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diff --git a/42763-8.txt b/42763-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 4972a0f..0000000 --- a/42763-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,9731 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Swords Reluctant, by Max Pemberton - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: Swords Reluctant - War and The Woman - -Author: Max Pemberton - -Release Date: May 22, 2013 [EBook #42763] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SWORDS RELUCTANT *** - - - - -Produced by David Edwards, Ernest Schaal, and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - - - Swords Reluctant - - Published in London under the title of - "War and the Woman" - - - By - Max Pemberton - Author of "The Fortunate Prisoner," "The Garden of Swords," etc. - - - "Peace hath her victories - No less renowned than war." - MILTON: _Sonnets_. - - "I, in this weak piping time of peace, - Have no delight to pass away the time, - Unless to see my shadow in the sun." - SHAKESPEARE: _Richard III._ - - - [Illustration] - - - G. W. Dillingham Company - Publishers New York - - - - - ENTERED FOR COPYRIGHT MAY 29TH, 1912 - UNDER THE TITLE OF - WAR AND THE WOMAN - - - COPYRIGHT, 1912, BY - G. W. DILLINGHAM COMPANY - UNDER THE TITLE OF - SWORDS RELUCTANT - - - _Swords Reluctant_ - - - - - TO - ANDREW CARNEGIE - NON EXERCITUS - NEQUE THESAURI PRÆSIDIA REGNI SUNT, - VERUM AMICI - - - - - _The Author would make acknowledgments to Sir Max Waechter and - to Sir Francis Trippel for the generous help given to this book - and to its purpose. While the characters in it are entirely - fictitious, the scheme for the Federation of Europe is wholly - due to Sir Max Waechter's initiative. This scheme has obtained - favour at the Courts of the Continent and is warmly approved by - many in this country, who realise how inseparably the Peace - question is allied to that of the national finance._ - - - - - CONTENTS - - - Book I.--The Challenge - - CHAPTER PAGE - - 1. GABRIELLE SILVESTER WRITES A LETTER 11 - - 2. A MAN OF DESTINY 20 - - 3. BETWEEN HEAVEN AND EARTH 30 - - 4. THE BEGINNING OF THE ODYSSEY 45 - - 5. GENERAL D'ARNY AND HIS DAUGHTER 67 - - - Book II.--The Players - - 1. A RACE FOR AN EMPEROR 81 - - 2. LOUIS DE PALEOLOGUE 91 - - 3. THE DAMNABLE MOUNTAINS 101 - - 4. THE BURNING OF RANOVICA 114 - - 5. A STRANGE VOYAGE 133 - - 6. GOODWILL TOWARD MEN 156 - - - Book III.--Aftermath - - 1. THE MEMORABLE WINTER 173 - - 2. OF LOVE BUT NOT OF MARRIAGE 193 - - 3. AFTER TEN DAYS 203 - - 4. CINDERELLA 219 - - 5. THE MAN OF THE MOMENT 234 - - - Book IV.--Merely Men and Women - - 1. AFTER THE DEBACLE 247 - - 2. THE SHADOW IS LIFTED 263 - - 3. THE MARIGOLDS TO THE SUN 272 - - 4. SURRENDER AND AFTERWARDS 284 - - 5. TWO SHIPS UPON THE SEA 306 - - - - - BOOK I - - THE CHALLENGE - - - - - SWORDS RELUCTANT - - - CHAPTER I - - GABRIELLE SILVESTER WRITES A LETTER - - - I - -Gabrielle returned from the Town Hall where the meeting was held, just -after ten o'clock, and was glad to see the fire burning brightly in her -room. She remembered that she would never have thought of such a luxury -as a fire in her bedroom prior to her visit to New York. - -All agreed that it had been a very successful meeting, and that real, -convincing work had been done. She herself could say, in the privacy of -her own room, that the excitements of such gatherings had become a -necessity to her since the strenuous days in America, and perhaps to her -father also. - -How changed her life since she first set foot on the deck of the -_Oceanic_ and began to know a wider world! England had seemed but a -garden upon her return and its people but half awake. She had a vivid -memory of the rush and roar of distant cities, of strange faces and new -races, but chiefly of a discovery of self which at once frightened and -perplexed her. - -Would it be possible to accept without complaint the even tenor of that -obscure life in Hampstead which she had suffered willingly but seven -months ago? She knew that it would not, and could answer for her father -also. A call had come to him and to her. She had been sure of it at the -meeting, but of its nature she had yet to be wholly convinced. - -Gordon Silvester, the most eloquent preacher among the -Congregationalists, had gone to America at the bidding of a famous -millionaire, there to bear witness to the brotherhood of man and the -bond between the peoples. The achievement of the great treaty between -America and the Motherland had drawn together the leading intellects of -the two countries, and had culminated in that mighty assemblage in New -York which had stood before the altar of the Eternal Peace and closed, -as it believed for ever, the Temple of the twin-headed Janus. With the -minister had gone Gabrielle, his only child, and thus for the first time -during her three and twenty years had she seen any world but that of the -suburban parish in which Gordon Silvester laboured. - - - II - -It was a bitter cold night of the memorable winter with which this story -is chiefly concerned. - -Gabrielle wore furs, which had been purchased in Quebec, and a hat which -some upon the steamer had thought a little _outré_ for a parson's -daughter. These furs she had just laid upon her bed, and was busy -unpinning her hat when her father knocked at the door and asked if he -might come in. She thought that he was more excited than he was wont to -be in the old days, and there were blotches of crimson upon his usually -sallow cheeks. - -"I am just going to bed," he said in a quiet tone; "if you want anything -to eat, let Jane know. The room was very hot, I think--my head is -aching." - -She turned with her hand still among the curls of her auburn hair, a -wonderfully graceful figure for such a scene. - -"You must be very tired, dear," she said very gently. "I have never -heard anything more beautiful than your speech." - -He took a step into the room, his hand upon the door. - -"Then you think it was a success, Gabrielle?" - -"I don't think at all about it; it was what Mr. Faber would have called -'electrical.'" - -He let go the door, and then shut it behind him. - -"Ah!" he said, as though thinking upon it, "if we could have had Faber -with us." - -She laughed, showing the superb whiteness of her teeth. - -"The lion and the lamb. Why do you attach any importance to him?" - -He crossed the room to an arm-chair and sat there, poking the fire. - -"He is one of the men who can make peace or war," he said. "Sir Jules -Achon agrees with me. Popular sentiment goes for much, but the men who -control the destinies are the financiers." - -"But, father, how could Mr. Faber control this particular situation?" - -"He could set a great example of forbearance. Is he not rich enough?" - -She came and sat by him near the fire. It was yet early in the most -memorable winter that England has ever known, but the cold had become -intense. - -"I saw so little of Mr. Faber on the ship," she said reflectively; "he -appeared to me to be a man who could move mountains ... with somebody -else's arms, to say nothing of somebody's else's spades." - -"Was that your only impression of him?" - -"Oh! force--hardly of character, perhaps--that and his restlessness. Why -did everyone talk of him? Was it because he is worth eleven millions of -money? Was that all that could be said of him?" - -"A very good reason nowadays. They say he has a contract with the French -Government for five millions of the new rifles. Permissible exaggeration -makes him the arbiter of peace or war. Did he not give you that -impression?" - -"I hardly think so; he was mostly concerned about his boarhound's -dinner. As far as I remember, he considers our party just harmless -lunatics. I made him confess as much one day." - -Silvester passed by the admission. - -"He goes on a fearful journey," he said, falling unconsciously to the -pulpit manner. "Of course such men know a great deal. He believes that -there will be war in Europe in six months' time, and that our country -will be concerned. Did he not tell you that?" - -"I think not, father. He was too busy asking me to arrange the roses in -his cabin." - -"Ah! I remember them, pink roses everywhere in early December. What a -feminine display!" - -"But not a feminine subject. I have never met a man whose character -impressed me so clearly. He has only begun in the world--those were his -own words." - -"Well, then, why should he not begin with us? Sir Jules believes that -nothing would make a greater stir than his joining our Committee." - -"Then why don't you ask him yourself? He's in London until the end of -the week." - -Silvester did not speak for some minutes. He seemed to have become a -little shy of this outspoken wide-eyed daughter of his, who evaded the -issue so cleverly. - -"I wish you'd write, Gabrielle." - -"To Mr. Faber?" - -"Yes; you seemed very good friends on the ship. I believe he'd join if -you asked him." - -She shook her head. - -"I don't believe it would make any difference who asked him. I'll write, -if you wish it." - -"Yes," he said, rising abruptly, "write now before you go to bed. You're -sure you are not hungry?" - -Gabrielle laughed lightly. - -"I have left all my vices in America," she rejoined, "being hungry in -the witching hours is one of them." - - - III - -Her boudoir overlooked the great well wherein London lies. Though the -moon was in the first quarter, the night was wonderful in stars, and the -air quivered with the virility of frost. She could see St. Paul's and -the City spires; the Carlton Hotel lay more to the west, and was hidden -behind the slopes of Haverstock Hill. There was no snow, for this frost -was black as iron. - -Just below, were the winding walks to which the pilgrims came in search -of Keats. She had read the sonnets and tried to understand them, but -candour compelled her to say that she preferred Tennyson. Sometimes she -thought her whole interest in literature to be an affectation; but -undoubtedly she was addicted to erotic poetry and the fire of Swinburne -would burn in her veins. All this, too, was hidden from her father, who -occupied himself but little with her affairs, and believed that her -interests were entirely his own. - -Girls of twenty-three are usually fervent letter-writers and Gabrielle -was no exception. She had furnished folios of gossip that very day for -her friend, Eva Achon, who had been her intimate upon the ship. But when -it came to writing "John Sebastian Faber, Esq.," her pen trembled upon -the paper. How impossible it seemed to say anything to which such a man -would listen. She depicted him as she had last seen him upon the deck of -the _Oceanic_, stretched on a sofa-chair, and smiling at her philosophy. -"Letters answered themselves," he had said. He got through life on -cables and confidence. There was not a private letter in fifty which -said anything worth saying. He had proposed a league for the suppression -of private correspondence, and begged her to be one of the -vice-presidents. She remembered her own disappointment that he had not -asked her to write to him. - -So it was no easy thing at all to begin, chiefly because she feared his -irony and was quite sure that her letter would achieve nothing. -Half-a-dozen sheets of good "cream laid" note were destroyed before she -could get her craft launched and she was still in harbour so to speak -when she heard her name cried out in the street below, and opening the -window immediately, discerned Harry Lassett with skates upon his arm. - -"Is that you, Gabrielle?" - -The cold was intense and filled the room with icy vapour. She shivered -where she stood, and drew her dressing-gown close about her white -throat. - -"Whatever are you doing, Harry? It's nearly eleven o'clock." - -"I know that. We've been skating on the Vale. There'll be grand ice -to-morrow. Won't you come? You must!" - -"I haven't got any skates!" - -"Oh, send into town for some. I'll go myself if you'll throw me out an -old boot. You don't mean to say you're going to miss it?" - -She shook her head and tried to shield herself behind the heavy -curtains. - -"I fear I'll have to go visiting to-morrow." - -"What, those American dollars again! No! They're spoiling you; I thought -you had done with that nonsense." - -"I did not say they were American. I am going to Richmond to see Eva -Achon." - -"Oh, hang Eva Achon. We shall have bandy, if it holds. Throw me out that -boot, and I'll go away. Your people go to bed in the middle of the day, -don't they? It's all locked up like a prison down here." - -"I am not in bed, Harry. I am writing a letter." - -"American, of course?" - -"Of course," and she laughed at him. Then the boot was found, and tossed -out. - -"How's that?" he asked--a man who had played for Middlesex and the -'Varsities could not have asked any other question. - -"Let me know just how much they are, and I will send it round in the -afternoon. Father promised me a pair to-night. I'm glad you can get them -for me." - -"Right oh! We shall skate on the Vale directly I return. Dr. Houghton of -Grindelwald wants me to have a pair of his blades. You'd better have the -same. They're grand!" - -"Anything you like, my dear Harry, if they'll keep me warm. I shall be a -pillar of ice if I stand here." - -"Like Lot's wife! Was it ice, by the way? Well, good-night, then; or -shall I post the letter?" - -"That's splendid of you. I'll just finish it. But I'll have to shut the -window." - -"Imagine me a sentry doing the goose step. Will you be long?" - -"Just two minutes, really." - -He kissed his hand to her when she shut the window and began to stamp -about to warm himself. They had been lovers since children, and were -still free. Harry Lassett's three hundred a year "in the funds" just -permitted him to play cricket for the county and to spend the best part -of the winter at St. Moritz. He had not thought much about marriage. - -Gabrielle's two minutes "really" proved to be an exact prophecy. Haste -bade her throw both preface and conclusion to the winds. She just wrote: - - "DEAR MR. FABER, - - "My father would be very pleased if you would become one of the - Vice-Presidents of the International Arbitration League. Will - you let me say 'yes' for you?" - -And that was the letter Harry carried to the post for her. - -Vanity promised her an answer. It would come over the telegraph wires, -she thought. - - - - - CHAPTER II - - A MAN OF DESTINY - - -John Sebastian Faber had a suite of five rooms at the Savoy Hotel, and, -as he said, he lived in four of them most of the time. The room which he -did not occupy was devoted to three secretaries. - -Gabrielle found him at his desk in an apartment which should have been a -drawing-room. The windows looked out upon the Shot Tower and showed him -the majesty of Westminster. There was a litter of American journals upon -a round table at his back and copies of the English _Times_, much -mutilated by cutting. He wore a black morning coat, and would have been -called well-dressed by an American tailor. - -His was the "clean-limbed" type of man who is such an excellent product -of the sister nation--moderately tall, suggesting virility and immense -nervous energy. Someone upon the ship said that he "snatched at life," -and that was no untrue description of him. But he had also picked up a -little sum of eleven millions sterling by the process, and that kind of -snatching bears imitation. - -A footman brought Gabrielle to the room, and Faber sprang up -immediately, brushing back curly brown hair from his forehead. It was -evident that he expected a somewhat protracted interview, for he wheeled -a low chair near to his own before he held out his hand to her. - -"Why, now, I'm glad to see you. Sit down right here and let us talk. A -long way in from Hampstead, isn't it? Too hot, perhaps; well, then, -we'll have the steam turned off." - -"Oh, please!" she said, casting loose her grey furs--he had already -regarded her from a man's first aspect and approved the picture--"I have -been walking down the Strand and the air is so cold. It's delicious in -here--and what roses!" - -"Ah! that's where I blush. I always have roses wherever I go; didn't -your lady from Banbury Cross do the same thing with the music? Well, I -get as far off that as I can--most music. Wagner's good if you're up -against a man. You never hear him crying 'Enuf.' Well, now, that's -right. So you want me for the I.A.L.--or, rather, your father does. Why -didn't he ask me on the ship?" - -He swung back in his chair and looked her over from head to foot. She -had always been a little afraid of the sensitive eyes, and they did not -fail to magnetise her as heretofore. It was possible, however, to be -very frank with such a man; she spoke with good assurance when she said: - -"Oh! I suppose he didn't think of it." - -"You mean that he didn't know enough about me? Why, that's fair. I dare -say he heard my name for the first time that night I ran the charity -concert for him. Guns and the gospel don't go well together, my dear -lady, not in civilized parts. Your father won't want rifles until he -goes to China to turn the great god Bud inside out. I'll let him have a -consignment cheap when he's starting." - -She thought it a little brutal, hardly the thing he should have said; -but his good humour was invincible, and she forgave him immediately. - -"The fact is," he ran on, "your father is a good man, Miss Silvester, -and I'm a merchant. Where we come together is in admiring a certain -fellow passenger who ran the ship and will run other ships. There we're -on common ground. Now say what you like to me and I'll hear it, for I've -just twenty minutes at your disposal, and you may count every one of -them. To begin with the I.A.L.