of the fact that my little mental -wheel had trundled gaily off on its own, down a side alley. - -"This tempting glade, my dear David, alluring to a mind perplexed by the -dust of god-papa's highway, was an imaginary sermon, preached by _you_, -on this self-same text. - -"I seemed to know just how you would explain all the different routes by -which souls reach home; and how sometimes that 'other way' along which -they are led is a way other than they would have chosen, and difficult -to be understood, until the end makes all things clear. In the course of -this eloquent and really helpful sermon of yours, occurred that idea -about the snow, which caused me to digress at the beginning of my -letter, in order to tell you I had been to Brambledene. - -"The little church looked very much as it did last year; heavy with -evergreen, and gay with flock texts, and banners. The font looked like a -stout person, suffering from sore throat. It was carefully swathed in -cotton-wool and red flannel. The camphorated oil, one took for granted. -I sat in my old corner against the pillar. Sarah was in church. I had a -feeling that, somehow, you were connected with the fact of her presence -there. We gave each other a smile of sympathy. We both owe much to you, -David. - -"But you will think I am never coming to the point of my letter--the -wonderful thing which has happened. I believe I keep postponing it, -because it means so much to me; I hardly know how to write it; and yet I -am longing to tell you. - -"Well--after luncheon I felt moved, notwithstanding the weather, to go -for a tramp in the park. There are days when I cannot possibly remain -within doors. My holiday children were having a romp upstairs, in charge -of Mrs. Mallory. - -"I happened to go out through the hall; and, just as I opened the door, -a station fly drove up, and the solitary occupant hurriedly alighted. I -should have made good my retreat, leaving this unexpected visitor to be -dealt with by Rodgers, had I not caught sight of her face, and been -thereby arrested on the spot. It was the sweetest, saddest, most gently -lovely face; and she was a young widow, in very deep mourning. - -"'Is this Riverscourt,' she asked, as I came forward; 'and can I speak, -at once, to Mrs. Rivers?' - -"I brought her in. There was something strangely familiar about the soft -eyes and winning smile, though I felt quite sure I had never seen her -before. - -"I placed her on the couch, in the draw room, where you first saw -Chappie; and turned my attention to the fire, while she battled with an -almost overwhelming emotion. - -"Then she said: 'Mrs. Rivers, I am a missionary. I have just returned -from abroad. I only reached London this morning. My little girl had to -be sent on, nearly a year ago. I have just been living for the hour when -I should see her again. They tell me, you, in your great kindness, have -had her here for the Christmas holidays, and that she is here still. So -I came straight on. I hope you will pardon the intrusion.' - -"'Intrusion!' I cried. 'Why, how could it be an intrusion? If you knew -what it means to me when I hear of any of these bereft little boys and -girls finding their parents again! But we have at least a dozen children -here just now. What is the name of your little girl?' - -"'Her name is Eileen,' said the gentle voice, 'but we always call her -"Little Fairy".' - -"David, my heart seemed to bound into my throat and stop there! - -"'Who--who are you?' I exclaimed. - -"The young widow on the sofa opened her arms with an unconscious gesture -of love and longing. - -"'I am Little Fairy's mummie,' she said simply. - -"'But--' I cried; and stopped. I suppose my face completed the -unfinished sentence. - -"'Oh, yes,' she said, 'I had forgotten you would know of the telegram. -In some inexplicable way it got changed in transit. It was my husband's -death it should have announced, not mine. I lost him very suddenly, just -as we were almost due to leave for home. I did not wish my children to -be told until my return. I wanted to tell them myself.' - -"I rang the bell, and sent a message to Mrs. Mallory to send Little -Fairy at once to the drawing-room. Then I knelt down in front of Fairy's -mummie, and took both her trembling hands in mine. It does not come easy -to me to be demonstrative, David, but I know the tears were running down -my cheeks. - -"'Oh, you don't know what it has been!' I said. 'To think of you as dead -and buried, thousands of miles away; and to hear that baby voice, -singing in joyous confidence: "Mummie's tumming home!" And the little -mouth kept its kisses so loyally for you. I was told each evening: "Not -my mouf,--that's only for Mummie!" I used to think I _must_ tell her. -Thank God, I didn't! And now----' - -"I broke off. Little Fairy's mummie was sobbing on my shoulder. We held -each other, and cried together. - -"'You won't leave her again?' I said. - -"'Oh, no,' she whispered, 'never, never! I also have two little sons at -school in England. _I_ never could feel it right to be parted from the -children. It was my husband--who----' - -"Then we heard a little voice, singing on the stairs. - -"I ran out to the hall. - -"That sweet baby, in a white frock and blue sash, was tripping down the -staircase. Mrs. Mallory's middle-class instincts had rapidly made her -tidy. She looked a little picture as she came, holding by the dark oak -banisters. - -"Mummie's--tumming--home!" proclaimed the joyous voice--a word to each -step. She saw me, waiting at the bottom; and threw me a golden smile. - -"I caught her in my arms. I could n't kiss her; she was not mine to -kiss. But I looked into her little face and said: 'Mummie's _come_ home, -darling! Mummie's _come_ home!' - -"Then I ran to the drawing-room. I had meant to put her down at the -door. But, David, I couldn't! I carried her in, and put her straight -into her mother's arms. I saw the little mouth, so carefully guarded, -meet the living, loving lips, which I had pictured as cold and dead. - -"Then I walked over to the window, and stood looking out at the sleet -and drizzle, the leafless branches, the sodden turf, the dank cold -deadness of all things without. Ah, what did they matter, with such -love, such bliss, such resurrection within! - -"David, I have always said I did not like children. For years I have -derided the sacred obligation of motherhood. I have often declared that -nothing would induce me, under any circumstances, to undertake it. At -last, by my own act, I have put myself into a position which makes it -impossible that that love, that tie, that sweet responsibility, should -ever be mine. I don't say, by any means, that I wish for it; but I have -felt lately that my former attitude of mind in the matter was wrong, -ignorant, sinful. - -"And--oh, how can I make my meaning plain--it seemed to me that in that -moment, when I put that little child into those waiting arms, without -kissing her myself--I expiated that mental sin. I shall always have a -hungry ache at my heart, because I gave Little Fairy up without kissing -her; but that very hunger means conviction, confession, and penance. I -shall never have a little child of my own; but I have experienced -something of the rapture of motherhood, in sharing in this meeting -between my little baby-girl, and the mother I had thought dead. - -"And now, David, I will tell you a secret. Had the father arrived home, -with the awful news, I had meant to ask leave to adopt Little Fairy. But -you see I am not intended even to have other people's children for my -own. - -"After a while, as I stood at the window, I heard the mother say: -'Darling, dear father has not come home.' - -"'Oh,' said Fairy's contented little voice; asking no questions. - -"'Darling,' insisted the quiet tones of the mother, 'dear father has -gone to be with Jesus.' - -"I looked round. The baby-face was earnest and thoughtful. She lifted -great questioning eyes to her mother. - -"'Oh,' she said. 'Did Jesus want him?' - -"'Yes,' said the sweet voice, controlling a sudden tremor. 'Jesus wanted -him. So we have lost dear father, darling.' - -"Then Fairy knelt up on her mother's knee, and put both little arms -round her mother's neck, with a movement of unspeakable tenderness. - -"'But we've gotted each uvver, Mummie,' she said. - -"Oh, David, _we've gotted each other_! It seemed just everything to that -little heart. And I believe it was everything to the mother, too. - -"Now, do you wonder that this has made me feel as if none of earth's -happenings, however sad, need be altogether hopeless; no mistake, -however great, is wholly irretrievable. - -"Our own sad hearts may say: 'He has lain in the grave four days -already.' But the voice of the Christ can answer: 'Lazarus, come forth!' - -"Are you not glad this wonderful thing took place on the Feast of the -Star? - -"Affectionately yours, - - "DIANA RIVERS." - - * * * * * - -It so happened that David had a sharp bout of fever soon after the -arrival of this letter. His colleague wondered why, in his delirium, he -kept on repeating: "When I am dead, she can have a Fairy of her own! She -can have a little Fairy, when I am dead!" - - - - -CHAPTER XXXI - -"I CAN STAND ALONE" - - -In the early summer following the first anniversary of their -wedding-day, Diana's anxiety about David increased. - -His letters became less regular. Sometimes they were written in pencil, -with more or less incoherent apologies for not using ink. The writing -was larger than David's usual neat small handwriting; the letters, less -firmly formed. - -After receiving one of these, Diana experimented. She lay upon a couch, -raised herself on her left elbow, and wrote a few lines upon paper lying -beside her. This produced in her own writing exactly the same variation -as she saw in David's. - -She