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diff --git a/40640-0.txt b/40640-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..390f8a3 --- /dev/null +++ b/40640-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,10409 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 40640 *** + +[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. Popular Copyrighted Fiction_ + +GROSSET & DUNLAP, 526 WEST 26TH ST., NEW YORK + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Following of the Star, by Florence L. Barclay + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 40640 *** |