--does your father remember that I'm a -gunmaker?" - -She was vastly puzzled. - -"I think he knows it in a vague way. The captain of the _Oceanic_ said -you were building the new American navy--is that quite true?" - -"It would be in a prospectus. My house builds one of the new cruisers, -and some of the destroyers. Guns are the bigger line. I've come to -Europe to sell guns. Did they tell you that also?" - -"Yes, I think everyone knows it." - -"Then why come to me? Would you go to the keeper of a saloon and ask him -to help you to put down the drink? He'd tell you that drink made George -Washington, just as I tell you that guns made your Lord Nelson. Would -the Admiral have joined your I.A.L.?" - -"Oh," she said, with womanly obstinacy, "then you still think there is -no alternative but war?" - -He laughed and began to make holes with his pencil in the blotting pad -before him. - -"It's just as though you asked me if there were no alternative but human -nature. Why isn't the world good right through? Why do murder and other -crimes still exist on the face of the earth? Would a league suppress -them--a decision at Washington that there should be no more sin? I guess -not. If a man knocks me down before lunch, I may go to law with him; if -it's after and there's been any wine, I'll possibly do my own justice -and do it quick. War is as old as human nature, and if we are to believe -that a God rules the world, we've got to believe also that man was meant -to go to war. Shall I tell you that some of the noblest things done on -this earth were done on the battlefield? You wouldn't believe me. Your -father thinks George Washington a son of the devil, and Nelson a man of -blood. I've heard that sort of thing from the platform, and it's turned -me sick. Your I.A.L. is a league for the manufacture of lath-backed men. -Do you think the world will be any better when every man turns the other -cheek and honour has gone into the pot? If you do, well, I'm on the -other side all the time. War may go, but it has got to change human -nature first. Tell your father that, and ask him to think about it. I -wonder what text he'd take if a troop of cavalry camped in his -drawing-room to-night. Would the I.A.L. do much for him? Why, I think -not." - -She smiled at his wild images, and thought that she would demolish them -simply. - -"You speak in fables," she said, "it's like the nonsense in the panicky -stories. There is no one in England nowadays who seriously believes in -that kind of war. I do not think you can do so yourself. Now, really, -did you ever see a battlefield in your life, Mr. Faber?" - -He looked at her with eyes half shut. - -"I was in Port Arthur the night the ships were struck. I saw the big -fighting at Liaoyang. Go back farther and I'll tell you stories of -Venezuela and the Philippines, which should be written down in red. I'm -a child of war--my father died at a barricade in Paris three days before -the Commune fell. A diamond of a man saved my mother and took her out to -America, where I was born. There's war in the very marrow of my bones--I -live for it as other men for women and children. Should you ask such a -man to join such a League? I'll put it squarely to you. Now tell me the -truth." - -The intensity of the appeal startled her. The method of her life in the -parsonage at Hampstead would have prompted a platitude of the platforms, -some retort about the progress of humanity, and the need for social -advance. But it seemed impossible to say such things to John Faber. Her -courage ran down as ice before a fire; she was wholly embarrassed and -without resource. - -"Come," he repeated, "you owe me the admission. Should the request have -been made to me?" - -"No, indeed--and yet I will not say that anyone would be dishonoured by -it." - -"Did I suggest the contrary?" - -"I think your idols false." - -"They are the idols of human nature--not mine." - -"We could say the same of the primitive savages. Why should we have -advanced beyond the battle-axe and the club?" - -"Not the political clubs--see here, is there any real advance when the -knife goes deep enough? Suppose a thousand English women were butchered -in China--or I'll make it Turkey--would your father be for the I.A.L.? -If he were, the people would burn his pulpit!" - -"It only means that we must educate." - -"We're doing it all the time. Does education make your burglar sing -psalms, or does it teach him to use oxygen for burning open the safe? I -think nothing of education--that way. Who are the best educated people -in Europe? The Germans. Are they coming in to the I.A.L.?" - -"My father hopes that much may be done by the understanding between the -ministers----" - -He laughed rudely, brutally. - -"All the sheep baaing together, and the wolf sharpening his teeth on the -national grindstone. I've no patience to hear it." - -"Then I certainly will not repeat it." - -A flush of anger coloured her cheeks, and her heart began to beat fast. -She was conscious of a rôle which fitted her but ill, and was no -reflection of herself. How much sooner would she have been downstairs -among the well-dressed women who were beginning to flock into the -restaurant for lunch! This man's brutal logic threatened to shatter her -professed ideals, and to leave her vanity defenceless. She remembered at -the same time what the meaning of the triumph would be if she won him. -All the country would talk of that! - -"You are not offended with me?" he said in a gentler tone. "I'm sure you -won't be when you get back home and think of it." - -"I shall try to think of it as little as possible." - -"As your countrymen are doing. If there was more than half-an-ounce of -the radium of common sense in this kingdom at the present moment, some -people would be thinking very hard, Miss Silvester----" - -"Of what?" - -He rose from his chair, thrust his hands deep into his trousers pockets, -went over to the window and stood looking out. - -"They would be thinking of the frost," he said. - -"Perhaps it is too cold to think about it!" - -He laughed. - -"Well said and true. Did you read in the _Times_ that there is ice in -the English Channel for the first time for twenty years?" - -"I never read the _Times_----" - -"Then don't begin if you would remain a woman." - -"Is she, then, unworthy of it?" - -"Not at all--it is unworthy of her. It tells the truth!" - -"Oh, I grant that that is embarrassing sometimes. We were speaking of -the frost." - -"And the fables. The fable, written by a great German, is about to -freeze the English Channel and the North Sea! Ice from the Humber to -Kiel! Portsmouth frozen up. An ice carnival at the Thames' mouth. Do you -believe in fables?" - -She stared at him amazed. - -"What would happen if this one were true?" - -"Oh," he said, "you had better ask the I.A.L." - -She was silent a little while, then she said: - -"Your bogies are wonderful. Are there many in your life?" - -"More than I count." - -"They are lucky then?" - -"Yes, for one of them sends you to my rooms to-day." - -He had never spoken to her in this way before, and the tone of it found -her amazed. Hitherto the man of affairs and the woman of the useful -vanities had been speaking; but John Faber had changed all that in an -instant. She felt his wide eyes focused upon her with a sudden glance -which burned. He had taken a step toward her, and for a moment she -feared that some mad impulse would drive him to forget the true -circumstance of their meeting, and to suppose another. She felt her -heart beat rapidly--a true instinct warned her to act upon the -defensive. - -"I think we were talking of another kind of bogy," she said -quickly--"women deserve a new chapter." - -He laughed a little hardly, and turned upon his heel. - -"The goose awoke and the Capitol is saved. Well, about this frost?" - -"Oh, I shall hope for a thaw." - -"That's what your I.A.L. is doing all the time. Tell them that John -Faber wishes them well, and will sell them a hundred thousand rifles any -time they are reconsidering the position. Perhaps I shall meet you when -I return from Paris. We can put the contract through then." - -She shook her head, trying to hide the annoyance of the rebuff. - -"I don't suppose I shall ever see you again," she said. - -"I'll bet you a thousand dollars you do, either in Paris or Berlin." - -"Why should I go there?" - -"Because your little friend Claudine d'Arny will see that you do." - -"Oh, that was only an acquaintance on the ship. I had forgotten her." - -"My memory is better. I have been chewing her father's name for twenty -years." - -"Do you know him, then?" - -It was his turn to laugh--with the silent anger of a man who remembers. - -"He gave the order for my father to be shot. I don't think I'll forget -him." - -She hardly believed him to be serious. There he stood, smiling softly, -one hand deep in his trousers pocket, the other toying with his roses. -He had just told her what he would have told no other woman in England, -and she thought him a jester. - -"Is this one of the fables?" - -"Certainly it is. I am going to Paris to write the moral." - -She watched his face curiously. - -"But, surely, if General d'Arny gave any such order, it was in his -official capacity." - -"As I shall give mine--in an official capacity." - -"Then you have not forgiven him?" - -"It is for that very purpose I am going to Paris. That and one other." - -"To sell your guns--I read it in the papers." - -He smiled--in a kindly way this time. - -"I'll give you twenty guesses." - -"But I am hopeless at riddles." - -"Then I'll solve this one for you. I am going to Paris to give one -million dollars to the man who took my mother to America--if I can find -him." - -"I hope you will succeed--and I wish I knew the man." - -He liked this, for it was the first really girlish thing she had said. -Perhaps even at that stage Faber read her wholly, and believed that it -was good for her to see "common sense in curl papers," as he put it. He -might even have led her to talk of her father and her home had not the -inexorable secretary knocked upon the door at that very moment. The -summons brought him to "attention," as the call of a sergeant to the new -recruit. - -"Time is unkind to us," he said. "I must go down to Throgmorton Street -to make a hundred thousand dollars. Well, we shall meet again in Paris -or Berlin. A thousand dollars for your I.A.L. if we don't. Remember me -to your father, please. Is he likely to accept that call to Yonkers, by -the way?" - -"I don't know," she said quite simply; "he is so ignorant about American -money." - -John Faber smiled at that. Gabrielle went down the Strand blushing -furiously, and wondering why she had said anything at once so honest and -so foolish. - - - - - CHAPTER III - - BETWEEN HEAVEN AND EARTH - - - I - -Clad in an alpaca coat, which had long since lost its lining, and in -carpet slippers very much too large for him, Gordon Silvester awaited -his daughter's return to the house in Well Walk. The luncheon bell had -rung a second time, and God alone knew what was in the mind of Agatha, -the cook. Silvester feared this woman greatly, especially in those -frequently recurring seasons when her madness ran to taking the pledge. - -It was a quarter past two when Gabrielle returned, and they should have -lunched at half-past one. The minister's anxiety was above all meats, -and in his curiosity to know what had happened he forgot the sainted -martyr below stairs. - -"Well, is he willing, my dear?" - -Gabrielle drew a chair to the table; she carried a couple of letters in -her hand, and glanced at their envelopes while she spoke. - -"Oh, my dear father, it was quite hopeless." - -Silvester sighed, and took up his knife and fork. It was a terrible -descent from the millennium to mutton; but, after all, he ate but to -live. - -"I feared it would be so. Well, we have done our best, and that is -something. Did he give you any reasons?" - -"One tremendous reason--he calls it human nature." - -Silvester helped her to a fair cut and himself to two. He was already -eating when he took up the subject again. - -"This movement will be stronger than his argument," he said. "What -people call human nature is often little more than the animal instinct. -I can conceive no nobler mission for any man. We cannot expect this -particular class of man to see eye to eye with us." - -"There was never any chance of it, father. He believes that war is the -will of God, and he does not hesitate to say so." - -"Would he have us to believe that typhoid fever is the will of God--or -smallpox? We are stamping those out. Why not the greater plague?" - -Gabrielle sighed. - -"I wish you had been there to argue with him, father. A girl is at such -a disadvantage." - -"Naturally, with such a man. I don't suppose John Faber ever knew one -really human weakness since he was a child. Did he say anything about -me, by the way?" - -"He mentioned you several times. I told him about the call to Yonkers." - -The minister's eyes sparkled. - -"That is a subject I would gladly take his advice upon. What did he say -about it?" - -"Very little, I think." - -"Was it favourable to my going?" - -"I don't think he expressed an opinion either way." - -"It would have been a great help to me had he done so. Sometimes I feel -that I have a great work to do in America. This Peace Movement is the -finest thing in the story of the whole world. Christ Himself has taught -us no more beautiful idea--His own, as we must admit. There is a true -sentiment in America; but a pretence of it here, I fear." - -"Are you quite sure of that, father?" - -"Of what, my dear?" - -"Of the true sentiment in America. Mr. Faber said on the ship that he -hoped to sell five hundred thousand rifles for Mexico before the trouble -was over. Is that a true sentiment?" - -"I believe it very foreign to the real wishes of the American people." - -"He doesn't; neither do the Germans. They say all this talk of -arbitration is so much humbug to prevent us adding to our navy, and to -allow President Taft to occupy Mexico." - -"That is in the yellow press, my dear; you should not listen to it." - -"Anyway, Sir Jules Achon thinks it true. May I read Eva's letter? I -expect she reminds me of my promise to go there to-day." - -"You know that we have a meeting of the Girls' Friendly Committee -to-night?" - -"Oh, father, can't they do without me for once? I don't often stay -away." - -He helped himself to an apple tart, and made no reply. Gabrielle read -her letter, and her cheeks flamed with excitement. - -"What do you think?" she said. "Sir Jules is going on his yacht to -Corfu, and he wishes me to go with them." - -"To go upon his yacht!" The astonishment was very natural. "That is very -kind of him." - -"Douglas Renshaw is going, and Dr. Burrall. Eva says they will call at -Lisbon and Gibraltar, and perhaps at Genoa. What a splendid trip!" - -Her eyes were very bright with the vision, and her lips parted in -excitement. Not only was this a respite from the monotonous days, but a -respite which she would consider regal. She was going upon a pilgrimage -into the old world as she had gone into the new. And with the promise -there flashed upon her mind a memory of John Faber's wager. He would -meet her in Paris or Berlin! - -"It is indeed a very remarkable opportunity," said her father presently. -"Sir Jules Achon is a greater man than your American. He has more -ballast, and quite as much money." - -"And he has not come to Europe to marry an English woman." - -The minister looked at her covertly. A secret thought which had sent her -to the Savoy Hotel whispered an accusation in his ear, and found him -guilty. He would have given much to know just what passed between -Gabrielle and John Faber. Perhaps he saw also that his daughter had -never looked so well. Undoubtedly she was a beautiful woman. - -"Yes," he said at last; "I don't think Sir Jules will marry. You must -accept this invitation, Gabrielle." - -"But what am I to do for frocks?" - -"Can't you wear those you took to America?" - -"My dear father, they were mostly summer dresses." - -"Well, Corfu is a summer resort. I forget what the winter temperature -is--something abnormal. Unfortunately, they have just opened a gambling -saloon there. Wherever nature is most beautiful, there men turn their -backs upon her." - -"Sir Jules is hardly likely to do that. He is going to Corfu to try to -meet the German Emperor. You know he has a great idea--the Federation of -Europe. He says that commerce is the only key to the peace of the -world." - -"A faith rather in the Jews than the Divine gospels." - -"Oh! I think not--a faith in good common sense, father." - -Silvester shook his head. - -"He will not associate himself with us," he said, a little sadly. And -then, "They tell me he is a very rich man." - -"Just the reason why I must have some frocks if I go to Corfu." - - - II - -She was not to leave for Richmond until the end of the week, and when -lunch was over she was reminded of Harry Lassett's promise by the advent -of that boisterous sportsman and his expressed determination to take her -at once to the Vale of Health pond, where the ice was "top-notch." There -Gabrielle found herself amid a knot of very suburban but friendly -people, whose noisy cordiality forced her to remember that this rather -than the other was her true sphere. - -Harry Lassett had been down to St. James's Street to get her skates, and -they fitted her to perfection. The scene was inspiriting and full of -colour. All about them lay the whitened heath; London beneath a veil of -sunlit fog in the hollow. So keen was the splendid air that every nerve -reverberated at its breath. Such frost had not been known in England -since oxen were roasted whole upon the Thames in the early days of the -nineteenth century. - -She was a good skater, and had often accompanied Eva Achon to Princes -during the previous season. Harry Lassett waltzed divinely, and while -waltzing upon boards was anathema to Gordon Silvester, waltzing upon the -ice seemed to him a harmless diversion. He even came down to the brink -of the pond and watched the merry throng at play; but that was before -dusk fell and the great bonfire was lighted, and those who had merely -clasped hands discovered that a more binding link was necessary. -Silvester saw nothing of the outrageous flirtations. He would have been -sadly distressed had he known that Gabrielle herself was among the -number of the sinners. She was, in fact, one of the ringleaders. - -Why should she not have been? What pages of her life written in the dark -room of a shabby parsonage forbade that freshet of a young girl's -spirit, here gushing from the wells of convention which so long had -preserved it? Silvester, all said and done, was just a successful -Congregational minister. His sincerity and natural gifts of eloquence -had pushed him into the first rank of well-advertised special pleaders. -By this cause and that, the doors had been opened to him; and with him -went Gabrielle to the ethical fray. If her heart remained with those -whom the world would have called "her equals," she was but obeying the -fundamental laws of human nature. Millionaires and their palaces; my -lord this and my lord that, thrust into the chair of a cause for which -they did not care a snap of the fingers--what had Silvester's house in -common with them? Reason answered nothing; he himself would never have -put the question. - -So here was Gabrielle like a child let out of school. The long afternoon -found her pirouetting with Harry Lassett, or with