felt certain that David was having frequent and severe attacks of -fever; but he still ignored all questions concerning his own health; or -merely answered: "All is well, thank you"; and Diana had cause to fear -that this answer was given in the spirit of the Shunammite woman who, -when Elisha questioned: "Is it well with the child?" answered: "It is -well"; yet her little son lay dead at home. - -In June, Diana wrote to David's colleague, asking him privately for an -exact account of her husband's health. But the colleague was loyal. -David answered the letter. - -As usual, all was well; but it was _not_ well that Diana had tried to -learn from some one else a thing which she had reason to suppose David -himself did not wish to tell her. He wrote very sternly, and did not -veil his displeasure. - -Womanlike, Diana loved him for it. - -"Oh, my Boy!" she said, smiling through her tears; "my David, with his -thin, white face, tumbled hair, and boyish figure! Sick or well, absent -or present, he would always be master. I must try Sir Deryck." - -But she got nothing out of her friend the doctor, beyond a somewhat -stiff reminder that he had told her on her wedding-day that her husband -ought to return from Central Africa within the year. Had she really -allowed him to go, without exacting a promise that he would do so? He -might live through two years of that climate; but his constitution could -not possibly stand a third. - -Her question, as to whether Sir Deryck had received recent news of -David's health, remained unanswered. - -Diana felt annoyed and indignant. A naturally sympathetic man is -expected to be unfailingly sympathetic. But the doctor was strong as -well as kind. He had been perplexed by the suddenly arranged marriage; -surprised at David's reticence over it; and when he realised that David -was sailing, without his bride, on the afternoon of his wedding-day, he -had been inclined to disapprove altogether. - -Diana sensed this disapproval in the doctor's letter. It hurt her; but -it also stimulated her pride, toward him, and, in a lesser degree, -toward David. That which they did not choose to tell her, she would no -longer ask. - -She was acquainted with at least half a dozen women who, under similar -circumstances, would have telegraphed for an appointment, rushed up to -town, and poured out the whole story to Sir Deryck in his -consulting-room. - -But Diana was not that kind of woman. Her pain made her silent. Her -stricken heart called in pride, lest courage should fail. The tragic -situation was of her own creating. That which resulted therefrom, she -would bear alone. - -She could not see herself a penitent, in the green leather armchair, in -Sir Deryck's consulting-room. A grander woman than she had sat there -once, humbled to the very dust, that she might win the crown of love. -But Diana's strength was of a weaker calibre. Her escutcheon was also -the pure true heart, but its supporters were Courage on the one side, -and Pride on the other; her motto: "I can stand alone." - -So she lived on, calmly, through the summer months, while David's -letters grew less and less frequent; and, at last, in October, the blow -fell. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXII - -THE BLOW FALLS - - -In October, during the second autumn of their married life, the blow -fell. - -A letter came from David; very clear, very concise, very much to the -point; written in ink, in his small neat writing. - - "MY DEAR WIFE--" wrote David, "I hope you will try to - understand what I am about to write and not think, for a - moment, that I under-value the pleasure and help I have - received from our correspondence, during the year and nine - months which have elapsed since my departure from England. - Your letters have been a greater cheer and blessing than - you can possibly know. Also it has been an untold help to - be able to write and share with you, all the little details - of my interests out here. - - "I am afraid these undeniable facts will make it seem even - stranger to you, that I am now writing to ask that our - correspondence should cease. - - "I daresay you have noticed that my letters lately have - been irregular, and often, I am afraid, short and - unsatisfactory. The fact is--I have required all my - remaining energy for the completion of my work out here. - - "I want to bid you farewell, my wife, while I still have - strength to write hopefully of my present work, and - joyously of the future. I will not, now, hide from you, - Diana, that my time here is nearly over. Do you remember - how I said: 'I cannot _promise_ to die, you know'? I might - have promised, with a good grace, after all. - - "This will be the last letter I shall write; and when you - have answered it, _do not write again_. I may be moved from - here, any day; and can give you no address. - - "You must not suppose, my wife, that, owing to the ceasing - of our correspondence, you will be left in any uncertainty - as to when the merely nominal bond which has bound us - together is severed, leaving you completely free. - - "I have written you a letter, which I carry, sealed and - addressed, in the breast pocket of my coat. It bears full - instructions that it is to be forwarded to you immediately - after my death. A copy of it is also in my despatch-box; so - that--in case of anything unforeseen happening to my - clothes--the letter would without fail be sent to you, so - soon as my belongings came into the hands of our Society. - - "This letter is not, therefore, my final farewell; so I do - not make it anything of a good-bye; though it puts an end - to our regular correspondence. And may I ask you to believe - that there is a reason for this breaking off of our - correspondence; a reason which I cannot feel free to tell - you now; but which I have explained fully, in the letter - you will receive after my death? If you now find this step - somewhat difficult to understand, believe me, that when you - have read my other letter, you will at once admit that I - could not do otherwise. I would not give your generous - heart a moment's pain; even through a misunderstanding. - - "And now, from the bottom of my heart, may I thank you for - all you have done for me and for my work? Any little - service I was able to render you, was as nothing compared - with all you have so generously done for me, and been to - me, since the Feast of Epiphany, nearly two years ago. - - "Your help has meant simply everything to the work out - here. I am able to feel that I shall leave behind me a - fully established, flourishing, growing, eager young - Church. My colleague is a splendid fellow, keen, earnest, - and a good churchman. If you feel able to continue your - support, he will be most grateful, and I can vouch for him - as did the Jews of old, for the Roman centurion: 'He is - worthy, for whom thou shouldest do this thing.' - - "And, oh, if some day, Diana, you yourself could visit the - Church of the Holy Star! Some day; but not yet. - - "For this brings me to the closing request of my letter. - - "I cannot but suspect that your kind and generous heart may - incline you--as soon as you receive this letter, and know - that I am dying--to come out here at once, in order to bid - a personal farewell to your friend. - - "_Do not do so._ Do not leave England until you receive - word of my death. I have a reason, which you will - understand by and by, for laying special stress upon this - request; in fact it is my last wish and command, my wife. - (I have not had much opportunity for tyranny, have I?) - - "How much your sympathy, and gay bright friendship, have - meant to me, in this somewhat lonely life, no words can - say. - - "Just now I wrote of the time, so soon coming, when the - nominal bond between us would be severed, leaving you - completely free. You must not even feel yourself a widow, - Diana; because you will not really be one. I have called - you my 'wife,' I know; but it has just been a courtesy - title. Has n't it? - - "Yet--may I say it?--I trust and believe the very perfect - friendship between us will be a lasting link, which even - death cannot sever. And there is a yet closer bond: One - Lord, one Faith, one Baptism. This is eternal. - - "So--I say again as I said, with my hands on your bowed - head, on that Christmas night so long ago, before we knew - all that was to be between us: - - "The Lord bless thee, and keep thee; - The Lord make His face shine upon thee, and be gracious unto thee; - The Lord lift up His countenance upon thee, and give thee peace." - - "Good-bye, my wife. - - "Yours ever, - - "DAVID RIVERS." - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIII - -REQUIESCAT IN PACE - - -Diana sat perfectly still, when she had finished reading David's letter. - -A year ago she would have flung herself upon her knees, sobbing: "David, -David!" But the time for weeping and calling him had long gone by. These -deeper depths of anguish neither moaned nor cried out. They just -silently turned her to stone. - -Every vestige of colour had left her face, yet she did not know she was -pale. She sat, looking straight before her, and--realising. - -David was dying; and David did not want her. - -David was dying in Central Africa; yet his last request was that she -should stay in England, until she heard of his death. - -Every now and then her lips moved. She was repeating, quietly: "The -merely nominal bond which has bound us together." And then, with a -ghastly face, and eyes which widened with anguish: "I have called you -my 'wife,' I know; but it has just been a courtesy title. Hasn't it?" - -Hasn't it! Oh, David, has it? Was it a courtesy title at the top of the -gangway? _Good-bye, my wife._ Was it a courtesy title, when that deep -possessive yearning voice rang in her ears for hours