other disorderly young -men of a like nature; the swift night discovered her in a sentimental -mood, with all thought of multi-millionaires gone away to the twinkling -stars. A brass band had begun to play by that time, and a man was -selling baked chestnuts. A pretty contrast that to the Savoy Hotel. - -Their talk had been chiefly ejaculatory during the afternoon, but the -twilight found them mellowing. Harry still harped upon America, and with -some disdain; and now, at length, his contempt found expression. - -"Did you see that American chap all right?" he asked her in an interval -of the riot. - -She admitted the guilt of it. - -"Do you mean Mr. Faber?" - -"The fellow you met on the ship--Apollo and the liar; the man who talked -about eleven millions sterling." - -"Yes, I saw him. How did you know I was going?" - -"Oh! I was in the Savoy myself this morning. I'm thinking of buying the -place." - -"Then you propose to settle down?" - -"Or settle up. What did you want from the Stars and Stripes this -morning, Gabrielle?" - -"An impertinent question. Why should I tell you? Why do you want to -know?" - -"Because I have the right to know." - -"The right, Harry--the right!" - -They were over at the eastern corner of the pond, shadows sheltering -them. Harry Lassett's "six foot one" towered above her five feet five, -and made a woman of her. He had the round, "apple" face of a boy of -twenty-four, vast shoulders, limbs of iron. His eyes were clear and -lustrous, and his hair jet black. There was every quality which makes a -quick, physical appeal to the other sex, and now, perhaps not for the -first time, Gabrielle became acutely conscious of it. This was something -totally apart from schemes for the world's good; something with which -millionaires, were they British or American, had no concern whatever. -Ten years of a boy and girl friendship culminated here. She tried to -withdraw her fingers from Harry's grasp, but could not release herself; -his breath was hot upon her forehead; she quivered at his touch, and -then stood very still. - -"Why have I not got the right? Who has if I haven't?" - -"The right to what?" - -"To warn Apollo off. Gabrielle, I'm in love with you--you know it." - -She looked up; his eyes devoured her. - -"What is the good of our being in love?" - -"You don't mean to say you are thinking of the beastly money?" - -"Harry!" - -"Well, then, don't ask me. I've three hundred a year, and I'm going with -Barlean in Throgmorton Street when the cricket season's over. That's a -half-commission job, and my cricketing friends will rally round. If I -tour Australia next year, they'll pay my expenses, and I'll make them -pretty hot. We could be married when I come back, Gabrielle." - -She laughed, and half turned her head. - -"It's quite like a fairy story. And so mercenary! It's just like a -business deal." - -"Well, your father will ask for a balance sheet, and there it is--totted -up by 'Why not' and audited by 'Expectation.' Why don't you say -something about it?" - -"Do you want me to say that you will always be my best friend?" - -"_Family Reading_--go on. Love and respect and esteem. I'm d----d if I -stand it. This is what I think." - -He slipped his arms about her, and kissed her hotly upon the lips. She -had never been kissed by a man before, and the swift assault found her -without argument. She was conscious in a vague way that prudence should -have made an end of all this upon the spot. Yet there was a physical -magnetism before which she was powerless; an instantaneous revelation of -life in its fuller meaning, of a sentiment which had nothing to do with -prudence. - -"Harry!" she cried, and that was all. - -"Gabrielle, you love me--I feel that you do when you are near me." - -"How foolish it all is--how mad!" - -"I won't have that rot. Why, you are part of my life, Gabrielle." - -"Of course, we are very old friends----" - -"If you say any word like that I will take you out into the very centre -of the pond and kiss you there. Come along and skate now. I feel quite -mad." - -He caught her in his arms, and they went whirling away. The red-nosed -man with the cornet played the "Merry Widow" until his whole body -swelled; there were harsh tones of cockneyism, silver laughter of boys -and girls, the whirr of good skates cutting the ice. And above all a -clear, starless heaven, such as London had not known for many a year. - -"How long will you be away with these Achon people, Gabrielle?" - -"I don't know; we are going to Corfu to see the German Emperor." - -"Don't bring him back with you. He'd never get on with fools. Isn't it -all rather out of the picture?" - -"What do you mean by that, Harry?" - -"Well, your trotting about with millionaires, hanging on to the skirts -of other people's ambitions. It can't last. Some day soon, these doors -will be shut. There'll be nobody at home when you call." - -"That would not trouble me. I go because my father wishes it; and, of -course, I like Eva." - -"She's rather a jolly girl, isn't she? They're a different class to that -Faber man. He's just an adventurer." - -"Who has managed to make himself necessary to two continents. I wish you -knew him. You'd be the first to bow down." - -"To eleven millions! I might if he handed over one of them. That must be -the fly in his ointment. I don't suppose he has a friend in the world -who doesn't want to get something out of him." - -"Do you include me in that category?" - -"Well, you wanted his name. I knew he'd laugh at all that peace rot. -It's the greatest humbug of the twentieth century, and I admire the -German Emperor for his courage. He and Kitchener are the two greatest -men in the world to-day. Now, don't you think so?" - -"I don't think anything of the kind. If there is any one conviction in -my life that is sincere it is this. You know it, Harry." - -She was very earnest, and he would not wound her. Gabrielle Silvester -could dream dreams, and some of them would put great intellects to -shame. Harry knew this and admired her in the mood; he altered his own -course at once. - -"Of course I know it. But tell me, what did Faber say?" - -"Oh, very little--he spoke about the frost." - -"Wants to skate with you, eh?" - -"I think not. He is full of bogies. The English Channel and the North -Sea are to be frozen over." - -"Great idea that. We shall skate all the way to Paris! Dine at the Ritz -and curl afterwards. What a man!" - -"No, really--what he fears is a panic in England if the sea should -really freeze." - -Harry thought about it for some minutes in silence. Presently he said: - -"I don't believe it could happen. He was chaffing you." - -"I think he was." - -"But if it did happen--by gad! what a funk some people would be in!" - -"The valiant people--who believe in war in the abstract." - -"Now you're ironical, Gabrielle." - -"No," she said; "I'm only hungry." - - - III - -It was very dark in Well Walk when they arrived before her father's -house. - -Harry had fallen to a sentimental mood, and would talk about their -future just as though it had all been settled in the beginning of -things, and was as unalterable as the course of the planets. She began -to think that his love for her was very real, and not a mere ebullition -of a boyish sentiment. Long years of her childhood seemed to be lived -again as he put his arm about her and told her of his happiness. - -"You knew it all the time, Gabrielle. You never had any doubt about it. -Of course, I loved you. Tell me so yourself. Let me see it in your -eyes." - -She laughed, and told him, as the situation seemed to require, not to be -foolish. - -"Father will be waiting for me. What shall I say to him?" - -"That I am going to marry you directly I return from the Australian -tour." - -"Why frighten him prematurely? There are thousands of pretty girls in -Australia." - -"That's beastly of you. Deny it, or I will kiss you again." - -"Oh, Harry, my cheeks will be so red." - -"Say it's the frost. I must kiss you, Gabrielle. There--little cat! Why -do you wrestle with me?" - -"Because I feel that we are just two children playing." - -"But you'll never play with any other child--swear that to me, -Gabrielle." - -"My dear Harry, that would be the most childish thing of all. Now, you -must say good-night, I hear my father." - -He held her for an instant in his arms, and she trembled. When at length -he strode off in his masterful and imperious way, her father stood in -the porch and called her. He had seen nothing of this curiously -"worldly" scene, and was full of a letter he had just received from the -Archbishop of Canterbury. This invited him to a Conference at the -Mansion House, and he pointed out with satisfaction that it had been -written at the archiepiscopal palace at Lambeth. - -"This movement may not bring all the nations in, or make them dwell -together in harmony and peace," he said, "but it will certainly bring -peace to the churches. Of course, they will ask me to speak, Gabrielle." - -"When is it for, father?" she asked him. - -"In ten days' time--at the Mansion House." - -"You will have to get a typewriter; I shall be at Richmond." - -"I think it is better. I should not like Sir Jules or Mr. Faber to know -that you do such work, Gabrielle." - -"Oh," she said with a light laugh, "I don't think they would be shocked, -father. They are both self-made men." - -"Yes, but self-made men rarely like self-made women. It's the way of the -world. If we go to America----" - -"But you do not intend to accept the call from Yonkers, father?" - -He shook his head. - -"A man might do a great work over there. My imagination is sorely -tempted. I am altogether at a loss." - -She was too tired to take up the ancient arguments which this threadbare -question had provoked. Later on, in her own bedroom, she sat before a -brisk fire, and tried to take stock of the varied events of that busy -day. - -Vaguely out of the mists there emerged the truth, that two men had made -love to her, and that one was a man who might presently rule the Western -world. She could look down a vista of fable land to a future surpassing -all expectations of her dreams, and believe that at a word she might -enter in. The obverse of the medal was Harry Lassett and the story of -her youth. This lad had crept into the secret places of her heart. She -still trembled at a memory of his kisses. With him, life would be -meticulous--a villa and a trim maidservant. His scheme of things could -embrace no great idea; and yet he, too, was a popular hero, and great -throngs would go to Lords to see him play. Gabrielle knew that she loved -him; but she doubted if her love would prove as strong as the dreams. - -It was midnight when she undressed. - -The weather had turned much warmer. She opened her window to discover -that it was snowing, and that the snow melted as it fell. - -The fables were already discredited. It seemed almost an omen. - - - - - CHAPTER IV - - THE BEGINNING OF THE ODYSSEY - - - I - -Bertie Morris was a very fair type of the American journalist, whose -body goes to Paris while he lives, whatever may happen to his soul at a -later period. - -Thirty-one years of age, he knew the world backwards; was as much at -home in Port Said as in Philadelphia; wrote as though kings were his -boon companions and had settled the hash of more than one intrepid lady -with polyandric tendencies. The product is purely twentieth century, and -frequently has flaxen hair. Bertie was becoming bald in the services of -the _New York Mitre_. He was blessed with a proprietor who would have -drawn blood out of a stone and then complained of its quality. - -When John Faber left London, he went straight through to Paris, and -there chose Bertie Morris for his guide. This young man had specialised -in the Franco-German war, and knew the whole story of the Paris Commune -intimately. Fired by the splendid opportunity of hob-nobbing with one of -the richest men in the world (and of eating his dinners), Bertie set out -gaily upon his fortunate pilgrimage. He had hired an old soldier, by -name Picard, who had served under General d'Arny when that worthy shot -down the revolutionaries as though they had been French partridges; and -with this fellow for a guide, he and John Faber set off for Belleville -and Vincennes. - -Bertie's vocabulary, it should be said, was chiefly exclamatory when he -was not translating. He was a fluent Frenchman, and had an uncommonly -sound knowledge of his subject. Listening to him in more restrained -moods, Faber lived again those bloody days which had cost his father his -life, and indirectly had established his own fortune. All the ferocity, -the savage brutality, the hopeless idealism of the Commune came to be -understood by him. Here had the trade by which he lived prospered -greatly. It had dyed those stones with blood some forty years ago. - -"Say, shall we begin with Belleville or the Bois?" Morris had asked him. -He thought that it would be best to work round the city to his father's -old house near the Jardin du Luxembourg. But first he had a question to -put. - -"What I want to know is this," he asked: "How did it all begin? What set -a handful of red republicans trying to fight a country? It's a big thing -to have done, anyway. What put it into their heads?" - -Bertie Morris liked the subject, and entered upon it with true American -zest. - -"Why," he said, "war was at the back of it. You've seen the same thing -in Russia. Peace keeps the lid on the pot of revolution; war spills the -stew. There were just two or three hundred thousand descendants of the -old Jacobins in Paris, and when Napoleon III. was sent into Germany, -they made up their minds to keep him there. Directly peace with Germany -was signed, all the wild men came out. You had every kind of crank and -others. There were big men and little, dreamers and red devils; they -meant to govern Paris on the 'help yourself' plan, and they didn't begin -so badly. But for Thiers and a few million sane folk behind him, I don't -doubt they would have enjoyed themselves finely. As it was, what they -divided were bayonets, and there were plenty to go round." - -He rattled on, appealing often to the old soldier Picard and proud of -his staccato knowledge. Faber listened with interest but said very -little. He was trying, while they drove through the narrow streets to -Père la Chaise, to realise what this Paris had been when his father -lived and worked in it during the fateful years before the war of 1870. -The first John Faber also had been something of a republican; had -dreamed dreams of the millennium and of the rights of the proletariat. -And the French had dragged him out and shot him for his pains. He had -died protesting that he was an American citizen. - -A big Mercédès car carried the pilgrims upon this journey, and its -welcome in the black streets of Belleville was not blandly enthusiastic. -Blue blouses at the doors of the wine shops spat upon the pavement and -cursed the bourgeoisie; coarse women with skirts hanging about them like -rags laughed brutalities and flung indecencies after them. There were -pale-faced Apaches and white and callous children. It was inevitable -that these should suggest their forbears of 1870, and even the old -soldier remarked the fact: - -"They would burn Paris again to-morrow, messieurs--as I have seen it -burned already. Ah! the terrible days!" - -He tried to give them a picture of the fateful week--the last of the -month of May and of the Commune. The Communards had been driven into the -eastern labyrinth of the city then, he said, and in the anger of defeat -had sent their women forth to burn this Paris which could not defend -them. Since Nero fiddled, no such spectacle had been seen in Europe. The -old man told them the story with eyes uplifted and hands clenched. He -had become as a child, and these were the scenes of his youth. - -"It was on the Tuesday night that they burned the palace of the -Tuileries," he said. "The women went out with naphtha; I saw them -running like devils through the streets and crying to one another to -fire the houses. The day before that, the Hôtel de Ville flamed up. They -say it was an accident, but--God knows. The 'Council of State,' the -Bank, the Bourse, the Church of St. Eustache, all were burned those -terrible days. There was one bank of the river a wall of fire on the -Wednesday night; a man could have read his paper at Passy. It was as -light as day, they told me, in the park at Versailles. All the streets -were full of wild, screaming people; but if you went a little way toward -the Bois you heard the cannon, you stumbled over the dead. What a -butchery was that, messieurs! God help those who went out of their -houses to see what the soldiers were doing! Ladmirault, Galifet, Vinot, -Cissey--those were the names of the generals. They held their courts -under the trees, in the cafés, at the street corners. It was sufficient -to have worn a blouse, to be sorry for the dead, to express displeasure -at what was being done--away went such a man or woman to the nearest -wall. We are now coming to the Rue Lafayette. I was in this very street -when my company seized the Communard, Varlin, and dragged him up to the -Buttes Montmartre. They tied his hands behind his back and cut his face -with their sabres while he walked. It was a horrible thing to see, -messieurs! When he could no longer walk, they carried him until someone -thought it time to kill him with the butt end of a musket. They say he -was the cleverest member of the Commune--I do not know; I was only of -the infantry of the line, and their politics did not concern me." - -Faber listened to all this with the interest of a man who is obsessed by -one dominating idea. This Commune had been the first attempt in modern -times to set up the socialism of Marx--and in what had it ended? In a -deluge of blood, and the derision of all sane people. He wondered what -would have been the modern story of Paris if Félix Pyat and his fellows -had been stronger than Thiers and the Versaillese. A consummate -knowledge of modern politics reminded him that the blue blouses of -France were still socialistic to the core, and that individualism sat -upon a throne of straw. He had often thought that such fortunes as his -own would never be made by generations to come; but that concerned him -little, for he had no children. The reflection brought an image of -Gabrielle Silvester to his mind. It was odd that he should think of her -while the old soldier related these bloody scenes. - -Bertie Morris, on the other hand, enjoyed himself immensely. He drove -his tame millionaire as far up the Butte as he could, and even took him -to the Rue Lepic