afterwards; -teaching her at last what love, marriage, and wifehood might really have -meant? - -Was it a courtesy title when his first letter arrived, and the words _my -dear wife_ came round her in her shame, like strong protective arms? - -All this time, had it meant even less to David than she had thought? - -Often her punishment had seemed greater than she could bear. Often the -branding-iron of vain regret had seared her quivering heart. - -But this--this was indeed the cruel pincers of the Roman torture-chamber -at her very breasts! - -It had been just a courtesy title; and she had hugged it to her, as the -one thing which proved that--however little it might ever mean--at least -she was more to David than any one else on earth. - -On earth! How much longer would he be on earth? David, with his boyish -figure, and little short coat. Ah! In the pocket of that coat was a -letter for her--one more letter; his farewell. And she was not to -receive it until it would be too late to send any answer. - -Oh, David, David! Is all this mere accident, or are you deliberately -punishing your wife for the slight she put upon your manhood? She did it -in ignorance, David. She mounted the platform of her own ignorance, and -spoke out of the depths of her absolute inexperience. - -Too late to send any answer! Yes; but there was time to answer this one. -If she caught to-night's mail, David might yet receive her reply, and -learn the truth, before he died. - -Pride and Courage stepped away, leaving, unsupported, the escutcheon of -the pure true heart. - -She took pen and paper and wrote her last letter to David. - - * * * * * - -Even had that letter been sent, so wonderful an outpouring of a woman's -pent up love and longing; so desperate a laying bare of her heart's -life, could only have been for the eye of the man for whom it was -intended. To read it would have been desecration; to print it, -sacrilege. - -But the letter was not sent. Half way through, Diana suddenly remembered -that when it reached David he would be ill and weak; perhaps, actually -dying. She must not trouble his last moments, with such an outpouring of -grief and remorse; of longing and of loneliness. - -And here we see the mother in Diana, coming to the fore in tender -thought for David, even in the midst of her own desperate need to tell -him all. Nothing must trouble his peace at the last. - -The passionate outpouring was flung into a drawer. - -Diana took fresh paper, and drew it toward her. - -Courage came back to his place at the right of the escutcheon. Pride -stayed away, forever slain. But, in his stead, there stepped to the -left, the Madonna with eyes of love; the Infant in her arms. - -Then Diana--thrusting back her own fierce agony, that David might die in -peace--began her final letter. - - "RIVERSCOURT. - - "MY DEAR, DEAR DAVID,--I do not need to tell you how deeply - I feel your letter; bringing the news it does, about - yourself. But of course I understand it perfectly; and you - must not worry at all over trying to make any further - explanations. I will do exactly as you wish, in every - detail. - - "Of course, I should have come out directly your letter - reached me, if you had not asked me not to do so. I long to - be with you, David. If you should change your mind, and - wish for me, a cable would bring me, by the next boat, and - quickest overland route. Otherwise I will remain in - England, until I receive your letter. - - "I cannot stay at Riverscourt. It would be too lonely - without any prospect of letters from you. But you remember - the Hospital of the Holy Star of which I told you, where I - was training when Uncle Falcon wrote for me? I have been - there often lately, going up once a week for a day in the - out-patients' department; and last week my friend, the - matron, told me that the sister in one of the largest - wards--my old ward--must, unexpectedly, return home for an - indefinite time. This was placing them in somewhat of a - difficulty. - - "I shall now offer to take her place, and go there for - three months or so; anyway until after Christmas. But - Riverscourt will remain open, and all my letters will be - immediately forwarded. - - "You must not mind my going to the hospital. I shall find - it easier to bear my sorrow, while working day and night - for others. For, David--oh, David, it _is_ a terrible - sorrow! - - "I must not worry you now, with tales of my own poor heart; - but ever since I lost you, David; ever since our - wedding-day evening, I have loved you, and longed for you, - more, and more, and more. When you called me your wife on - the gangway, it revealed to me, suddenly, what it really - meant to be your wife. - - "Oh, my Boy, my Darling, when I lose you, I shall be a - widow indeed! But you must not let the thought of my sorrow - disturb your last moments. Perhaps, when you reach the Land - that is very far off, I shall feel you less far away than - in Central Africa. Be near me, sometimes, if you can, - David. - - "I shall go on striving to offer my gifts; though the gold - and the frankincense will be overwhelmed by the myrrh. But - the Star we have followed together, will still lead me on. - And perhaps it will guide me at last to the foot of the - shining throne, where my Darling will sit in splendour. And - I shall see his look call me to him, as it called in old - St. Botolph's; and I shall pass up the aisle of glory, and - hear him say: 'Come, my wife.' Then I shall kneel at his - feet, and lay my head on his knees. Oh, David, David! - - "Your own wife, who loves you and longs for you, - - "DIANA RIVERS." - -There was much she would have expressed otherwise; there were some -things she would have left unsaid; but there was no time to rewrite her -letter. So Diana let it go as it was; and it caught the evening mail. - -But even so, David never saw it; for it arrived, alas, just twenty-four -hours too late. - -_Here endeth_ FRANKINCENSE. - - - - -MYRRH - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIV - -IN THE HOSPITAL OF THE HOLY STAR - - -Once again it was Christmas-eve; but, in the midst of the strenuous life -of a busy London hospital, Diana scarcely had leisure to realise the -season, or to allow herself the private luxury of dwelling in thought -upon the anniversaries which were upon her once more; the three -important dates, coming round for the third time. - -She had fled from a brooding leisure--a leisure in which she dared not -await the news of David's death, or the coming of his farewell -letter--and she had fled successfully. - -The Sister of Saint Angela's ward, in the Hospital of the Holy Star, had -no time for brooding, and very few moments in which to give a thought to -herself or her own sorrows. The needs of others were too all-absorbing. - -Diana, in the severe simplicity of her uncompromising uniform; Diana, -with a stiffly starched white cap, almost concealing her coronet of soft -golden hair, bore little outward resemblance to David's sweet Lady of -Mystery, who had stood in an attitude of hesitancy at the far end of -Brambledene church, on that winter's night two years before. - -And yet the grey eyes held a gentleness, and the firm white hands a -tenderness of touch, unknown to them then. - -During the two months of her strong, just rule in the ward of Saint -Angela, the only people who feared her were those who sought to evade -duty, disobey regulations, or feign complaints. - -The genuine sufferer looked with eager eyes for the approach, towards -his bed, of that tall, gracious figure; the passing soul strained back -from the Dark Valley to hear the words of hope and cheer spoken, -unfalteringly, by that kind voice; the dying hand clung to those strong -fingers, while the first black waves passed over, engulfing the outer -world. - -Christmas-eve had been a strenuous day in the ward of Saint Angela. Two -ambulance calls, and an operation of great severity, had added to the -usual routine of the day's work. - -It was Diana's last day in charge. The Sister, whose place she had -temporarily filled, returned to the hospital at noon, and came on duty -at four o'clock. - -Diana went to her own room at five, with a pleasant sense of freedom -from responsibility, and with more leisure to think over her own plans -and concerns, than she had known for many weeks. At seven o'clock, Sir -Deryck was due, for an important consultation over an obscure brain case -which interested him. Until then, she was free. On the following day she -intended to return to Riverscourt. - -Her little room seemed cosy and home-like as she entered it. The -curtains were drawn, shutting out the murky fog of the December night. -The ceaseless roar of London's busy traffic reached her as a muffled -hum, too subdued and continuous to attract immediate notice. A lighted -lamp stood on the little writing-table. A bright fire burned in the -grate; a kettle sang on the hob. A tea-tray stood in readiness beside -her easy chair. - -Within the circle of the lamplight lay a small pile of letters, just -arrived. At sight of these Diana moved quickly forward, glancing through -them with swift tension of anxiety. - -No, it was not among them. - -Several times each day she passed through this moment of acute suspense. - -But, not yet had David's letter reached her. - -Yet, somehow, she had long felt certain that it would come on -Christmas-eve: the letter, at sight of which she would know that her -husband had reached at last "the Land that is very far off." - -Moving to the fireplace, she made herself some tea, in the little brown -pot, which, from constant use, by day and by night, had become a humble -yet unfailing friend. - -Then she lay back in her chair, with a delightful sense of liberty and -leisure, and gave herself up to a quiet hour of retrospective