and the Moulin de la Galette. He was a prize to be -shown to artists and authors, poor devils who would dine that night for -fifty sous and sell their masterpieces for as many to-morrow. This -pilgrimage of the ateliers was not unwelcome to Faber, and was made at -his own request. - -"I want to hear of a man," he said, "Louis de Paleologue is his name." - -"Where do you think he hides up?" Bertie asked. - -Faber said that he had no idea. - -"He was drawing for Gavarnie some forty years ago. I've never heard of -him since, and I wasn't born then." - -"Say, that's simple. Has he any grandfathers alive?" - -"It's a fine story," was the quiet response. "I only learned it a year -or two back, when I found some of my mother's papers. Louis de -Paleologue was the man who took her over to America when General d'Arny -shot my father. There was a pile of correspondence between them, and it -does the man great credit. If I find him living I'll give him a million -dollars, if he'll take them." - -Bertie Morris whistled. - -"You don't suggest a preliminary canter. Why not try it on the dog? He's -willing." - -"Most dogs are. My world is all barking. You find Paleologue for me, and -see what Father Christmas puts in your stocking. He's the only man in -Europe I ever did want to see outside my own business. It's natural that -I can't find him." - -"Can you tell me anything about him? Where did he live? What was he? For -whom did he work? I'm right out for this, Mr. Faber." - -Faber smiled. - -"He was an artist who drew small pictures with a large genius. They say -he worked for Hachette. The last letters speaks of his marriage--it must -have been written many years ago. I cabled to Paris when it came into my -hands, and the answer back from your office was that he had gone to the -East. That means Paleologue was a Roumanian, and he's gone home. I -suppose I shall have to follow him." - -"It would be a bully trip, anyway. Why not do the Balkans in a motor? -There was a chap here last month who had just come back. They didn't -shoot him this time." - -"Well, I guess they won't shoot me, either. I'm buying a yacht directly. -Now, let's go and lunch. Your young Raphaels are rather greasy. I think -I'd like to wash." - - - II - -They lunched near the Bourse, in a flaring café whither the jobbers -resorted. There were a few conspicuous women of the company, loudly -dressed and aggressive in the true spirit of their commercial patrons. -These liked neither English nor Americans, and said so by face and -gesture. The jobbers themselves looked a gloomy troop, though whether -depressed by their hopes of gain or surety of loss it would have been -difficult to say. Had they known that John Sebastian Faber sat cheek by -jowl with them, it would have been another story. How many a time had -he, from his distant office in New York, set that same market hoarse -with excitement, filled the streets with bawling madmen, and put ropes -of pearls about the necks of the cocottes who now made inelegant -grimaces at him when the clients had their backs turned. He thought of -it with some pleasure over a _sole meringue_. They would have been down -upon him like a pack of wolves had they known him. - -Bertie Morris enjoyed his _déjeuner_ with the satisfaction of a man who -knows he is not paying for it. He had a programme for the afternoon, -which was to be capped by a dinner at the Ritz Hotel, also at Faber's -expense. It never occurred to him that he was not putting his companion -under a large obligation, and the whole tone of his talk was autocratic, -as one who should say, "I open all doors." - -"We'll trot out to the Avenue de Nancy and see where the Versaillese -came in," he put it cheerfully. "It was on a Sunday, Picard tells me, -and the fraternity lot got a few shells for breakfast. They had just -made up their minds that the millennium had come, when Vinot and -Ladmirault turned up with the cannon. They had a good deal in common -afterwards--chiefly explosive. I'll show you a house at Passy with a -shell in the wall over the front door. The owner won't have it touched. -It's right there, just where the Versaillese put it." - -"A kind of keepsake. Do they remember anything about all this in Paris -nowadays?" - -"On the first of May, before they get drunk. I don't think it comes up -at any other time. The century isn't interested overmuch in yesterday. -It's all 'to-morrow' nowadays." - -"I don't know that I quarrel with that. Half the people would commit -suicide if it wasn't for to-morrow. We're a sort of recurring decimal, -but we don't believe it." - -"Say, then you don't believe overmuch in the 'destiny' department?" - -"I do not. A few things are going on all the time--very few. The -civilization of Babylon was pretty much the civilization of Rome; while -Rome wasn't so very different from ourselves. There's a little levelling -of the classes; but there's no longer a goal, either in heaven or hell. -That means a soulless people." - -"But it marches all the same." - -"Where science leads it. There's the only clear thinking. What's the -good of talking when men don't know why they're here, or what they are? -When they had heaven and hell, they thought clearly enough. Your new -gospel leads them into a morass. It couldn't very well lead them -anywhere else. The things that go on evolve as we ourselves have -evolved. All the politicians, parliaments, philosophers don't help them -a jot. They were saying the same thing on the top of monoliths before -the flood. We are driven--but we don't know why or whither unless we -believe, as all but the fools have believed, by Almighty God." - -Bertie Morris helped himself to an orange salad. - -"Say, why don't you write all this?" - -"Because I've something better to do. My business is to make guns and to -sell 'em." - -The journalist pricked up his ears. - -"There was some talk of a big contract of yours going through here. Is -that right?" - -"Ah! you'd pay something to know--and a good many more. Did they couple -d'Arny to the talk?" - -"Well, it's chiefly up to him. He's a lot of backers up against him in -the Chambers. Jaurés says he's corrupt." - -"He'd have to be in his job. We're all corrupt, for that matter. I -believe that Walpole's right. I'd buy any man body and soul for a -price." - -"And women too--I don't think." - -Faber laughed. - -"No money is too much for a good woman," he said. - - - III - -They followed the programme afterwards, driving right round the Bois and -returning to the Jardin du Luxembourg. - -The day had fallen bitterly cold again, and a light snow whitened the -trees in the famous avenues. Paris took a romantic mantle and covered -her pretty shoulders daintily. Habitués fled to the cafés and ensconced -themselves in warm corners; fur-clad women sank deep in the cushions of -their motors; there were ridiculously dressed children scampering about -the Bois and crying, "_Dieu, comme il fait froid_"--a fairy-like scene -quite characteristic of a city which is rarely serious, and then -tragically so. Through this Faber passed to his father's house. He had -become silent and preoccupied--a man of few emotions, but of one which -had never been absent from his life. - -His father! How often he had tried to create the living man from the -insufficient pictures of that time! - -They had told him that John Faber was tall and Saxon haired--a cheery, -business-like, unobtrusive fellow, very generous, far-seeing beyond his -epoch. He had founded the house of Faber at Charleston, and had come -over to Europe to learn Eastern methods. He was in Paris for the purpose -of studying the new French artillery when the war broke out, and had -lived for three months there, in the little house overlooking the -gardens of the Luxembourg. Such was the man whom General d'Arny had shot -in that very street, swearing he was of the Communards. A fever of anger -fell suddenly upon the son as he remembered his mother's story. Good -God, his own father! What years of affection they would have spent -together but for that mad ferocity of the Commune! How the one would -have helped the other! And the fortune--he would have poured it into his -father's lap and waited for his words of pride. His father--shot there -in that silent street--the man whom his mother had loved as woman rarely -has loved in the human story. - -He left the car at the corner by the Catholic Institute and walked down -the Rue d'Assas to its junction with the Rue de Fleurus. Naturally, the -condition of things had altered very much, and there were many new -buildings in the vicinity. He discovered certain landmarks, but others -had vanished into the limbo of the municipal gods and trim modern -"blocks" had taken their places. For all that, he believed that he could -identify the actual house in which these things had happened, and when -he had located it, he knocked upon the door, and was answered by a trim -old woman, who seemed much put out at the occurrence. Bertie Morris was -quite equal to such an occasion. "Give her five francs," he said. It was -done immediately. - -"Who lives here now, madame?" - -"Monsieur Brocas, the advocate--for many years, he and his mother." - -"Is he at home?" - -"He is at Lyons, m'sieur." - -"And madame?" - -"She is in the south." - -"This gentleman with me is an American. His father and mother lived here -forty years ago--before the war. Naturally, he would very much like to -see the house." - -"What is his name, m'sieur?" - -Faber told her himself, and the tone of his voice seemed to awaken -memories. She began to mumble something in the argot of the "Boul. -Mich," and then bade him come in. The room clearly belonged to people -who were fond of books when at home, and neglectful of them when away. -It was all very untidy and dusty; the furniture handsome, but shown to -poor advantage. The very first thing Faber set his hand upon was a -volume of Hawthorne's "House of the Seven Gables." His father's name was -written beneath an English book-plate. - -"Tell her," he said to Morris, "that this was once my father's -property." - -She did not seem at all interested, but she avoided their glances -nevertheless, and seemed strangely afraid of them. - -"You understand?" said Faber at last. "My father's book." - -She nodded and answered him, to his surprise, in broken but -comprehensible English. - -"I was your mother's servant three years, m'sieur--a very little child. -I am nearly sixty years old, but my memory is good." - -"You remember my father, then?" - -"If I remember him! Do children forget such things?" - -"Were you here when he died, madame?" - -She clasped her hands together almost as one in prayer. Her voice was a -sing-song, like that of a child reciting a learned lesson. - -"It was at nine o'clock on the Friday night. Ah! what a day, m'sieur! -There had been cannon since the Sunday, and the streets full of mad -people. I looked down from my window and saw the dead carried away. I -was cold with a child's curiosity. When night came, m'sieur would not -dine. He had been out all day helping the wounded, and all he would take -was a little soup and wine. Then he went out again while madame and I -were up in the front room watching the fires burn and listening to the -cannon. M'sieur, the heavens opened that night! My soul shrank at the -sight; I thought the end of the world had come. And I was but a child, -and had lived such a little while." - -She paused and breathed almost convulsively, as though suffering the -terrible hours again. Faber watched her without flinching. His swift -imagination moved out there in the streets where his father worked amid -the wounded. - -"And afterwards, madame--afterwards?" said Bertie Morris in French. - -She looked up at him almost angrily, the thread of the inspiration of -memory broken. - -"It is so many years ago, m'sieur. I remember badly." - -Faber stepped across the room and laid his hand upon her arm. - -"How did my father die, madame? Remember, I am his son." - -"So very like him, m'sieur; he seems to stand beside me once more." - -"You remember the night--you cannot have forgotten it?" - -"No, no; it is all here. The heart knows, but the tongue will not -speak." - -"Did you see him when they brought him in?" - -She quivered, as though the scene had been yester-night. - -"M'sieur, it passed so swiftly--death came to him while he walked. I saw -Captain d'Arny upon a white horse--I heard m'sieur's voice--how well I -knew it! Then someone spoke in anger, a rifle was fired, madame ran from -me, her tears choking her so that she could not speak to me. They -brought monsieur in and laid him on the sofa; your hand is touching it -now. I remember that his hand was in madame's, his eyes hurt by the -bright light of the chandelier. He begged for a little wine and I went -to the buffet; my hand shook, and I could not open the bottle. When we -had found a glass m'sieur was dead. How shall I tell you more?--m'sieur -was dead." - -Her voice died down almost to a whisper; none of the others spoke for -some minutes. It was still snowing, and a black cloud was over the city. -Faber thought that it must have been just such a day when the -Versaillese, drunk with victory, entered the Rue de Fleurus and found -his father there. - -Some of them still lived and remembered the night. General d'Arny was -such a one, and they were to meet to-morrow. - - - IV - -At the Ritz Hotel a few hours later, Bertie Morris studied a fine -company with a critic's eye. He knew most of the people in the famous -_salle à manger_, and put himself up several pegs on the strength of his -knowledge. - -"Say, there are some glad frocks--what?" - -Faber, who had a little bundle of papers in his hand, looked round and -about for the first time. "All friends of yours?" he asked slyly. - -Bertie showed a row of gold-rimmed teeth. - -"Know most of them. Newspaper people must. That's young Mrs. Vanderbilt; -the Countess Sobenski's next to her. Of course, you recognize Steel--and -the Great Man. He's as good as he's great--a hundred and forty papers -and more than one Cabinet Minister pretty fond of him. Beyond him is Sir -Charles. Did you ever hear him speak? About the best hindleg man they've -got over yonder. Oughtn't to have been an actor--he'd have run -Canterbury better. Who the next lot are, can't say. The flaxen-haired -one is a d----d fine girl--I don't think. Wonder who she is?" - -Faber smiled. "She's a parson's daughter--no good to you. There's Sir -Jules Achon and his daughter, but who the little girl in black may be, I -don't know; she looks like a French girl." - -"I'll ask Ellis; he's a 'Who's Who' here. Fine chap, Ellis, ought to -have got the K.G.G. when he was in London." - -"What's the K.G.G. anyway?" - -"The Knight of the Grand Gorge--two pots crossed and a tumbler rampant. -Puts Pommery in your thoughts. Suppose we do?" - -Faber gave the order and the wine was served. Accustomed to the immense -hotels of New York, he found the Ritz interesting chiefly by reason of -its guests. The women were magnificently gowned, and many of them very -pretty. Such a cosmopolitan company could hardly be found in any other -hotel on the Continent; its united wealth would have financed a kingdom. -Faber reflected with satisfaction that he had the right to be there. His -brains had earned him the title. - -"About this parson's daughter," Bertie asked; "what's she doing in such -a place as this?" He had grown curious, for Gabrielle Silvester was -quite the most beautiful woman in the room. - -"She appears to be eating at present." - -"Yes, I know; but who are her friends?" - -"The man is Sir Jules Achon. He's a big man--those who come after will -hear of him. Have you read nothing of the Federation of Europe?" - -"Not as much as the top dot of a semicolon. Who's going to federate?" - -"It's his own idea. Kill war by commerce--you can't kill it any other -way. Europe's paying ten per cent taxation as against America for her -armies and navies. Make one federated state with no commercial barriers, -and you knock the ten per cent down to two. That's Sir Jules's notion." - -"You don't think there's anything in it?" - -"So much that if I was British born, I'd give him a headline in dollars -which would set the town talking. There's everything in it except the -men. He's got the German Emperor, and he'll get the Tsar. It's the -smaller fry who don't listen." - -Bertie smiled. - -"Your Venus with the tow-coloured topknot seems to be in that boat. -She's looking at you all the time." - -"Do you quarrel with her taste?" - -"No; but you know her pretty well, then?" - -"An impertinent question. She came over on the ship with me." - -"And wants to go back the same way--eh, what? Well, I'd like to -interview Sir Jules anyway. There ought to be a column story in him." - -"Yes, he ought to be worth fifty dollars." - -"Did you say he'd got the German Emperor?" - -"I understand that's so; he's going down to Corfu to see him again. -He'll get the thing through if I don't upset it." - -"Why should you upset it?" - -"Rattle up your brains and see the reason. I'm here to sell guns. While -that man is dangling about an anteroom, kow-towing to menials, I shall -be inside with the chief. It's common sense. I'm here to do -business--he's here to prevent that kind of business being done." - -"Is he going to take the peerless Saxon with him?" - -"You seem rather hot on that scent." - -"A d----d fine woman! Look at her arms! She's got a style you don't -often find among Englishwomen. I can't see her feet." - -"Ask the waiter to take away the table." - -"I'll bet she takes fives. Her eyes are of the 'get there' sort. Can't -you feel her looking this way?" - -"I'm not conscious of any rise of temperature. If you've done looking, -perhaps we'll smoke. They'll be coming out immediately." - -"Then you'll introduce me?" - -"Ah! I didn't say that. Is it brandy or Kümmel?" - -"Oh, brandy--if you've got to talk to women." - -They passed out into the corridor, and sat there near the band. The -place was deliciously warm; it glowed with soft lights, and was redolent -of the odours of flowers. Superbly dressed women rustled by them; men, -who had dined well, lurched past with their hands in their pockets and -cigarettes in their mouths. The Hungarians played one of Lehar's -waltzes--a scene of colour and of life reflecting the holy of social -holies and of the almighty dollar. Presently Sir Jules Achon came out, -followed by the three girls. Now, Faber recognised the third. She was -Claudine d'Arny, General d'Arny's daughter. - -The party was almost gone by before Gabrielle discovered him. She turned -at once and held out her gloved hand. - -"The wager," she said, looking at him very earnestly; "I appear to have -lost." - -"Well, there's nothing to pay anyway. Are you going through to the -yacht?" - -"Yes, to Naples. Sir Jules wishes me to see Italy and then the -Adriatic." - -"Full of pirates and wild men," said Eva Achon, who was by Gabrielle's -side. "We shall all be carried away to a cave." - -"I didn't know they had so much taste. How do you do, Sir Jules?" - -Sir Jules was a little man with a wonderful head. He was sixty-four -years old, but had the intellectual energy of a man of twenty. The East -and the West were strangely blended in a countenance full of power and -quiet dignity. A softer voice Faber had never heard. - -"Very well, Mr. Faber. And you?" - -"Always well--on paper. You are going through to Italy, I hear--you'll -catch the Emperor, I think." - -"I hope so. The promises encourage me." - -"But the performances will be better. Any old fool of a minister can -promise; it is a king who performs." - -"You have read my pamphlet, Mr. Faber?" - -"Every line--the greatest peace scheme--I was going to say, on earth. -I'll change that: Out of heaven's nearer it!" - -"Of course, it must come slowly, if it comes." - -"All the best things come slowly. Man was about a million years about -before he thought of microbes--this is a great affair; none greater. It -would be the coup of the century if you brought it off. There could be -nothing greater." - -"I hope to do so. Are you staying here long?" - -"As many hours as it will take me to teach a man my name. I may be at -Corfu myself afterwards. I'm imitating you, and buying a yacht." - -"The one luxury in the world--get a good one." - -"There won't be any better when I begin." - -The group passed on; Faber shook hands with Eva, but not with Claudine -d'Arny. When Gabrielle's turn came, he held her hand in his for a brief -instant and said: - -"Well, how's the I.A.L.?" - -"Waiting for your name," she replied. But she did not withdraw her hand. - -"Will you give me the top of the bill?" - -"In gold and purple." - -"And printed on fine linen? Well, I'm not tempted." - -"The day will come----" - -He laughed and dropped her hand. - -"That's Booth, the actor. Well, most of you are play-acting, anyway. -Good-night, Miss Silvester, don't forget what I say." - -She laughed and spoke in a lower tone. - -"I will remind you of it at Corfu," she said. - -The men watched them down the corridor before Bertie Morris became -eloquent. He was not a little piqued that the girls had ignored him, -while even Sir Jules had regarded him as one regards an ugly piece of -china in a glass-case. A poor tribute, he thought, to the might of the -pen. - -"Well?" said Faber. - -"A d----d fine girl, but cold as marble!" - -"What makes you think so?" - -"Voice, gesture, everything. Give her a chance, and she'd be up on a -platform spouting." - -"I don't think so. She's going to have many chances. What about the -others?" - -"The old man's daughter is just a bread-and-butter miss. I liked little -Claudine d'Arny--as ugly as sin, but passion enough for a nautch girl." - -"You remind me of her father. See here: I had a letter from him to-day. -What would happen to-morrow if I published it--by accident? Here's a -note of it." - -Bertie read it carelessly; then with a journalistic interest: - -"If you published that----" - -"Or you did----" - -"Same thing--I guess he'd be out of Paris in four-and-twenty hours." - -"Ah, then I mustn't publish it--don't you be playing any journalistic -tricks on me!" - -"I don't think," said Bertie Morris. - -And their eyes met. - - - - - CHAPTER V - - GENERAL D'ARNY AND HIS DAUGHTER - - - I - -General d'Arny lived in an old house in the Boulevard St. Germain, one -of the few monuments still existing to the golden age of Récamier and -the salons. He did not care a scudo for the literary and artistic -associations of this gloomy mansion, but much for the fact that he paid -little rent. Beaumarchais had lived there on the eve of his flight to -Holland; the great rooms had known Fleury and his fellows, Balzac and -Saint-Beuve--a very panel of genius written across the centuries. - -It all meant very little to Hubert d'Arny, the bulk of whose fortune -went into the trough at Panama; the residue into the hands of the -jobbers on the Bourse. The general was notoriously a financial derelict; -as notoriously a suspect to his many enemies in the Chamber. - -He had married late in life--some years after the war--and his wife died -in childbirth. One daughter, Claudine, was alternately the object of a -maudlin affection and of sentimental regret. She cost a great deal of -money, and had the indecency to arrive at a marriageable age. When -Captain Issy-Ferrault, a son of one of the oldest aristocracies in -France, came forward, the general assented in spite of his democratic -principles. The business of providing for the girl aged him -pathetically. The newspapers said it was Morocco; but the trouble lay -much nearer home. - -As it chanced, John Faber arrived in Paris in the midst of the -preparations for Claudine's wedding. He knew nothing of it; no one had -guessed that he had any interest in the daughter of the French Minister -of Artillery, or she in him. Claudine went to America at the invitation -of the French Ambassador, whose children were her friends. When Faber -was introduced to her upon the ship, she said frankly that she did not -like him. His manners were _gauche_, and his eyes inquisitive. She -avoided him with a sure instinct, being ignorant that he knew anything -of her or her family. This was a great misfortune, for she had many -qualities which appeal to men, and Faber was not the kind of man to -remain insensible to them. - -In Paris, upon her return, she entered the promised land of preparation. -The general swore loudly while he signed the cheques, but signed them -none the less. Dressmakers flocked to the Boulevard St. Germain, and -their mouths were full of pins. Claudine was of a romantic temperament, -but it could stoop to laces and fine linen. She argle-bargled with her -father like a wench at a fair, and when he discounted the list, she -declared that she would not be married at all. A scandal was the potent -weapon in her armament. He could not have a scandal. - -This extravagance of idea filled her bedroom to overflowing; to say -nothing of other bedrooms. She would sit curled up amid a tangle of the -most delicate draperies--transparencies which should have come from a -fairy godmother; masterpieces in velvets and satins--she would wonder if -life were long enough to wear them all. These things were hidden in her -virgin holy of holies, but she ticked off the days which shut the door -against the One Unknown, and often fell to a young girl's awe in the -presence of the mysteries. Then came the last night of all--the maids -had left her; the house was at rest. A dirty fluff of snow fell upon the -streets of Paris. She was to be married at St. Eustache to-morrow! - -Claudine undressed herself, and putting on the most wonderful of lace -robes, she sat before a fire of wood and warmed her pink and white feet -at the blaze. There should have been regrets at the life she was -leaving: she might have dwelt with some affection upon her passing -girlhood, and the home which had sheltered her. But she did nothing of -the kind. Her thoughts were entirely devoted to St. Eustache and -afterwards. What an exciting day it must be! Every friend she had would -be in the church. One of the canons was to marry them, and afterwards -there would be a great feast and many speeches in the old ballroom -downstairs. At four in the afternoon, Justin's motor-car was to take -them to the old château, near Rambouillet, where the first week was to -be spent. She pictured the lonely drive over the whitened roads, through -the forests--then the château, grim, old and moated. They would dine -together--and then--then she would know what love was! - -Her ideas were truly French, and English sentiment could have offered -them little sympathy. Perhaps Captain Issy-Ferrault stood to her less -for _the_ man than for _a_ man. She had been educated in convents where -saintly women shuddered at the mere footsteps of their common enemy and -provoked a thousand curiosities by their very holiness. Then had come a -few short years of the world--it had taught Claudine that all life began -from the hour when a man first took a woman into his arms and the Church -blessed the proceeding. Afterwards there were other things. The first -step was sufficient for her vigil that night. - -Her wedding dress had been laid upon a little bed in the adjoining room. -She went there on tip-toe as though afraid that someone might spy upon -her while she touched the satin and laces with delighted fingers. Strong -scents perfumed the room and the odour of blossoms. Claudine went and -stood before a long mirror of the wardrobe and studied herself in many -attitudes. She did not know whether she was really pretty. Justin, her -fiancé, had paid her many compliments, and she tried to believe them. A -greater source of encouragement was her figure--the fine rounded limbs, -the pink and white of a young girl's skin. For an instant she remembered -the ordeal of discovery which awaited her to-morrow; then with a light -laugh, she returned to her bedroom. Other brides had suffered and -survived--she took courage. - -The priest had told her to say many things in her prayers--good man, he -said them in his--but they were clean gone from her head at this time. -The girlish romance of an English wedding was not for her. No gifts of -sweet and silent hours were hers. She knew very little of Justin--he, -less of her. He had kissed her but twice, and then apologetically. Yet -to-morrow she would be his wife. - -Stay, but was it to-morrow? She listened at the window and counted the -church bells chiming the hour. - -Twelve o'clock. - -Her wedding was to-day. - - - II - -The afternoon of the same day had found General d'Arny closeted with -John Faber in a little room in the Avenue de l'Opéra. Here was the Paris -agency of the great Charleston Company, and hither came d'Arny at his -own suggestion. - -A bent old man, not lacking dignity in a common way--dignity had gone to -the journalistic dogs that afternoon. He entered the office trembling -with excitement; he could not speak for some minutes, and when he did -so, his tones rolled like thunder. - -"It is finished," he said. "Read!" And he held out a paper with -quivering fingers. - -Faber watched him with half-closed eyes. He was thinking of another day, -when this man, a mere captain of the Chasseurs-à-Cheval then, had ridden -down the Rue de Fleurus and commanded his men to hunt out the -Communards. Some forty years ago, and no doubt the soldier had forgotten -every hour of it. None the less, the sword of destiny was poised and -would fall. - -"What shall I read?" Faber rejoined, after a little spell of waiting. He -knew every word his friend Bertie Morris had cabled to America, but his -face was void of knowledge. - -"Some talk of the deal," he ran on. "Well, I guess we expect it. Why -should they keep quiet?" - -The soldier pulled himself together, and taking the paper from the -outstretched hand, he began to turn the leaves quickly. - -"It is on page 3," he said. "Yes, that is it, if you would be good -enough to read." - -The clock ticked in a silent room for some minutes. Faber read the -article to the end without moving a muscle of his usually expressive -face. A great business man is often a great actor. He was one. - -"There seems to have been a leakage," he said presently, and then, -looking up, "Whom do you suspect?" - -"I suspect! God in Heaven, what has suspicion to do with me?" - -"I should have thought you were in the way of it--that is, if you take -it seriously this side." - -The old man wormed with impatience. - -"The _Soir_ has it; there will not be a paper in Paris without it -to-morrow. Do you not see that it is, in effect, the letter I wrote to -you on Tuesday last?" - -"Who's to blame for that? I told you at the beginning not to write." - -"Is it to be imagined that you cannot receive letters?" - -Faber leaned over the table, and began to speak with some warmth. - -"See here," he said, "you're a Minister of Artillery in Paris. You -receive, I suppose, some three or four hundred letters a day? Can you be -responsible for them all?" - -"But this was sent to you privately at your hotel." - -"A foolish kind of letter at the best--I remember every word of it. You -admit in so many words that our deal is for forty thousand francs, and -stipulate that Captain Clearnay must have ten. Why couldn't you come -round to me and say so?" - -"I was three times at the hotel that day; you were absent on each -occasion. It was urgent that Clearnay should be dealt with if the -contract was to go through." - -"Exactly what this newspaper man says. He calls it a second Ollivier -case, I see. Well, I shouldn't wonder if it made as much noise." - -D'Arny tortured himself into new attitudes. - -"Good God!" he cried. "Don't you see my position?" - -"Perfectly. I saw it from the beginning. You'll have to leave Paris -awhile." - -"Then the contract is lost?" - -"I never thought it would go through, General. I wasn't such a d----d -fool." - -"But at least a word from you will save my name. You can deny the -letter." - -"I could deny it." - -"Are you wishing to tell me that there is any doubt?" - -"No doubt at all. Unfortunately, it was read, by mistake, in the Hotel -Ritz the night it reached me. You should see Morris, of the _New York -Mitre_. He might do something for you." - -The man rose, white as a sheet and broken. He may or may not have -understood the nature of the trap into which he had fallen, but it was -clear to him that John Faber could or would do little for him. He went -out into the street to be offered a copy of _La Guêpe_, and to hear the -newsboy cry the latest news of this surpassing jobbery. - -A less consummate artist than Faber would have spoken of the Rue de -Fleurus, and of what happened there forty years ago. Hubert d'Arny had -not the remotest notion that the man who had ruined him was the son of -that American citizen who had been shot by his orders at the crisis of -the great debacle. - - - III - -Paris licked its lips over the scandal, and then stood aghast. - -The tragedy surpassed all expectation, and yet all admitted that there -was no other course. - -Hubert d'Arny was found dead in a little hotel at Passy that very night. -He had blown out his brains upon the eve of his daughter's wedding. -People thought rather of Claudine than of him. Much that would have been -written and said was obliterated or hushed when she was mentioned. Who -would break it to her? Such a blow had not been struck at the Republic -since the Humbert scandal. - -Faber knew nothing of the coming wedding, and he heard the news of -Hubert d'Arny's death without emotion. There were primitive traits in -his character which this affair made dominant. If pity urged claims, he -thrust them aside when he remembered his dead father. "An eye for an -eye--and for death, the dead." A sense of power and authority nerved his -will and flattered a well-balanced vanity. After all, his brains and -money had won this victory against all the shining armour of France. He -perceived that the financier was, after all, the most considerable power -in the world to-day. Kings can make war when the bankers will pay for -it. He had been his own general and his money was his army. A stroke of -the pen had laid one of the most powerful men in Paris dead at his -feet--as vulgar tragedy would put it. A mind that had little subtlety -and much common sense rose to no analytical attitudes. He had killed the -man just as a Southerner shoots down a nigger--and of the two the nigger -was perhaps the more deserving. - -In this frame of mind, he was greatly astonished to receive a visit from -Gabrielle Silvester very early on the following morning. He had even -forgotten that she knew anything of his dealings with General d'Arny, -nor did he immediately connect her with the tragedy of which all Paris -was talking. She had come to tell him that the yacht was sailing, he -thought; then he noticed that she did not offer him her hand, while her -manner toward him was utterly changed--a chill womanly manner he could -not mistake. - -"Why!" he said. "Still in Paris?" - -She avoided the question, and went straight to the heart of the matter. - -"I have come to ask you, Mr. Faber, if you knew that Claudine d'Arny was -to have been married to-day?" - -He stepped back a pace and looked her full in the face. Rarely in his -life had he flinched before man or woman, but the accusation stunned -him. - -"Was I aware? But how should I be aware?" - -She drew nearer, her face aflame and her heart beating wildly. - -"I must know this--please bear with me. I must have your answer!" - -"It has been given you. I knew nothing." - -She seemed dazed and not a little helpless now. Seating herself upon the -edge of a chair near the fireplace, she began to speak her thoughts -aloud. - -"The secret is yours and mine. I would have told nobody. For you, it -must be a hard thought to the end of your life. She was to have been -married to-day. Will you tell me that if you had known it, it would have -made a difference?" - -He debated that, standing with his hands in his pockets, but his face -grave enough. - -"Nothing would have made any difference between that man and me. He shot -my father. Very well--he had to pay, sooner or later. But I don't think -it would have been to-day, if I had known." - -She was silent a little while. Then she said: - -"I can think of nothing but such simple things. If I had stopped to tell -you in the hall of the hotel--just that--there would not have been -to-day! It was one of those chances that do not recur. I thought -everyone knew that Claudine was to be married." - -"The last thing a man knows about any woman who is a mere acquaintance. -Have you seen her to-day?" - -She shivered. - -"I dare not go--I dare not!" - -"She has relatives in Paris?" - -"I suppose so--friends would put her to shame. Does it matter when he is -dead?" - -"He was a rogue, or I would have spared him. He tried to cheat me from -the start. I found nothing I could fix upon--and I looked for it!" - -She would not consider it from that point of view. - -"This will always be in your life and Claudine's. Time cannot alter -judgments of this kind. It will grow with the years. I am very sorry for -you, Mr. Faber." - -He resented it; the patronage of women rarely failed to anger him. - -"Leave me to my own