thought. - - * * * * * - -It seemed years since that October morning when David's letter had -reached her and she had had to face the fact that he was dying, yet did -not want her; indeed begged, commanded her, to stay away. - -In that hour she lost David; lost him more completely than she could -ever lose him by death. A loved one lost in life, is lost indeed. She -had never been worthy of David. She had tried hard, by a life of -perpetual frankincense, to become worthy. But no effort in the present -could undo the great wrong of the past. - -Before the relentless hand of death actually widowed her, her sad heart -was widowed by the fact that her husband was dying, yet did not want her -with him; that his last weeks were to be undisturbed by letters to, or -from, her. Her one joy in the present, her sole hope for the immediate -future, had died at that decision. - -Nothing remained for her but submissive acquiescence, a waiting in stony -patience for the final news, and a wistful yearning desire that, while -yet in life, David might learn, from her letter, the truth as to her -love for himself. If it had reached him in time, it might bring her the -consolation of an understanding postscript to that final farewell which -was to come to her at last from the breast-pocket of David's coat. - -Her departure from Riverscourt had been quickly and easily arranged. - -For once, Mrs. Mallory's plans had worked in conveniently with other -people's. On the very evening of the arrival of David's letter, she had -sought Diana in the library, and had announced, amid tears and smiles -and many incoherent remarks about Philip, her engagement to the curate -of a neighbouring parish. - -For the moment, Diana's astonishment ousted her ready tact. Whatever -else Mrs. Mallory might or might not be, Diana had certainly looked upon -her as being what Saint Paul described as a "widow indeed." And when -Mrs. Mallory went on to explain that, though her own feelings were -still uncertain and vague to a degree, dear Philip was so touchingly -pleased and happy, Diana rose and stood, with bent brows, on the -hearthrug, until Mrs. Mallory finally made it clear that by one of those -exceedingly wonderful coincidences in which we may surely trace the -finger of an All-wise Providence, the curate's Christian name was also -Philip! So the Philip who was so touchingly pleased and happy, was -Philip, number two! - -This was enough for Diana. It was the final straw which broke the back -of her much enduring sympathy. - -She unbent her level brows, smiled her congratulations, and, from that -moment, swept Mrs. Mallory completely out of her mind and out of her -life. She subsequently signed the cheque for a substantial -wedding-present as impersonally as, a moment later, she signed another -in payment of her coal merchant's account. Her own widowed spirit -rendered it impossible to her ever to give another conscious thought to -Mrs. Mallory. - - * * * * * - -At first, life in the hospital, with its incessant interest and constant -round of important duties, roused her mind to a new line of thought, -and wearied her body into sound and dreamless slumber, whenever sleep -was to be had. - -But, before long, the work became routine; her physique adjusted itself -to the "on duty" and "off duty" arrangements. - -Then a terrible loneliness, as regards the present, and blank despair in -regard to the future, laid hold of Diana. She seemed to have lost all. -She cared no longer for her stately home, her position in the county, -all the many advantages for which she had ventured so bold a stake. She -had now voluntarily surrendered them; and here she was, back in the -hospital, in nurse's uniform, in her small simply furnished room, -working hard, in order to escape from leisure. Here she was, in the very -position to avoid which she had married David; and, here she was, having -married David, learnt to love him, and then--lost him. - -Her gift of gold seemed worth little or nothing. - -Her gift of frankincense had ended in heart-broken failure. - -What was left now, save myrrh--David's gift of myrrh, and her anguish in -the fact that he offered it? - -During this period of blank despair, Diana went one afternoon to a -service in a place where many earnest hearts gathered each week for -praise, prayer, and Bible study. She went to please a friend, without -having personally any special expectation of profit or of enjoyment. - -The proceedings opened with a hymn--a very short hymn of three verses, -which Diana had never before heard. Yet those words, in their inspired -simplicity, were to mean more to her than anything had ever as yet meant -in her whole life. Before the audience rose to sing, she had time to -read the three verses through. - - "Jesus, stand among us, - In Thy risen power; - Let this time of worship - Be a hallowed hour. - - "Breathe Thy Holy Spirit - Into every heart; - Bid the fears and sorrows, - From each soul depart. - - "Thus, with quickened footsteps, - We'll pursue our way; - Watching for the dawning - Of the eternal day." - -Who can gauge the power of an inspired hymn of prayer? As the simple -melody rose and fell, sung by hundreds of believing, expectant hearts, -Diana became conscious of an unseen Presence in the midst, overshadowing -the personality of the minister, just as in the noble monument to -Phillips Brooks, outside his church in the beautiful city of Boston, the -mighty tender figure of his Master, standing behind him, overshadows the -sculptured form of the great preacher. - -The Presence of the risen Christ was there; the Power of the risen -Christ, then and there, laid hold upon Diana. - - "Jesus, stand among us, - In Thy risen power--" - -pleaded a great assemblage of believing hearts; and, in very deed, He -stood among them; and He drew near in tenderness to the one lonely soul -who, more than all others, needed Him. - -None other human words reached Diana during that "hour of worship." He, -Who stood in the midst, dealt with her Himself, in the secret of her own -spirit-chamber. - -She saw the happenings of the past in a new light. - -First of all, Self had reigned supreme. - -Then--when the great earthly love had ousted Self--she had placed David -upon the throne. - -Now the true and only King of Love drew near in risen power; and she -realised that He was come, in deepest tenderness, to claim the place -which should all along have been His own. - - "Bid the fears and sorrows - From each soul depart." - -"Fear not; I am the First and the Last, and the Living One." - -Her whole life just now had seemed to be made up of fears and sorrows; -but they all vanished in the light of this new revelation: "Christ is -all, and in all." - -Her broken heart arose, and crowned Him King. - -Her love for David, her anguish over David, were not lessened; but her -heart's chief love was given to Him unto Whom it rightfully belonged; -and her soul found, at last, its deepest rest and peace. - - "Thus, with quickened footsteps, - We'll pursue our way; - Watching for the dawning - Of the eternal day." - -Diana went out, when that hour was over, with footsteps quickened -indeed. Hitherto she had been watching, in hopeless foreboding, for news -of David's death. Now she was watching, in glad certainty, for the -eternal dawn, which should bring her belovèd and herself to kneel -together at the foot of the throne. For He Who sat thereon was no longer -David, but David's Lord. - -At last she realised that she too could bring her offering of myrrh. She -remembered David's words in that Christmas-eve sermon, so long ago: -"Your present offering of myrrh is the death of self, the daily -crucifying of the self-life. 'For the love of Christ constraineth us, -because we thus judge: that if one died for all, then were all dead; and -that He died for all, that they which live, should not henceforth live -unto themselves, but unto Him, Who died for them, and rose again.' Your -response to that constraining love; your acceptance of that atoning -death; your acquiescence in that crucifixion of self, constitute your -offering of myrrh." - -She understood it now; and she felt strangely, sweetly, one with David. -He, in the wilds of Central Africa; she, in a hospital in the heart of -London's busy life, were each presenting their offering of myrrh; and -God, Who alone can make all things work together for good, had overruled -their great mistake, and was guiding them, across life's lonely desert, -to the feet of the King. - -From that hour, Diana's life was one of calm strength and beauty. Her -heart still momentarily ceased beating at the arrival of each mail; she -still yearned for the assurance that David had received her letter; but -the risen power which had touched her life had bestowed upon it a deep -inward calm, which nothing could ruffle or remove. - -Yet this Christmas-eve, so full of recollections, brought with it an -almost overwhelming longing for David. - -As she lay back in her chair, the scene in the vestry rose so clearly -before her. She could see him seated on the high stool, little piles of -money and the open book in front of him, two wax candles on the table. -She could see David's luminous eyes as he said: "I cannot stand for my -King. I am but His messenger; the voice in the wilderness crying: -Prepare ye the way of the Lord; make His paths straight." - -Poor David! All unbeknown to himself, she had made him stand for his -King. Yet truly he had prepared the way; and now, at last, the King was -on the throne. - - * * * * * - -Diana roused herself and looked at the clock: five minutes to seven. - -She rose, and going to the window, drew aside the curtain. The fog had -partially lifted; the sky was clearing. Through a forest of chimneys -there shone, clear and distinct, one brilliant star. - -"And when they saw the star they rejoiced," quoted Diana. "Oh, my Boy, -are you now beyond the stars, or do you still lift dear tired eyes to -watch their shining?" - -Then she dropped the curtain, left her room, and passed down the flight -of stone stairs, to meet Sir Deryck. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXV - -THE LETTER COMES - - -As Diana and the great specialist passed through the lower hall the -ambulance bell sounded, sharply. - -They mounted the stairs together. - -"Ambulance call from Euston Station," shouted the porter, from below. - -Diana sighed. "That will most likely mean another bad operation -to-night," she remarked to Sir Deryck. "These fogs work pitiless havoc -among poor fellows on the line. We had a double amputation this -afternoon--a plate-layer, with both legs crushed. The worst case I have -ever seen. Yet we hope to save him. How little the outside world knows -of the awful sights we are suddenly called upon to face, in these -places, at all hours of the day and night!" - -"Does it try your nerve?" asked the doctor, as they paused a moment at -the entrance to the ward. - -Diana smiled, meeting his clear eyes with the steadfast courage of her -own. - -"No," she said. "My hunting-field experiences stand me in good stead. -Also, when one is responsible for every preparation which is to ensure -success for the surgeon's skill, one has no time to encourage or to -contemplate one's own squeamishness." - -The doctor smiled, comprehendingly. - -"Hospital life eliminates self," he said. - -"All life worth living does that," rejoined Diana, and they entered the -ward. - -Half an hour later they stood together near the top of the staircase, -talking, in low voices, over the case in which Sir Deryck was -interested. They heard, below, the measured tread on the stone floor, of -the ambulance men returning with their burden. It was the "call" from -Euston Station. - -The little procession slowly mounted the stairs: two men carrying a -stretcher, a nurse preceding, the house surgeon following. - -Diana rested her hand on the rail, and bent over to look. - -A slight, unconscious figure lay on the stretcher. The light fell full -on the deathly pallor of the worn face. The head moved from side to -side, as the bearers mounted the steps. One arm slipped down, and hung -limp and helpless. - -"Steady!" called the house-surgeon, from below. - -The nurse turned, gently lifted the nerveless hand, and laid it across -the breast. - -Diana, clutching the rail, gazed down speechless at the face, on which -lay already the unmistakable shadow of death. - -Then she turned, seized Sir Deryck's arm, and shook it. - -"It is David," she said. "Do you hear? Oh, my God, it is David!" - -The doctor did not answer; but, as the little procession reached the top -of the staircase, he stepped forward. - -"Found unconscious in the Liverpool train," said the house-surgeon. -"Seems a bad case; but still alive." - -The bearers moved towards the ward; but Diana, white and rigid, barred -the way. - -"Not here," she said, and her voice seemed to her to come from miles -away. "Not here. Into the private ward." - -They turned to the left and entered a small quiet room. - -"It is David," repeated Diana, mechanically. "It is David." - -They placed the stretcher near the bed, which the nurse was quickly -making ready. - -As if conscious of some unexpected development, all stood away from it, -in silence. - -Diana and the doctor drew near. Their eyes met across the stretcher. - -"It is David," said Diana. "He has come back to me. Dear God, he has -come back to me!" - -Her grey eyes widened. She gazed at the doctor, in startled unseeing -anguish. - -"Just help me a moment, Mrs. Rivers, will you?" said Sir Deryck's quiet, -steady voice. "You and I will place him on the bed; and then, with Dr. -Walters's help, we can soon see what to do next. Put your hands so.... -That is right. Now, lift carefully. Do not shake him." - -Together they lifted David's wasted form, and laid it gently on the bed. - -"Go and open the window," whispered Sir Deryck to Diana. "Stand there a -moment or two; then close it again. Do as I tell you, my dear girl. Do -it, _for David's sake_." - -Mechanically, Diana obeyed. She knew that if she wished to keep control -over herself, she must not look just yet on that dear dying face; she -must not see the thin travel-stained figure. - -She stood at the open window, and the breath of night air seemed to -restore her powers of thought and action. She steadied herself against -the window frame, and lifted her eyes. Above the forest of chimney -stacks, shone one brilliant star. - -Her Boy was going quickly--beyond the stars. But he had come back to her -first. - -Suddenly she understood why he had stopped the correspondence. He was on -the eve of his brave struggle to reach home. And why he had begged her -to remain in England--oh, God, of course! Not because he did not want -her, but because he himself was coming home. Oh, David, David! - -She turned back into the room. - -Skilful hands were undressing David. - -Something lay on the floor. Mechanically Diana stooped and picked it up. -It was his little short black jacket; the rather threadbare "old -friend." - -Diana gave one loud sudden cry, and put her hand to her throat. - -Sir Deryck stepped quickly between her and the bed; then led her firmly -to the door. - -"Go to your room," he said. "It is so far better that you should not be -here just now. Everything possible shall be done. You know you can -confidently leave him to us. David himself would wish you to leave him -to us. Sit down and face the situation calmly. He may regain -consciousness, and if he does, you must be ready, and you must have -yourself well in hand." - -The doctor put her gently out, through the half-open door. - -Diana turned, hesitating. - -"You would call me--if?" - -"Yes," said the doctor; "I will call you--then." - -Diana still held David's jacket. She slipped her hand into the -breast-pocket, and drew out a sealed envelope. - -"Sir Deryck," she said, "this is a letter from David to me, which I was -to receive after his death. Do you think I may read it now?" - -The doctor glanced back at the bed. A nurse stood waiting with the -hypodermic and the strychnine for which he had asked. The house surgeon, -on one knee, had his fingers on David's wrist. He met the question in -the doctor's eyes, and shook his head. - -"Yes, I think you may read it now," said Sir Deryck gently; and closed -the door. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVI - -DIANA LEARNS THE TRUTH - - -Diana passed to her room, with the sense of all around her being -dream-like and unreal. - -When the unexpected, beyond all imagining, suddenly takes place in a -life, its every-day setting loses reality; its commonplace surroundings -become intangible and vague. There seemed no solidity about the stone -floors and passages of the hospital; no reality about the ceaseless roar -of London traffic without. - -The only real things to Diana, as she sank into her armchair, were that -she held David's coat clasped in her arms; that David's sealed letter -was in her hand; that David himself lay, hovering between life and -death, just down the corridor. - -At first she could only clasp his coat to her breast, whispering -brokenly: "He has come back to me! David, David! He has come back to -me!" - -Then she realised how all-important it was, in case he suddenly -recovered consciousness, that she should know at once what he had said -to her in his farewell letter. - -With an effort she opened it, drew out the closely written sheets, and -read it; holding the worn and dusty coat still clasped closely to her. - - "MY DEAR WIFE,--When you read these lines, I shall have - reached the Land from whence there is no return--'the Land - that is very far off.' - - "Very far off; yet not so far as Central Africa. Perhaps, - as you are reading, Diana, I shall be nearer to you than we - think; nearer, in spirit, than now seems possible. So do - not let this farewell letter bring you a sense of - loneliness, my wife. If spirits can draw near, and hover - round their best belovèd, mine will bend over you, as you - read. - - "Does it startle you, that I should call you this? Be - brave, dear heart, and read on; because--as I shall be at - last in the Land from whence there is no return--I am going - to tell you the whole truth; trusting you to understand, - and to forgive. - - "Oh, my wife, my belovèd! I have loved you from the very - first; loved you with my whole being; as any man who loved - _you_, would be bound to love. - - "I did not know it, myself, until after I had made up my - mind to do as you wished about our marriage. I had sat up - all night, pondering the problem; and at dawn, after I had - realised that without transgressing against the Divine Will - I could marry you, I suddenly knew--in one revealing - flash--that I loved you, my belovèd--_I loved you_. - - "How I carried the thing through, without letting it be - more than you wished, I scarcely know now. It seems to me, - looking back upon those days from this great solitude, that - it was a task beyond the strength of mortal man. - - "And it was, Diana. But not beyond the strength of my love - for you. If, as you look back upon our wedding, and the - hours which followed, and--and the parting, my wife, it - seems to you that I pulled it through all right, gauge, by - that, the strength of my love. - - "Oh, that evening of our wedding-day! May I tell you? It is - such a relief to be able to tell you, at last. It cannot - harm you to learn how deeply you have been loved. It need - not sadden you, Diana; because every man is the better for - having given his best. - - "The longing for you, during those first hours, was so - terrible. I went down to my