affairs. I take the responsibility. I've taken a -good many in my time. The girl's to be thought of. Who was she going to -marry?" - -"Captain Issy-Ferrault. I hardly know him: an officer of cavalry, they -say." - -"Poor, I suppose, as most of the kind?" - -"I cannot tell you." - -"When will she marry him now?" - -"Oh, surely, you understand?" - -"I understand one thing: he's going to marry her." - -"A child would know that it's impossible!" - -"Then I am wiser than a child. Will you let me have his -address--to-morrow, say?" - -"I am leaving Paris to-morrow." - -"Then one of my clerks will get it. Shall we meet at Corfu?" - -"I don't know," she said. "I came to tell you that I never wished to see -you again." - -"You haven't told me so. It shall be at Corfu." - -She did not answer or hold out her hand. He knew that a barrier had -risen up between them and his pride was quickened. - -He would marry this woman because she had judged him. - - - - - BOOK II - - THE PLAYERS - - - - - CHAPTER I - - A RACE FOR AN EMPEROR - - - I - -There were two yachts on the Adriatic Sea waiting for an emperor. - -One lay in the harbour of Fiume; the other at Trieste. The emperor -himself was still at Potsdam, and none of the newspapers seemed to know -when he would sail. - -Sir Jules Achon was a man of infinite patience and superb tenacity. Few -but his intimate friends knew much about him. He had amassed a great -fortune as a shipbroker, and now with advancing years, he devoted the -bulk of that fortune to this tremendous project of European Federation. -Yet it was all done without any claptrap whatever. The newspapers had -hardly heard of it. There was no writer of eminence to take it up. Sir -Jules worked in great places, but he worked silently. Already his scheme -had the approval of kings and emperors. He had gone to St. Petersburg -with a recommendation to the English Ambassador which opened all doors. -But for a dramatic accident of destiny, the Tsar would have been his -first patron. Three ministers knew his scheme, and two of them were warm -supporters of such a transcendent project. The third saw in it a danger -to the diplomatists, which self interest could not tolerate. "This will -make an end of us," he had said. Sir Jules agreed that it was so. That -very night Ivolsky obtained an audience of the Emperor, and besought him -to withdraw his patronage. The others were too late by a few hours, and -who shall say how far that accident of time and space has affected the -immediate destinies of Europe? - -For the common peace projects, beating of pacific drums and waving of -fraternal flags, Sir Jules cared not at all. He believed that -international peace could come only upon a basis of common European -interests. His scheme would have established free trade between the -kingdoms. Wars arise chiefly from commercial disputes; commercial -disputes are the first fruits of tariffs. Let the commercial incentive -be wanting and disarmament may begin. A gradual process needed many -years for full attainment--but it could begin to-morrow if the -conditions were fulfilled. - -He talked very little of all this to those with him on the yacht. It -was, in effect, a young people's party and a merry one at that. Dr. Joe -Burrall had come from Putney, a braw man of thirty, who had rowed for -Cambridge. Douglas Renshaw, a gunner whose occupation had gone, came -because he was asked, and was asked because he was sure to come. He had -taken to the Stock Exchange recently as a wire-haired terrier to the -gorse, and Sir Jules had put a small fortune into his pocket. He knew a -little geology, and declared his intention of studying Slav. So far the -only word he had picked up was "hijar," and he was not very sure to what -tongue it belonged, though he used it frequently as an expression of -joy. - -These two with Gabrielle Silvester were the guests of Sir Jules and his -daughter upon the _Wanderer_, the fine steam yacht which had so often -invaded the superb mysteries of the Western Mediterranean. They -understood their host's ambitions, but rarely spoke of them. When it was -learned that there was a doubt about the Emperor going to Corfu after -all, they looked upon it as a personal rebuff, but did not discuss it -except apart. All kinds of excursions kept them busy. They visited the -unsurpassable islands of the Adriatic, became learned about Zara and -Sebenico and matchless Ragusa, the incomparable Republic, defying East -and West alike during the centuries. Local interests attracted them; -they saw much of these savage peoples; were ashore for many a frolic; -lived in a blaze of sunshine and an atmosphere wholly medieval. - -Gabrielle's voyage to America had been her first world experience beyond -the walls of meticulous suburbia. This new adventure fascinated her -beyond measure. She felt that she had really begun to live. It were as -though the passion of the East stirred in her normally cold blood and -left her panting. Destiny had snatched her up from the ruck to put her -in high places. Far from surrendering to the enervating suggestions of -this sunny sea, they forced her mind to considerable ambitions--and with -them all the name of John Faber would associate itself despite the -memories. This was contrary to all she had determined in Paris, and put -her to some shame. She felt that she had no right to see such a man -again, that he was a social pariah, without pity or any title to the -meanest respect. And yet he would creep into the scheme of her -ambitions, and she understood in some way that without him they were -meaningless. - - - II - -It was a great surprise to Gabrielle when the launch returned to the -yacht one afternoon in the second week in December with her father and -Harry Lassett on board. This was one of Sir Jules' great surprises--one -in which Eva had a part. Silvester was very tired after his long journey -across Europe, but Harry was very full of it. They were greeted by -Douglas Renshaw with a "hijar"; by Sir Jules with that quiet smile which -betokened pleasure in the company of his friends. - -"I had no idea you could get away," he said, "or I would have asked you -in London." - -Silvester said that he had no idea of it either; an American had come -over from Yonkers and was taking his services for a fortnight. Harry -admitted that for his part he could always get away, which, as Joe -Burrall remarked, was an advantage as useful in debt as in matrimony. - -This was a sunny day, an ideal day of southern winter, and they all took -tea beneath the awning of the promenade deck. With Harry, Gabrielle was -a little constrained and uneasy. She was glad to have him there, and yet -felt that in some way his presence was a douche upon her schemes. He -spoke of the little world of outer London, not of the wider horizon to -which she looked. She had built a tower of her imagination which Harry -Lassett would never climb. Indeed, he would have derided it as he had -done her American friendship. With her father it was different. She had -a long talk with him in his cabin before dinner and she learned again -how much importance he had attached to her diplomatic success with John -Faber. - -"It would send me to Yonkers with better credentials than any Englishman -ever carried across the seas," he said. "Think of it--John Faber with -us! The man who has done more than anyone alive to make war possible in -our time." - -"You will never get him, father. It would be a great wrong against the -truth if he came in." - -"Why should it be wrong, Gabrielle?" - -"For many reasons. He believes that all our dreams are sentimental -moonshine; he never could be in earnest--how should he be when he does -not believe?" - -"Is it not possible to put our view so convincingly that he must -believe?" - -"Are we convinced ourselves? Is it very real to us?" - -"It is very real to me. I think it must be to every man of culture." - -"How many that would exclude. Nelson could not have been a man of -culture." - -He looked up, pained. - -"Faber has been talking to you." - -"No, I have been talking to myself. I think with you that war is a very -great crime against humanity, but, after all, God allows it." - -He sighed and began to sort out his papers. - -"There is a great deal which seems to be permitted. It is another way of -saying that mankind has been left a great work to do. We are fortunate -if we are called to bear the smallest burden. I think disappointments -should be numbered among them." - -"Oh! I agree with you. And, of course, I shall still hope for Mr. -Faber's name." - -"If you think it a wrong, that would be an inconsistency." - -"Not altogether; it might be a great victory. He is a man with whom you -can argue." - -"Then I hope you will see him again at Corfu." - -Gabrielle did not answer that. Her own words accused her in some way. - -A great victory! A woman's victory! What would that mean in this case? -For the moment she let ambition run away with her and imagination reared -fine castles. They went down with a crash when she heard Harry Lassett -calling her. She made some excuse and went out--just as she had gone -when Harry called below her window at Hampstead. - - - III - -A superb night with a fine round moon found them aft upon the deck, -gazing over the lights of Fiume to the vine-clad hills beyond. A -wonderful stillness upon land and water gave place from time to time to -sounds most musical--the lingering notes of sonorous bells, the lilt of -Italian song, the splash of unseen oars, and the music of ships. -Lanterns shone about them, the lanterns of steamers at anchor and of the -Austrian fleet. Against a glorious horizon the sails of feluccas would -take fantastic shapes; the stars grouped themselves in joyous -brilliancy. There were many houses upon the distant hillside and they -stood there as beacons, speaking to the ships and the sea in a tongue -which all understood. - -Sir Jules and Silvester were in the smoking-room at this time having -what Harry called "a pow-wow." Eva played sentimental themes upon the -great organ in the drawing-room; the doctor and Douglas Renshaw were -ashore for the good of the populace. Gabrielle, herself, set deep in a -deck chair with Harry Lassett at her feet. He smoked a great pipe and -talked St. Moritz. There had been trouble with his trustees, and he was -not sure he could get out there this year. - -"So, you see," he said, "I came along when the old chap asked me." - -"A most candid way of putting it; there could have been no other reason -in the world." - -"Oh, I say, puss! That's nasty now." - -"Not at all. To qualify candour is a crime. Well, you can't go to St. -Moritz. What then?" - -"I didn't say I couldn't go. I said that old Ben Stuart, my trustee, was -playing the fox with me. He says I overdrew a hundred and ninety last -year, and it can't go on. As if it was his own money!" - -"Do you disagree with his accounts?" - -He laughed. - -"Arithmetic's no good to me. I was a bit of a flier at Ananias and Dido -at school, but I could add up a column every time and make it different. -I ought to be Chancellor of the Exchequer--eh, what? Surely, you don't -mind?" - -He nestled his head against her knees as though this kind of comfort -were some solatium. Gabrielle was thinking of John Faber and of what his -opinion would have been of such an admission. - -"I suppose life isn't worth living unless you go to St. Moritz?" - -He detected no irony. - -"How's a man to keep fit in our beastly country?--then, there's habit. I -believe in doing to-morrow what you did yesterday--don't you? If I stop -in England, it's covered court tennis, nothing more! How's a man to go -through the winter on covered court tennis?" - -"The survival of the fittest. Whatever will become of you on the yacht?" - -He puffed stolidly. - -"That's vegetation. I can lie on my back with any man--I'm a plus two at -it. A man's year should include a month of it. Then I'm orderly; I know -just what I'm going to do during the next two seasons, as sure as the -moon and stars: cricket, four months; two months' shooting; a bit of -hunting if I can get it in, and if I can't, then some pat ball on the -links. What more do you want?" - -"Are you putting the question to me?" - -"I wasn't--but I will!" - -"Oh, I should want a lot more: to begin with, a definite object." - -"Ah, you're a girl. My opinion of men with definite objects is that they -are generally bores." - -"But the country would not get on without them, would it?" - -"Don't believe such nonsense, puss. Who's the greater man: Asquith or -Foster? Would you sooner be Lloyd George or Bobs? Who's doing more for -England--the man who helps to beat the Australians, or the lawyers who -put threepence on the income tax? You ask the average man, and see what -he says." - -"The average man has not much brains; he is the servant in the house of -intellect. I should never consult him about anything." - -"Puss, I know what you're thinking about--it's that popgun man." - -"Rather inconsequent, isn't it? You wouldn't average Mr. Faber?" - -"No, I suppose he's clever enough. He makes money. Old Baker, our head -at school, always used to say that the faculty of making money was one -of the most contemptible. But it's useful, I admit." - -"Oh, yes, we all admit that, and show our contempt of the faculty by -worshipping the possessor." - -"Do you worship John Faber?" - -"Collectively, yes; individually, not at all." - -He thought upon it. - -"I suppose you had a jolly time with him in Paris?" - -"Oh, my dear Harry, what next? I saw him twice: once in the corridor of -the hotel, then in his own rooms." - -"In his rooms!" - -"Yes; to tell him I never wished to see him again." - -"Oh, you brick; that's the best thing I've heard. Of course, I knew you -would. There's never been anything said, but you owed that to me--now, -didn't you, puss?" - -She would not answer him. They passed to the vague intimacies of an -incomplete amour, in which their whispers were inaudible and the sound -of voices in the cabin a warning discord. Eva still played an -intolerable waltz. The harbour waves sported about the dinghy, tethered -astern. Gabrielle wondered why it was that she was incapable of -resisting all this; that she suffered this quite brainless boy to kiss -her at his pleasure--a great bear with fearsome limbs cuddling her. Was -it because of her twenty-three years of Suburbia? Because of an -inherited instinct for the commonplace of the natural life--such a life -as all about her lived, and would live in that little world of -Hampstead? Or was it purely the call of sex--more potent than a thousand -theories, imperious beyond all the laws of emperors and kings? - -The latter thought did not occur to her. She suffered the spell of the -scene, the soft airs of night, the shining stars, the harbour lights, -the waxing and waning chords of distant music. Harry's passionate -whispers were like a message from afar. She submitted to him as though -thus was her destiny written. - - - - - CHAPTER II - - LOUIS DE PALEOLOGUE - - - I - -Do you know Ragusa--Ragusa, the Pearl of the Adriatic? - -It was here that the Imperial yacht carried the Emperor when at last he -sailed from Trieste--here that John Faber saw him within three hours of -his going ashore. - -Here also Faber found the man he had sought so many years. Louis de -Paleologue, who had taken his mother to America after his father's death -in Paris. - -Ragusa--what city is like to this of all that border the incomparable -shore? Sebenico, Zara, Spalato--who cares if they perish while Ragusa -remains? - -Consider how through the centuries this little republic shut the gates -of her sanctuary in the face alike of Moslem and of Christian; how she -defied now the Turk, now the Servian, even the mighty power of Venice at -its zenith. Neither friend nor foe coming to her for shelter was -refused. She protected Stephen Nemanja, who fought her allies of the -Byzantine Empire; she opened her gates to Queen Margarita, and defended -them against the King of Dalmatia. The "winged lion" writes no shame -upon her citadel. She fell at last, not to man, but to the very earth -which opened and swallowed her up. There was never a history of Ragusa -after that fateful year 1667. The great earthquake ended a -story--Napoleon wrote but a sorry epitaph. - -What a cosmopolitan company is that which gathers every day within the -tremendous walls of this fallen citadel. All the colours of the Balkan -peoples are to be seen here--the flag and turban of the Turk; the white -breeches of the Albanian--Joseph's coat upon the back of the son of the -Black Mountain. Servians are here: Bosnians and men of Herzegovina; -Italians who have drifted down from northern towns; Austrians in -possession. Crimson clashes with the sky-blue tunics of the Austrian -officers--there are deep reds and glowing tints of orange--all moving in -kaleidoscopic splendour through streets which the extended arms may -measure; by churches and palaces, which are matchless in their art. A -city girded by the libidinous foliage of the south; a city of -half-lights and shaded cloisters; of a fortress running out into the -blue Adriatic, lifting mighty walls to the caress of the kindly seas. - - - II - -Louis de Paleologue had taken up his abode in a veritable hole in the -wall near the Dominican monastery. The place was dark and cavernous, and -might have been (but for its monstrous stones) a booth in an Eastern -bazaar. When he worked it was in the cool of the monastery gardens, the -monks stealing looks over his shoulder at wonderful forms in bewitching -_négligé_--or even at terpsichoreal advertisements of pills and powder. -For despite his sixty-two years, and the fact that he was a prince in -his own country, Louis still earned his living by the advertisers, and -was held to be the cleverest draughtsman at the business. - -One grievance he had, and one joy--his daughter Maryska, nineteen upon -her last birthday, and still a child. Maryska like her father (and -another celebrity who has had a statue raised to him) never grew up. She -was the youngest woman of nineteen in the whole wide world, and when -father and daughter went for "a rag" together, it was wonderful that -anything at all was left in the Cantina--as he had named the house. - -Such days they passed! Louis, prone in the sun with a cigarette in his -mouth; Maryska, flitting about the scene like a schoolgirl at play! They -went hand in hand everywhere like sworn friends in an academy for young -ladies. What money they earned would be sometimes in his pocket, -sometimes in hers. They quarrelled babyishly--the man shedding tears -more often than the girl. Yet