cabin--you remember that jolly - big cabin, 'with the compliments of the company'--but your - violets stood on the table, everything spoke of you; yet - your sweet presence was not there; and each revolution of - the screw widened the distance between us--the distance - which was never to be recrossed. - - "I tried to pray, but could only groan. I took off my coat; - but when I turned to hang it up, I saw my hat, hanging - where you had placed it. I slipped on my coat again. I - could not stay in this fragrance of violets, and in the - desperate sense of loneliness they caused. - - "I mounted to the hurricane deck, and paced up and down, up - and down. For one wild moment I thought I would go off, - when the pilot left; hurry back to you, confess all, and - throw myself on your mercy--my wife, my wife! - - "Then I knew I could never be such a hound as to do that. - You had chosen me, because you trusted me. You had wedded - me, on the distinct understanding that it was to mean - nothing of what marriage usually means. I had agreed to - this; therefore you were the one woman on the face of God's - earth, whom I was bound in honour not to seek to win. - - "Yet, I wanted you, my wife; and the hunger of that need - was such fierce agony. - - "I went to the side of the ship. Beating my clenched fists - on the woodwork, seemed to help a little. Then--I looked - over. - - "We were surging along through the darkness. I could see - the white foam on the waves, far down below. - - "Then--Diana, dare I tell you all?--then the black waters - tempted me. I was alone up there. It would mean only one - headlong plunge--then silence and oblivion. God forgive me, - that in the agony of that moment of Time, I forgot - Eternity. - - "But, lifting my eyes, I looked away from those black - waters to where--clear on the horizon--shone a star. - - "Somehow that star brought you nearer. It was a thing you - might be seeing also, on this, our wedding-night. I stood - very still and watched it, and it seemed to speak of hope. - I prayed to be forgiven the sin of having harboured, even - for a moment, that black, cowardly temptation. - - "Then, all at once, I remembered something. May I tell you, - my wife, my wife? It cannot harm you, after I am dead, that - I should tell you. I remembered that you had laid your - hand for one moment on the pillow in my bunk. At once, I - seemed rich beyond compare. _Your_ hand--your own dear - hand! - - "I ran down quickly, and in five minutes I was lying in the - dark, the scent of violets all about me, and my head where - your dear hand had rested. And then--God gave me sleep. - - "My wife, I have often had hard times since then; but never - so bad as that first night. And, though I have longed for - you always, I would not have had less suffering; because, - to have suffered less would have been to have loved you - less; and to have loved you less would have been unworthy - of you, Diana;--of you and of myself. - - * * * * * - - "But what an outpouring! And I meant to write entirely of - bigger and more vital things, in this last letter. Yet I - suppose _I love you_ is the most vital thing of all to me; - and, when it came to being able to tell you fully, I felt - like writing it all down, exactly as it happened. I think - you will understand. - - "And now about the present. - - "I can't die, miles away from you! Since death has been - coming nearer, a grave out here seems to hold such a horror - of loneliness. It would be rest, to lie beneath the ground - on which your dear feet tread. Also, I am possessed by a - yearning so unutterable to see your face once more, that I - doubt if I _can_ die, until I have seen it. - - "So I am coming back to England, by the quickest route; - and, if I live through the journey, I shall get down into - the vicinity of Riverscourt somehow, and just once see you - drive by. You will not see me, or know that I am near; so I - don't break our compact, Diana. It may be a sick man's - fancy, to think that I can do it; yet I believe I shall - pull it through. So, if this comes into your hands, from an - English address, you will know that, most likely, before I - died, I had my heart's desire--one sight of your sweet - face; and, having had it, I died content. - - "Ah, what a difference love--the real thing--makes in a - man's life! God forgive me, I can't think or write of my - work. Everything has now slipped away, save thoughts of - you. However, you know all the rest. - - "I am writing to ask you not to write again, as I shall be - coming home--only I daren't give you that, as the reason! - And also to beg of you not to leave England. Think what it - would be, if I reached there, only to find you gone! - - "And now about the future, my beloved; _your_ future. - - "Oh, that picture! You know,--the big one? I can't put on - paper all I thought about it; but--it showed me--I knew at - once--that somehow, some one had been teaching you--what - love means. - - "Diana, don't misunderstand me! I trust you always, - utterly. But we both made a horrible mistake. Our marriage - was an unnatural, unlawful thing. It is no fault of yours, - if some one--before you knew what was happening--has made - you care, in something the way I suddenly found I cared for - you. - - "And I want to say, that this possibility makes me glad to - leave you free--absolutely free, my wife. - - "You must always remember that I want you to have the best, - and to know the best. And if some happy man who loves you - and is worthy can win you, and fill your dear life with the - golden joy of loving--why, God knows, I wouldn't be such a - dog in the manger, as to begrudge you that joy, or to wish - to stand between. - - "So don't give me a thought, if it makes you happier to - forget me. Only--if you do remember me sometimes--remember - that I have loved you, always, from the very first, with a - love which would have gladly lived for you, had that been - possible; but, not being possible, gladly dies for you, - that you--at last--may have the best. - - "And so, good-bye, my wife. - - "Yours ever, - - "DAVID RIVERS." - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVII - -"GOOD-NIGHT, DAVID" - - -When Diana had finished reading David's letter, she folded it, replaced -it in the envelope; rose, laid aside her uniform, slipping on a grey -cashmere wrapper, with soft white silk frills at neck and wrists. - -Then she passed down the stone corridor, and quietly entered the -darkened room where David was lying. - -A screen was drawn partly round the bed. - -A nurse sat, silent and watchful, her eyes upon the pillow. - -She rose, as Diana entered, and came forward quickly. - -"I am left in charge, Mrs. Rivers," she whispered. "I was to call you at -once when I saw the change. The doctors have been gone ten minutes. Sir -Deryck expects to return in an hour. He is fetching an antitoxin which -he proposes trying, if the patient lives until his return. Dr. Walters -thinks it useless to attempt anything further. No more strychnine is to -be used." - -"Thank you," said Diana, gently. "Now you can go into the ward, nurse. I -will take charge here. If I want help, I will call. Close the door -softly behind you. I wish to be alone." - -She stood quite still, while the nurse, after a moment's hesitation, -left the room. - -Then she came round to the right side of the bed, knelt down, and drew -David into her arms, pillowing his head against her breast. She held him -close, resting her cheek upon his tumbled hair, and waited. - -At length David sighed, and stirred feebly. Then he opened his eyes. - -"Where--am I?" he asked, in a bewildered voice. - -"In your wife's arms," said Diana, slowly and clearly. - -"In--my wife's--arms?" The weak voice, incredulous in its amazed wonder, -tore her heart; but she answered, unfaltering: - -"Yes, David. In your wife's arms. Don't you feel them round you? Don't -you feel her heart beating beneath your cheek? You were found -unconscious in the train, and they brought you to the Hospital of the -Holy Star, where, thank God, I chanced to be. My darling, can you -understand what I am saying? Oh, David, try to listen! Don't go, until I -have told you. David--I have read your letter; the letter you carried in -your breast-pocket. But, oh darling, it has been the same with me as -with you! I have loved you and longed for you all the time. Ever since -you called me your wife on the boat, ever since our wedding-evening, I -have loved you, my Boy, my darling--loved you, and wanted you. David, -can you understand?" - -"Loved--loved _me_?" he said. Then he lay quite still, as if striving to -take in so unbelievable a thing. Then he laughed--a little low laugh, -half laugh, half sob--a sound unutterably happy, yet piteously weak. -And, lifting his wasted hand, he touched her lips; then, for very -weakness, let it fall upon her breast. - -"Tell me--again," whispered David. - -She told him again; low and tenderly, as a mother might croon to her -sick child, Diana told again the story of her love; and, bending over, -she saw the radiance of the smile upon that dying face. She knew he -understood. - -"Darling, it was love for you which brought the look you saw in the -photograph. There was no other man. There never will be, David." - -"I want you--to have--the best," whispered David, with effort. - -"This _is_ the best, my dearest, my own," she answered, firmly. "To hold -you in my arms, at last--at last. David, David; they would have been -hungry always, if you had not come back. Now they will try to be -content." - -"I wish--" gasped the weak voice, "I wish--I need not----" - -"Thine eyes shall see the King in His beauty," said Diana, bravely. - -She felt the responsive thrill in him. She knew he was smiling again. - -"Ah yes," he said. "Yes. In the Land that is very far off. Not so far -as--as----" - -"No, darling. Not so far as Central Africa." - -"But--no--return," whispered David. - -"Yet always near, my own, if I keep close to Him. You will be in His -presence; and He will keep me close to Him. So we cannot be far apart." - -He put up his hand again, and touched her lips. She kissed the cold -fingers before they dropped, once more, to her breast. - -"Has our love--helped?" asked David. - -"Yes," she said. "It brought me to the King. It was the guiding Star." - -"The King of Love," murmured David. "The King of Love--my Shepherd is. -Can you--say it?" - -Then, controlling her voice for David's sake, Diana repeated, softly: - - "The King of Love, my Shepherd is, - Whose goodness faileth never, - I nothing lack, if I am His, - And He is mine forever. - - "In death's dark vale I fear no ill, - With Thee, dear Lord, beside me; - Thy rod and staff, my comfort still, - Thy Cross before, to guide me. - - "And so, through all the length of days, - Thy goodness faileth never; - Good Shepherd, may I sing Thy praise, - Within Thy house forever." - -"Forever!" said David. "Forever! It is not death, but life--everlasting -life! This is life eternal--to know Him." - -After that he lay very still. He seemed sinking gently into -unconsciousness. She could hardly hear him breathing. - -Suddenly he said: "I don't know what it is! It seems to come from your -arms, and the pillow--you did put your hand on the pillow, didn't you, -Diana?--I feel so rested; and I feel a thing I haven't felt for months. -I feel sleepy. Am I going to sleep?" - -"Yes, darling," she answered, bravely. "You are going to sleep." - -"Don't let's say 'Good-bye,'" whispered David. "Let's say 'Good-night.'" - -For a moment Diana could not speak. Her tears fell silently. She prayed -he might not feel the heaving of her breast. - -Then the utter tenderness of her love for him came to the rescue of her -breaking heart. - -"Good-night, David," said Diana, calmly. - -He did not answer. She feared her response had been made too late. - -Her arms tightened around him. - -"Good-night--good-night, my Boy, my own!" - -"Oh--good-night, my wife," said David. "I thought I was slipping down -into the long grasses in the jungle. They ought to cut them. I wish you -could see my oleanders." - -Then he turned in her arms, moving his head restlessly to and fro -against her breast, like a very tired little child seeking the softest -place on its pillow; then settled down, with a sigh of complete content. - -Thus David fell asleep. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVIII - -THE BUNDLE OF MYRRH - - -"'If he sleep, he shall do well,'" quoted the doctor, quietly. "Nothing -but this could give him a chance of pulling through." - -Diana looked up, dazed. - -Sir Deryck was bending over her, scrutinizing closely, in the dim light, -the quiet face upon her breast. - -"Is he alive?" she whispered. - -The doctor's fingers had found David's pulse. - -"Alive? Why, yes," he said; "and better than merely alive. He has fallen -into a natural sleep. His pulse is steadying and strengthening every -moment. If he can but sleep on like this for a couple of hours, we shall -be able to give him nourishment when he wakes. Don't move! I can do what -has to be done, without disturbing him.... So! that will do. Now tell -me. Can you remain as you are for another hour or two?" - -"All night, if necessary," she whispered. - -"Good! Then I will place a chair behind the screen, and either a nurse, -or Walters, or myself will be there, without fail; so that you can call -softly, if you need help or relief." - -He bent, and looked again closely at the sleeping face. - -"Poor boy," he whispered, gently. "It seems to me he has, in God's -providence, reached, just in time, the only thing that could save him. -Keep up heart, Mrs. Rivers. Remember that every moment of contact with -your vital force is vitalizing him. It is like pouring blood into empty -veins; only a more subtle and mysterious process, and more wonderful in -its results. Let your muscles relax, as much as possible. We can prop -you with pillows, presently." - -The doctor went softly out. - -"All night, if necessary," repeated Diana's happy heart, in an ecstasy -of hope and thankfulness. "A bundle of myrrh is my well-belovèd unto me; -he shall lie all night--all night--Oh, God, send me strength to kneel -on, and hold him!" - -She could feel the intense life and love which filled her, enveloping -him, in his deathly weakness. She bent her whole mind upon imparting to -him the outflow of her vitality. - -The room was very still. - -Distant clocks struck the hour of midnight. - -It was Christmas-day! - - * * * * * - -From an old church, just behind the hospital, where a midnight carol -service was being held, came the sound of an organ, in deep tones of -rolling harmony. Then, softened by intervening windows into the -semblance of angelic music, rose the voices of the choristers, in the -great Christmas hymn: - - "Hark, the herald angels sing, - Glory to the new-born King!" - -And kneeling there, in those first moments of Christmas morning; -kneeling in deepest reverence of praise and adoration, Diana's womanhood -awoke, at last, in full perfection. - - "Glory to the new-born King," - -the helpless Babe of Bethlehem, pillowed upon a maiden's gentle breast, -clasped in a virgin mother's arms; the Babe Whose advent should hallow -the birth of mortal infants, for all time; - - "Born to raise the sons of earth; - Born to give them second birth." - -Diana hardly knew, as she knelt on, listening to the quiet breathing at -her bosom, whether the rapture which enfolded her was mostly -mother-love, or wifely tenderness. - -But she knew that her heart beat in unison with the heart of the Virgin -Mother in Bethlehem's starlit stable. - -She had seen, in one revealing ray of eternal light, the true vocation -of her womanhood. - - * * * * * - -And again the organ pealed forth triumphant chords; while the voices of -the distant choir carolled: - - "Hark, the herald angels sing, - Glory to the new-born King." - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIX - -HOME, BY ANOTHER WAY - - -Each Feast of Epiphany, Mr. Goldsworthy makes a point of asking David to -preach the Epiphany sermon in Brambledene Church. - -The offertory, on these occasions, is always devoted to the work of the -Church of the Holy Star, in Ugonduma. The offertory is always the -largest in the whole year; but that may possibly be accounted for by the -fact that Diana invariably puts a sovereign into the plate. David smiles -as he sees it lying on the vestry table. It calls up many memories. He -knows it was dropped into the plate by the hand which has given -thousands to the work in Central Africa. He wears on his watch-chain, -the golden coin which, on that Christmas-eve so long ago, was Diana's -first offering to his work in Ugonduma. - -When David mounts the pulpit stairs, and appears behind the red velvet -cushion, he looks down upon his wife, sitting in the corner near the -stout whitewashed pillar, its shape accentuated, as is the annual -custom, by heavy wreathings of evergreens. - -She has become his Lady of Mystery once more; for the love of a -noble-hearted woman is a perpetual cause of wonderment to the man upon -whom its richness is outpoured; nor does he ever cease to marvel, in his -secret heart, that he should be the object upon which such an -abandonment of tenderness is lavished. - -And before the second Epiphany came round, that most wonderful of all -moments in a man's life had come to David:--the moment when he first -sees a small replica of himself, held tenderly in the arms of the woman -he loves; when the spirit of a man new-born, looks out at him from baby -eyes; when he shares his wife's love with another; yet loves to share -it. - -Thus, more than ever, on that occasion, was the gracious woman, wrapped -in soft furs, seated beside the old stone pillar, his Lady of Mystery. -Yet, as she lifted her sweet eyes to his, expectant, they were the -faithful, comprehending eyes of his wife, Diana; and they seemed to say: -"I am waiting. I have come for this." - -Instantly the sense of inspiration filled him. With glad assurance, he -gave out his text, and read the passage; conscious, as he read it, that -he knew more of its full meaning than he had known when he preached -upon it from that pulpit, four years before: - -"When they saw the star, they rejoiced with exceeding great joy.... And -when they had opened their treasures, they presented unto Him -gifts--gold, and frankincense, and myrrh." - - * * * * * - -Diana, in her motor, awaited David, outside the old lich-gate. - -As he sprang in beside her, and the car glided off swiftly over the -snow, she turned to him, her grey eyes soft with tender memories. - -"And when they had offered their gifts, David," she said; "when the -gold, and the frankincense, and the myrrh had each been accepted--what -then?" - -"What then?" he answered, as his hand found hers upon her muff, while -into his face came the look of complete content she so loved to see: -"Why then--they went home, by another way." - - -_Here endeth_ MYRRH. - - * * * * * - - -MYRTLE REED'S NOVELS - -May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list. - -[Illustration] - - -_LAVENDER AND OLD LACE._ - -A charming story of a quaint corner of New England where bygone romance -finds a modern parallel. The story centers round the coming of love to -the young people on the staff of a newspaper--and it is one of the -prettiest, sweetest and quaintest of old fashioned love stories, * * * a -rare book, exquisite in spirit and conception, full of delicate fancy, -of tenderness, of delightful humor and spontaneity. - - -_A SPINNER IN THE SUN._ - -Miss Myrtle Reed may always be