he would have put his knife into the heart -of any who did her injury, with as little thought as he would have -killed a stray dog at his door. There had been one such tragedy at -Zara--the body was found in the harbour some days afterwards. - -Maryska was a cosmopolitan. She had starved in New York, in London, in -Paris, in Berlin. Now she starved in Ragusa--except upon those splendid -occasions when a cheque came from England. Then the Austrian banker -would be fetched out of bed or café to cash it. They were rare days, for -Louis would knock down the bottles like ninepins, and never turn a hair -whatever their number. Maryska drank just as much as she could, and then -fell asleep. He used to shout and swear because she would not wake up to -draw another cork for him. - -Latterly, it had been the devil to pay at the Cantina. Louis had lived -in prospective upon six disorderly nymphs--all décolleté--who were to -have proclaimed the merits, _urbi et orbi_, of a new suspender for -ladies of fashion. These drawings were quite wonderful. The prior of the -monastery who no doubt, may have imagined that they were part of a -scheme for a stained glass window, thought very highly of them. The -Austrian officers begged for copies of the paper. The governor laughed -and had a fit of coughing. He wanted to know where the models came from. -Louis would not tell him that, except to say that they were memories of -Paris and New York. He rarely drew the beautiful dark face of -Maryska--but there is a portrait of her in the church of St. John the -Divine in London, and many would swear it is a madonna of an old master. -Louis painted it for the priest, who used to tell him he was a -scoundrel. It was so very true. - -Well, the pictures were drawn and dispatched to London; and then a -dreadful thing happened. The firm, which understood the female mysteries -so well, treated the financial verities with a contempt which quickly -ended in Carey Street. No cheque came to that hole in the wall at -Ragusa. Squat-legged and patient, Louis smoked his cigarette and -listened to Maryska's wholly unmelodious music. There was bread in the -house, but no wine. Well, wine would come presently. - -Wine did not come, but in its place came John Faber. For a moment, Louis -thought that a customer had crossed the seas to buy his pictures. Then -he said that the firm, which was suspended because of its suspenders, -had sent an embassy with the cash. However it might be, he determined to -borrow five crowns of the stranger, and saluted him with princely -politeness. - -Maryska, meanwhile, stood up ready to go to the wine-shop. - - - III - -Faber took off his hat at the entrance to the cavern, and blinked in the -darkness. He saw a handsome man squatting on the floor, and behind him a -pair of eyes which glowed as a cat's. They belonged to Maryska; but he -did not know, indeed, he wondered if there were wild beasts in the -place. - -"Say, does anyone named Louis de Paleologue live here?" - -The accent transplanted father and daughter to New York in an instant. -What years they had lived there! How they regretted them! - -"He does, sir, and what then?" - -"You are Mr. Paleologue?" - -"That is so. My daughter--she doesn't bite--at least, only me!" - -Maryska's teeth were to be counted on the instant. She laughed as the -Italians laugh, without reservations. - -"_Accidenti!_" she cried, and then coming out into the light, "_caro -mio_--he is too tough, poppa, I should spoil my teeth!" - -Faber saluted her in a way he intended to be Continental. - -"You have been in New York, signorina?" - -"Five years, mister. I am all Americano!" - -"Then I'll walk right in, if I may." - -He did not wait for permission, but entered the cavern. It was evident -that he would have liked a chair, but seeing none, he accepted a mat -which she offered. - -"Poppa burned all the chairs long ago. Can you sit down on nothing, -mister?" - -He said that he could, looking at Maryska all the while. Louis took a -box of Bosnian cigarettes from the floor and passed it over. - -"Say, are you thirsty, boss?" - -Faber smiled at that. - -"Well, this is thirsty ground. As the governor said--but I guess ye -don't know what the governor----" - -"Bet you!" He said. "'Don't let it be long between the drinks.' There's -a wine-shop two blocks away." - -Maryska stepped forward, as keen as a hound. She held out her hand for -the money without any shame at all--she and her father had been holding -it out for years--yet some of Louis' gifts in return had been more -precious than gold. - -"How much shall I give you?" Faber asked. She replied that a kronen -would be ample. He gave it her, and she was away in a flash. - -They smoked a space in silence when she was gone. Presently Faber said: -"Business good down this way?" - -Louis did not like the tone of it, and the quills of his pride -stiffened. "What's that to you?" - -"Might be a good deal--I'm in dead earnest." - -"What's your line--pills or powder?" - -"I'm neither. I make guns." - -"Want me to fire 'em off--well, I'm ready. What's the size?" - -Faber smiled. - -"Not quite it," he said; and then wandering right away from the subject, -"I wish I'd known you were in New York. You didn't work under your own -name there." - -"That's so. I used to sign just 'Louis.'" - -"Will you draw me a picture of Maryska--for my house? A thousand dollars -now and another thousand when it's delivered?" - -Louis drew back a little. - -"Why the girl?" - -"You must know why. There couldn't be a better subject." - -"Yes; but if I do not choose to do it, what then?" - -"Why, then I'm beaten." - -He threw away the stump of his cigarette and took another. Presently -Maryska returned with the flask of white wine and the glasses were -chinked. The child drank a draught which would have put a vintner to -shame. Then she showed her pretty teeth. - -"Oh, how good!" she said, and then with a heavenly sigh, "_Ecco c'e -vuoto_." - -"Think you could do another?" Faber asked Louis. The reply was quite -stately. - -"Sir, I am at your disposition." - -Maryska went off with five crowns this time. When she was gone, her -father thawed a little. - -"Have you seen much of this place?" - -"Just as much as the harbour showed me." - -"Staying here long?" - -"Why, as to that--why stay?" - -Paleologue knocked the ashes off his cigarette with magnificent dignity. - -"You make guns; why not see some of them go off?" - -"Do you suggest fighting?" - -"That's so. I'm going up to Podgorica in three days' time, afterwards on -to the frontier. There'll be riot, rape and pillage. Like to come -along?" - -Faber was a little nonplussed. - -"Do you go alone?" he asked. - -"The girl and I, certainly. We can talk business on the road. Why not?" - -"Oh, I'll come! Here's the wine, I see. She's a wonder that girl of -yours." - -Louis assented. - -"Her bringing up; she has forgotten how to read and write. It is -education which is the matter nowadays. I believe the Greeks knew women. -Come here, wild cat, and tell the stranger you can't read or write." - -Maryska reddened at this and cried "Beast!" with real anger. She sulked -for quite a long time, hiding in the dark corner where only her glowing -eyes could be seen. Louis took no notice of her tantrums; he had begun -to be rather interested in the stranger. - -"Say, you know the fighting may be a bit lively. I'm bound for -Ranovica--want to see it burned. There was a man here yesterday from the -London illustrated papers. He's out for fancy pictures and put me on. -He's mighty anxious after the rape and pillage. I guess we'll see -something of that at Ranovica." - -Faber looked at the girl; she did not seem to be listening. - -"Aren't you imprudent? Isn't it better to leave your daughter here?" he -asked in a low voice. - -Louis did not understand him. "Where I go, she goes. Besides, they know -me very well, these people. You are not afraid, mister?" - -"Afraid! How do we go?" - -"Steamer to Antivari." - -"I'll take you on my yacht." - -Louis expressed no surprise. If his guest had promised a warship with -golden plates his sphinx-like attitude would have been unchanged. - -"Just as you like," he said. "We take the horses at Scutari anyway." - -To which Faber responded with a further offer. "I've a car on my ship; -we'll put her ashore and try that road." - -Louis shook his head. "No good at all; there isn't any damned road. -To-day's Saturday; shall we say to-morrow morning at ten?" - -"But it was to be three days' time." - -Louis yawned. "Oh, d----n time!" he said. "I never think of it." - -"Then we'll start to-morrow at ten." - -He drank off his wine and turned to look at Maryska. She had crept -nearer while they talked, and her head was bent to the floor that she -might not miss a word. When Faber held out his hand to her she leaned -upon her elbows and looked at him with strange eyes. - -"Good-bye, mister!" - -"You are coming on my ship, Maryska." - -"Not with that man," and she pointed to her father. - -"Pouf!" said Louis. "I will flay you with the whip." - -"And I will kill you with my knife," she said quickly, in Italian. - -It was the customary exchange of their daily compliments. Louis rather -liked it. - -"Say," he exclaimed on the threshold, "and who may you be, anyway?" - -"I? Why, my name's John Faber." - -"Faber--Faber? I used to know a Faber in Paris in the 'seventies." - -"His son, sir." - -Louis turned his cigarette over in his mouth. - -"How did you hear of me?" he asked. - -"Oh, I got your name in Paris. The _New York Mitre_ people gave it to -me." - -"That's odd; I used to know your mother forty years ago. Well, so long," -and he turned on his heel. - - - - - CHAPTER III - - THE DAMNABLE MOUNTAINS - - -This was a bitter winter on the Albanian frontier, and God alone knows -how the party got to Ranovica at all. - -None but a madman would have attempted the journey at such a moment in -the story of the Balkans; but as John Faber remarked, it needed a -double-barrelled charge of insanity to venture it in the winter. Yet he -had told Maryska that he would go, and go he did. - -What a country, and what a people! The Almighty seemed to have blasted -the mountains and the mountaineers alike. Such a wilderness of grey -rocks, of weirdly scarped precipices, of awful caverns and fearsome -valleys is to be imagined by none who have not visited it. - -Depict a range of mountains built up of the barren limestone into a -myriad fearsome shapes of dome and turret, castle and battlement. In the -valleys far below, put the gardens of the world, fertile beyond all -dreams; where the grapes grow as long as the fingers on your hand, and -every tropical plant luxuriates. Drive humanity from this scene and -deliver it up to the world and the bear. Such is the frontier of Albania -where it debouches upon Montenegro--such are the "damnable mountains," -as every Christian in their vicinity has learned to call them. - -A desert upon an altitude, and yet it is not wholly a desert. Here and -there ensconced in nook and cranny you will come upon an oasis where a -village harbours wild people and a scanty patch of fertile soil keeps -body and soul together. Such a place was Ranovica, to which Louis de -Paleologue led his guest on the sixth day afterwards. They came up to it -at three o'clock upon that December afternoon when the sun was -magnificent over the Western Adriatic, and even these desolate hills had -been fired to warmth and colour. - -An odd party--three upon cheeky little Hungarian horses; three upon -mules. Frank, the American valet, had much to say about the habits and -character of the mule, but he reserved it until they should be safely -upon the yacht again. The other two servants were Austrians who had been -heavily bribed for the venture--even they would have refused had they -understood that it was for an expedition to Ranovica. This hole in the -hill was full of savage Christians who hated the Montenegrins much, but -the Moslem a good deal more. It was bound to be burned sooner or later. - -Ranovica has a fine old gate built by Stephen of Bosnia, heaven knows -how many years ago. The party rode through this just after three -o'clock, and was challenged immediately by half-a-dozen warriors with -the most wonderful white breeches the Western world has seen. Already, -and when far down the valley, the outposts of the little force defending -this wild place had put the travellers through a searching inquisition; -but they had to face another ordeal at the gate, and lucky for them that -Louis spoke Servian so fluently. The soldiers listened to him as though -a brother was speaking. They looked at Maryska with wide black eyes. Why -not?--she was good to look upon, surely, with her high boots and crimson -breeches and little Greek cap. Faber himself had looked at her a great -many times on the way up, but he was by no means pleased that she should -become the cynosure of so many evil eyes. - -"Well?" he said to her, while Louis played the millionaire among the -wild men, "and what do you think of this, young lady?" - -She was still upon her pretty little horse and her eyes were here, there -and everywhere; but not with the curiosity an untravelled woman would -have displayed. Maryska had seen too much of the world to be troubled by -Ranovica. Besides, she was hungry. - -"I think my father is a fool to come here, and you also, boss, that is -what I think." - -"Guess you've hit it first time. Are you hungry, Maryska?" - -"Why, yes. Are you, boss?" - -She imitated her father perfectly, and Faber laughed. They were in a -street so narrow that his horse had a head in the window upon one side -of the road and a tail in a window upon the other. A tremendous -battlement of rock lifted a sheer precipice far up above this peopled -gorge. In the shadows there moved a fierce people, savage, wild, hunted. -They gathered round the strangers menacingly, and but for the old -white-haired priest, even Louis' gift of tongues might not have saved -them. The priest, however, liked the jingle of good Austrian crowns. Let -the strangers come to his house, he said, the inn was not fit to harbour -a dog. - -So the party rode on a furlong--the men, the girl, the American valet -and the Austrians. At every step the crowd pressed about them, black and -scowling. It was good at last to enter an open courtyard and to see that -none followed. Dark was coming down then and lights shining from the -windows of the miserable houses. Faber remembered that he had -communicated with the Turkish authorities before setting out and -congratulated himself upon his prudence. - -"They'll want my guns, and so they'll want me," he said. - -But he was still mightily anxious about Maryska. - - - II - -The priest's house was about as big as a cow-house and as filthy as a -Spanish podesta. Of food there was little save coarse bread and -villainous-looking brandy. Here the guests came to the rescue, for Louis -had carried up victuals at Faber's expense, and now the good things were -spread upon old "Pop's" table, to that worthy's exceeding satisfaction. -None ate with better appetite than he; none smacked fine lips so loudly -over the good white wine, unless it were Maryska. - -Louis had christened him "Old Pop" immediately, and he talked to him in -voluble Servian during the repast. Occasionally he interpreted at -Maryska's request, and fragments of talk were tossed down to her as -bones to a dog. They made the girl laugh, but Faber found them grim -enough. He was asking "What does he say?" almost at every sentence. -Louis picked out the tit-bits and passed them on. - -"There were Turks nine miles from here the day before yesterday. They -burned Nitzke, and killed the women; some of the Nitzke people are here -now; one has lost his nose--yes, they always cut off the noses, and so -do our fellows when they catch a Turk. This place would be easy to hold -if there were troops, but, of course, Nicholas can't send any until war -is declared. Pop hopes that Alussein Pasha won't find us. If he does, -there'll be a massacre; yes, it will be in the next two or three days. -You're not behind the times, sir; you'll see the fun if there is any." - -Faber looked at Maryska, and discovered that she was looking at him. -Evidently she shared her father's whim of exaggeration and her curiosity -as to "the stranger's" behaviour was now awake. These odd terms: "boss," -"stranger," "master," picked up from the backwoods of America twenty -years ago, pleased the Southern ear, and were guarded tenaciously. -Maryska wished to frighten this American, and would have been delighted -had she succeeded. - -"What shall you do if they come?" she asked him. - -He said, as quickly: "I should go to bed," and at that she laughed -again. - -"And what will you do?" he asked her. She leered as she put a whole -sardine into her capacious mouth. - -"I shall see them fight. Men are for fighting--women to see them. In -your country, you have no soldiers. All the Americans talk a heap about -it, but none of them have seen anything at all. You will be a great good -man after this, boss!" - -He opened his eyes. - -"Why a great good man?" - -"Because you will have seen something that is great and good." - -He was very much astonished. - -"Do you mean that killing other men is great and good, Maryska?" - -Her face wore a pensive attitude, but she still had one eye upon the -comestibles. - -"I think they are a brave people. I think it is great and good to fight -for your country." - -"Well, wouldn't the Americans fight for theirs?" - -"Perhaps; I don't know. You are all too clever to think about anything -but money. He says so." - -"Isn't money a very good thing to think about?" - -She looked at him with great contempt. - -"I was not born a shopkeeper," she said, and then, "Ask poppa and hear -what he will say." - -He nodded his head. - -"Why has poppa come to Ranovica?" - -"To draw pictures for the papers, yes." - -"Is it for money?" - -"If he will receive it, yes; if he does not like the people he will not -receive it." - -"Then how will you live, Maryska?" - -She tossed her head. - -"We shall live very well, sir; my father is a noble in his own country. -He will not be insulted by such people; he is very proud." - -And then she said with a ridiculous want of gravity, "And so am I. -Please to give me some of the chocolates, sir. The old Pop will eat them -all." - -He passed her the chocolates and helped himself to a cigar from one of -his own boxes. The room was long and narrow, the walls wainscoted in oak -and painted a dirty pink above. An ikon hung in a corner, for "Pop" was -of the Greek Orthodox Church, and very devout--when he was not drunk. -The