depended upon to write a story in which -poetry, charm, tenderness and humor are combined into a clever and -entertaining book. Her characters are delightful and she always displays -a quaint humor of expression and a quiet feeling of pathos which give a -touch of active realism to all her writings. In "A Spinner in the Sun" -she tells an old-fashioned love story, of a veiled lady who lives in -solitude and whose features her neighbors have never seen. There is a -mystery at the heart of the book that throws over it the glamour of -romance. - - -_THE MASTER'S VIOLIN,_ - -A love story in a musical atmosphere. A picturesque, old German virtuoso -is the reverent possessor of a genuine "Cremona." He consents to take -for his pupil a handsome youth who proves to have an aptitude for -technique, but not the soul of an artist. The youth has led the happy, -careless life of a modern, well-to-do young American and he cannot, with -his meagre past, express the love, the passion and the tragedies of life -and all its happy phases as can the master who has lived life in all its -fulness. But a girl comes into his life--a beautiful bit of human -driftwood that his aunt had taken into her heart and home, and through -his passionate love for her, he learns the lessons that life has to -give--and his soul awakes. - -Founded on a fact that all artists realize. - - -_Ask for a complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction_ - -GROSSET & DUNLAP, 526 WEST 26TH ST., NEW YORK - - * * * * * - - -STORIES OF RARE CHARM BY GENE STRATTON-PORTER - -=May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset and Dunlap's list.= - -[Illustration] - - -_THE HARVESTER._ - -Illustrated by W. L. Jacobs. - -"The Harvester," David Langston, is a man of the woods and fields, who -draws his living from the prodigal hand of Mother Nature herself. If the -book had nothing in it but the splendid figure of this man, with his -sure grip on life, his superb optimism, and his almost miraculous -knowledge of nature secrets, it would be notable. But when the Girl -comes to his "Medicine Woods," and the Harvester's whole sound, healthy, -large outdoor being realizes that this is the highest point of life -which has come to him--there begins a romance, troubled and interrupted, -yet of the rarest idyllic quality. - - -_FRECKLES._ Decorations by E. Stetson Crawford. - -Freckles is a nameless waif when the tale opens, but the way in which he -takes hold of life; the nature friendships he forms in the great -Limberlost Swamp; the manner in which everyone who meets him succumbs to -the charm of his engaging personality; and his love-story with "The -Angel" are full of real sentiment. - - -_A GIRL OF THE LIMBERLOST._ - -Illustrated by Wladyslaw T. Brenda. - -The story of a girl of the Michigan woods; a buoyant, lovable type of -the self-reliant American. Her philosophy is one of love and kindness -towards all things; her hope is never dimmed. And by the sheer beauty of -her soul, and the purity of her vision, she wins from barren and -unpromising surroundings those rewards of high courage. - -It is an inspiring story of a life worth while and the rich beauties of -the out-of-doors are strewn through all its pages. - - -_AT THE FOOT OF THE RAINBOW._ - -Illustrations in colors by Oliver Kemp. Design and decorations by Ralph -Fletcher Seymour. - -The scene of this charming, idyllic love story is laid in Central -Indiana. The story is one of devoted friendship, and tender -self-sacrificing love; the friendship that gives freely without return, -and the love that seeks first the happiness of the object. The novel is -brimful of the most beautiful word painting of nature, and its pathos -and tender sentiment will endear it to all. - - -_Ask for complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction_ - -GROSSET & DUNLAP, 526 WEST 26TH ST., NEW YORK - - * * * * * - - -JOHN FOX, JR'S. - -STORIES OF THE KENTUCKY MOUNTAINS - -=May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset and Dunlap's list.= - -[Illustration] - - -_THE TRAIL OF THE LONESOME PINE._ - -Illustrated by F. C. Yohn. - -The "lonesome pine" from which the story takes its name was a tall tree -that stood in solitary splendor on a mountain top. The fame of the pine -lured a young engineer through Kentucky to catch the trail, and when he -finally climbed to its shelter he found not only the pine but the -_foot-prints of a girl_. And the girl proved to be lovely, piquant, and -the trail of these girlish foot-prints led the young engineer a madder -chase than "the trail of the lonesome pine." - - -_THE LITTLE SHEPHERD OF KINGDOM COME._ - -Illustrated by F. C. Yohn. - -This is a story of Kentucky, in a settlement known as "Kingdom Come." It -is a life rude, semi-barbarous; but natural and honest, from which often -springs the flower of civilization. - -"Chad," the "little shepherd" did not know who he was nor whence he -came--he had just wandered from door to door since early childhood, -seeking shelter with kindly mountaineers who gladly fathered and -mothered this waif about whom there was such a mystery--a charming waif, -by the way, who could play the banjo better that anyone else in the -mountains. - - -_A KNIGHT OF THE CUMBERLAND._ - -Illustrated by F. C. Yohn. - -The scenes are laid along the waters of the Cumberland, the lair of -moonshiner and feudsman. The knight is a moonshiner's son, and the -heroine a beautiful girl perversely christened "The Blight." Two -impetuous young Southerners' fall under the spell of "The Blight's" -charms and she learns what a large part jealousy and pistols have in the -love making of the mountaineers. - -Included in this volume is "Hell fer-Sartain" and other stories, some of -Mr. Fox's most entertaining Cumberland valley narratives. - - -_Ask for complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction_ - -GROSSET & DUNLAP, 526 WEST 26TH ST., NEW YORK - - * * * * * - - -KATE DOUGLAS WIGGIN'S STORIES OF PURE DELIGHT - -Full of originality and humor, kindliness and cheer - - -_THE OLD PEABODY PEW._ Large Octavo. Decorative text pages, printed in -two colors. Illustrations by Alice Barber Stephens. - -One of the prettiest romances that has ever come from this author's pen -is made to bloom on Christmas Eve in the sweet freshness of an old New -England meeting house. - - -_PENELOPE'S PROGRESS._ Attractive cover design in colors. - -Scotland is the background for the merry doings of three very clever and -original American girls. Their adventures in adjusting themselves to the -Scot and his land are full of humor. - - -_PENELOPE'S IRISH EXPERIENCES._ Uniform in style _with "Penelope's -Progress."_ - -The trio of clever girls who rambled over Scotland cross the border to -the Emerald Isle, and again they sharpen their wits against new -conditions, and revel in the land of laughter and wit. - - -_REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM._ - -One of the most beautiful studies of childhood--Rebecca's artistic, -unusual and quaintly charming qualities stand out midst a circle of -austere New Englanders. The stage version is making a phenomenal -dramatic record. - - -_NEW CHRONICLES OF REBECCA._ With illustrations by F. C. Yohn. - -Some more quaintly amusing chronicles that carry Rebecca through various -stages to her eighteenth birthday. - - -_ROSE O' THE RIVER._ With illustrations by George Wright. - -The simple story of Rose, a country girl and Stephen a sturdy young -farmer. The girl's fancy for a city man interrupts their love and merges -the story into an emotional strain where the reader follows the events -with rapt attention. - - -GROSSET & DUNLAP, 526 WEST 26TH ST., NEW YORK - - * * * * * - - -CHARMING BOOKS FOR GIRLS - -=May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list.= - - -_WHEN PATTY WENT TO COLLEGE_, By Jean Webster. - -Illustrated by C. D. Williams. - -One of the best stories of life in a girl's college that has ever been -written. It is bright, whimsical and entertaining, lifelike, laughable -and thoroughly human. - - -_JUST PATTY_, By Jean Webster. - -Illustrated by C. M. Relyea. - -Patty is full of the joy of living, fun-loving, given to ingenious -mischief for its own sake, with a disregard for pretty convention which -is an unfailing source of joy to her fellows. - - -_THE POOR LITTLE RICH GIRL_, By Eleanor Gates. - -With four full page illustrations. - -This story relates the experience of one of those unfortunate children -whose early days are passed in the companionship of a governess, seldom -seeing either parent, and famishing for natural love and tenderness. A -charming play as dramatized by the author. - - -_REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM_, By Kate Douglas Wiggin. - -One of the most beautiful studies of childhood--Rebecca's artistic, -unusual and quaintly charming qualities stand out midst a circle of -austere New Englanders. The stage version is making a phenominal -dramatic record. - - -_NEW CHRONICLES OF REBECCA_, By Kate Douglas Wiggin. - -Illustrated by F. C. Yohn. - -Additional episodes in the girlhood of this delightful heroine that -carry Rebecca through various stages to her eighteenth birthday. - - -_REBECCA MARY_, By Annie Hamilton Donnell. - -Illustrated by Elizabeth Shippen Green. - -This author possesses the rare gift of portraying all the grotesque -little joys and sorrows and scruples of this very small girl with a -pathos that is peculiarly genuine and appealing. - - -_EMMY LOU_: Her Book and Heart, By George Madden Martin. - -Illustrated by Charles Louis Hinton. - -Emmy Lou is irresistibly lovable, because she is so absolutely real. She -is just a bewitchingly innocent, hugable little maid. The book is -wonderfully human. - - -_Ask for complete free list of G. & D. 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