latter appeared now to be his condition, and when they rose from the -table, he insisted upon taking them out into the village that they might -hear him harangue the people. Night had come down at this time, but no -one thought of sleep in that oasis of the bleak mountains. Far up on the -desolate hills were the sentries who would tell Ranovica of the Turks' -approach. In the street itself moved a heterogeneous company of old and -young men, and women and laughing girls, everyone carrying a revolver in -the girdle and some armed to the very teeth. A babble of excited talk -fell upon the night air as a hum of insects. What was in store for the -people of this new citadel? Would the Turk come or pass them by? God and -the morrow must answer. - - - III - -It was a far cry to the great arsenals at Charleston, but Faber's mind -crossed the seas when he walked alone that night in the street before -the priest's house. What particular freak of a latent insanity had sent -him to this place? - -Was it curiosity or the girl? Just the passing fancy for the wildest -little woman he had ever met or the desire to see his fellow men -butchered? One or the other it must be, and he was too honest to deny -it. Either Maryska or the Turkish butcher, scimitar in hand. - -If it were the girl, his vain folly had met with a swift rebuke. Looking -up to her bedroom window, he remembered her "good-night," and the manner -of it. She had told him that he was an "old, old man," and the words -struck him as a thunderclap. An "old, old man!" Good God! had so much of -his life already run? No one had ever spoken such words before and his -vanity bristled. Had the girl been serious, or did she speak in jest? - -An "old, old man"--and he was not forty. In America, it is true, they -have little use for forty unless forty can command allegiance. He, John -Faber, had ruled a city in Charleston. His works employed more than five -thousand men; he was the high priest of the temples of labour his own -brain had built up. No one remembered his age there. They spoke of him -as "the new Krupp," the young genius in steel who could make or mar the -fortunes of empires. The women pursued him relentlessly, remembering his -eleven millions. He could have led the life of an Oriental debauchee and -no one criticise him. To read the papers--many of which he owned--you -might have set him down for twenty-five. This chit of a wild girl had -burst the bubble with a little pin prick of her candour. An old, old -man! The words raked his self-assurance, he could have boxed her ears -for them. - -If not Maryska, what, then, had brought him to Ranovica? - -Was it to see if he could witness something of that wild life of the -Balkans which had stirred his imagination in the past? When quite a lad -he had read of these villages and of what befell them when the Turk came -in. One incident he had never forgotten; it was on the Macedonian -frontier where a little town had been sacked, the men butchered or -burned by naphtha, the women violated, the old priest flayed alive. He -had the account of it in the _Illustrated London News_ among his papers -to that very day. Such a village as this might have been the scene of -it! - -He passed on, musing deeply, and presently met an Albanian posted at the -head of the street. The soldier had an American rifle, and he discovered -that it had come from his own factory at Charleston. He gave the man a -couple of crowns, and the fellow grinned savagely, pointing at the same -time up to the silent hills. There were Turks somewhere up there, and he -would shoot them. The rifle was about to do that for which it was made. -Faber would see the fruit of his own work. - -He walked on a little way and met his valet, Frank. The young man spoke -German fluently, and had learned a good deal from the Austrian porters. -He was much alarmed by his situation, and did not hesitate to say so. - -"They tell me an attack is expected, sir. We shall fare badly in this -hole if it comes off. I don't think the authorities can do much for us; -what's more, there ain't any." - -Faber thrust his hands into his pockets--a habit of his--and walked a -little way by his servant's side. - -"Why," he said half reflectively, "it isn't exactly the Ritz Hotel to be -sure. Who's been talking, Frank?" - -"All of them, sir, all together. Turks are known to be five miles away -and the young lieutenant expects them to ride in before morning. He says -passports are a sure road to paradise--you can get to heaven quicker on -an ambassador's signature than on any other. I'd do this block next time -if I was you, Mr. Faber, to be sure I would. We may all have our throats -cut before morning." - -Faber chewed his cigar heavily. - -"Mr. Paleologue doesn't think it; he's been among them before. He says -the Turks like newspaper men; he's one of them. I advised our people in -Constantinople I was coming, and I don't suppose they've gone to sleep. -Anyway, can you fire a gun, Frank?" - -Frank turned a little pale. - -"I'd sooner see others fire it, sir." - -"True enough, and guns won't be much good if the knives get going. I -think we'll move on to-morrow, Frank; we'll learn what happens from the -newspapers." - -"I wish you'd go to-night, sir." - -Faber shook his head. - -"There's the young lady to be thought of. I guess she's asleep. It's got -to be the morning, anyway." - -"At any particular hour, sir?" - -"As early as you like, Frank, if mademoiselle is ready." - -The young man went off more afraid than he would say, but glad of the -crumb of comfort. His master, however, continued to walk up and down the -narrow street before the house and to regard the cold mountains -wistfully. What an odd scene! What a place for him to be in! The hole -was full of the queerest people he had met in all his travels. Every -hour added to the multitude of souls, while as for the inn or -guest-house, it might have been a barracks. Albanians whose belts were -full of knives and revolvers wrangled with refugees from the mountains -who had fled before the Turks; there were travellers, police, wild -women, soldiers, all boxed up together like sardines in a tin; and to -add to the uproar a mechanical organ played the "Merry Widow" waltz -without an interval. From time to time shrieks were to be heard and the -sound of blows. A man would come reeling out into the street with bloody -face or gashed limbs. One of them fell dead almost at the door of the -priest's house, but no one took any notice of him. As for Louis de -Paleologue and "old Pop" they were far too busy getting drunk together -to observe such a trifle. - -Faber assured himself that the man was quite dead, and chancing upon two -immense Albanians who were coming down the narrow street, he told them -as much of the story as gestures would permit. They shrugged their -shoulders and entered the guest-house, whence two or three tipsy fellows -emerged presently to drag the dead man away as though the body were a -sack. Following them to the lower end of the village, Faber perceived -them disappear upon a narrow path by the side of the gorge he had -climbed that afternoon, and he had no doubt that they would throw the -dead man into the ravine, and leave the wolves to perform the last -obsequies. He followed them no further, but stood a little while -breathing the cool air and looking over toward Scutari. There lay -Antivari and his own yacht. His voyage had been successful enough, and -he had found the Emperor complaisant, but this estimate of his success -was attended by another thought, and it concerned a woman. Sir Jules -Achon would be at Ragusa by this time. Had Sir Jules seen the Emperor, -and if so, to what end? - -Here was a memory of Gabrielle Silvester speaking to him, and in some -way moving him to an exaltation of success, not wholly chivalrous. - -Had he not wagered that he would obtain an audience of the Kaiser, while -the ridiculous ambassadors of a silly sentimentalism were still dreaming -of their projects? And what he had promised, he had performed. The new -Faber rifle would go to Germany--manufactured in part by Krupps, in part -at Charleston. Meanwhile, universal peace remained a pretty topic for -public platforms, and for certain distinguished old gentlemen whose -philanthropy all the world admired. He, John Faber, owed something to it -for it had introduced him to one of the cleverest women he had met in -all his life, and this could be said despite their dramatic farewell. -The latter troubled him, to be sure, but he did not despair of her when -he remembered that the ugly business in Paris could yet be set straight. -Claudine d'Arny must have a husband bought for her as other women have -jewels or toy dogs. It should not be beyond his resources to contrive as -much. - -He lighted a new cigar upon this pleasant realisation of power--a -gratification which his busy life made rare--and turning about, he -retraced his steps toward Ranovica. The contrast between the lonely -mountains which guarded the valley and the hive of armed men within was -sharp enough, but it interested him at the moment less than other omens -which a quick ear detected. The stillness seemed to him almost -unnatural. He could have sworn at one place that a face peered down at -him from a cranny of the precipice above, and, upon that, there came -from afar the echo of a rifle shot. He was sure of it, faint as was the -report and difficult to locate. A rifle shot over there beyond the great -mountain which protected Ranovica from the northern winds! Long he -listened for any repetition of the firing, but hearing none, returned at -last to the priest's house. His nerves were playing tricks with him, he -said. It was time to have done with it. There was a light in Maryska's -room and a shadow upon the blind said that she was not yet in bed. Faber -smiled as he looked up and remembered her words. - -"An old, old man." - -What had put it into the little cat's head to call him that? - - - - - CHAPTER IV - - THE BURNING OF RANOVICA - - -There were two beds in the room, and one was occupied already by Louis -de Paleologue, who lay in a heavy stupor, but was not properly asleep. -Faber had slept in such rooms before--in the old wild days when he had -travelled in Western America to sell revolvers to a Christian people, -who were set upon shooting other Christians. This room impressed chiefly -by its omnipresent suggestions of profound filthiness. He feared to -touch anything in it--the chairs, the walls, the very coverlet on the -bed. His own rugs were his armament. He wrapped himself in them from -head to foot, and fell asleep at last, still wondering in his dreams -why, in God's name, he had come to Ranovica. - -When he awoke, it was at a touch of the hand of his valet Frank. He felt -heavy and drowsy, and knew that he had missed a good night's -rest--indispensable to men whose brains are dominant. It was already -light, and the curtains were drawn back from the window. He sat up to -listen and became aware of a strange hubbub in the street without. - -"Why, what are you saying, Frank; what's that you're telling me?" - -The valet was ghastly pale; he walked upon tip-toe as though afraid of -being heard; his voice was hardly more than the whisper of polite -servitude. - -"The soldiers are in, sir--it's all up with Ranovica." - -"You don't say so! When did they come in?" - -"Five minutes ago, sir. Don't you hear that--my God, don't you hear it, -sir?" - -There is no mistaking the cry of a man who is being butchered by knives, -and Faber could not mistake it then. He sprang out of bed at a bound and -ran to the window. The street below was full of Turks--the red fez, the -baggy blue breeches were everywhere. Leaning out to get a better view, -he saw a huge Albanian held down by four assassins who had the faces of -the devils in the pictures. Another, like to them, had a broad butcher's -knife in his hand, and was deliberately hacking the prone man's head -from his shoulders. It was clumsily done and the wretch shrieked -horribly at every cut upon the bare flesh. His blood already ran in the -gutters, where it mingled with the blood of fifty others. - -A sense of utter helplessness--of a sickness and horror he had not yet -experienced, held Faber to the window for some minutes. He could look at -nothing else but the outstretched figure and the clumsy knife. When head -and body at length were torn apart, and the former held up on the end of -a scimitar, a loud shout of fury escaped him, and he ran across the room -for his revolver. The uproar had awakened Paleologue, who sat bolt -upright watching his friend. When he perceived the revolver in his hand, -he sprang out of bed and caught him in powerful arms. - -"What are you doing, boss--what d----d nonsense is this?" - -"I tell you they're hacking men to pieces in the street out yonder. Let -me go--by God, I can't stand it." - -"Say, don't be a fool. Do you think you can shoot a regiment? Keep that -pistol out of sight, and hold your tongue. We'll have them up here if -you butt in like that! Don't you understand it isn't our business? Why, -you're more d----d nuisance than any woman--and you talk as much. Now, -be quiet, and hear me out. You've got to sit this through and say -nothing. I'll do the talking for myself and the girl. You look on and -remember why you're here. Haven't you sense enough at your age?" - -The irony of it stung Faber, and he put the pistol down. The frightened -valet still looked out of the window and howled at intervals, as though -he himself were already in the hands of the Turks. They could hear rifle -shots, sometimes a volley, then a few straggling reports, which spoke of -fugitives, who were making a dash for the mountains. In the street -itself, it seemed that men scurried hither and thither as rats from -their holes. Shouts of triumph were followed by sharp cries of pain, -often by groans and the shrill screams of women. The air came pungent -with the odour of gunpowder. In the room itself there was now silence -save for the servant's bellowing. Paleologue dressed himself without any -fuss whatever, and he did not utter a single word. When he was quite -ready, he went out into the street immediately--Faber at his heels. No -one had asked for Maryska. - -Paleologue was wearing a ridiculous suit of yellow tweed at this time, -and a green Homburg hat with a feather in it. He carried no other -weapons than a cigarette case and a box of matches. The Turks round -about eyed him with amazement not untempered by curiosity; but before -any of them could make a movement he shouted out in their own tongue -that he was an English newspaper correspondent, and their rifles were -lowered. Doffing his cap to a man upon a little grey horse, who appeared -to be their officer, the artist crossed the street and offered him a -cigarette, speaking rapidly in the careless way he could command, -whatever the language. Faber listened open mouthed. He thought that he -was as near to death as ever he had been in his nine and thirty years, -and he made no poor guess. - -"What does he say, Frank?" the question was hurled up at the window -where the valet's white face could be seen. He might as well have asked -the fellow a question in Chinese. - -"I don't know, sir. I think he is mad." - -"I guess we were all mad to come here. My God! what a slaughter-house!" - -No truer description of the scene could have been uttered by any man. -The streets of Ravonica had become a shambles. Turks ran in and out of -the distant houses like dogs at a warren. There were twenty headless -bodies within ten yards of the captain in command. From the door of the -inn or guest-house a broad eddy of blood was oozing away to the gutter; -they could hear the troops within looting and ravaging at their -pleasure, while the wretched organ still played some trumpery waltz in -irony most wonderful. So dreadful it was that Faber, who believed that -he knew the whole story of war, staggered back in a revolt of nausea and -would have re-entered the priest's house but for Paleologue's imperative -summons. The artist had never been more at home. He wore his hat -jauntily and smoked with gusto while he talked to the captain. - -"Say, boss, come and report yourself. This is Alussein Pasha. He has had -word of you from headquarters; just shake and look as pleased as you -can." - -Faber shook hands with the man, while Louis offered him a cigarette and -struck matches for them all. The concomitants of the ghastly scene were -wholly out of place and singularly at variance with the truth. These -three men might have met by accident in this outlandish village and have -been discussing the best road back to civilization. The bloody struggle, -still proceeding in the miserable hovels round about, moved Alussein -Pasha no more than did the howling of dogs in an Eastern street. And -Paleologue was just as indifferent until some of the ruffians fetched -out "old Pop" by the hair of his head and held a scimitar at his throat. -Then, to be fair to him, he woke up to the truth and began to argue -excitedly with the Pasha--at which moment also Maryska appeared at a -window above and spoke to her father in Italian. He answered with a wave -of his hand, bidding her disappear; but not before a Turkish subaltern -had seen her and thrown her a kiss in the Western fashion. This was too -much for Louis, who knocked him down out of hand. - -Undoubtedly it was a mad act, and went near to costing the lives of the -party. Alussein Pasha uttered a roar like a stricken bull when his -officer was floored; the Turks about him drew their knives and pressed -upon Faber with fierce shouts. He had as good as given it up, and -thought that this was the end of the business, when a young man at the -Pasha's side said something to his chief in an earnest note and appeared -to bring that savage worthy to his senses. He roared an order to the -hawking pack, and they fell back from the prey they had marked down. An -excited exchange of doubtful compliments between Louis and the grand -Turk was followed by a compromise, Alussein stipulating for an immediate -return to the shelter of the priest's house until the affair was over. -So, in they went, the soldiers half pushing them with the butts of their -rifles and barring the door behind them. "Old Pop" was the only prisoner -now. They had forgotten him in the excitement of that very critical -moment through which they had passed. - -"Have a drink?" said Louis, throwing himself into a chair by the window -and his hat into another; he seemed quite unconcerned, even unaware that -there had been an instant of peril. John Faber, on the other hand, was -talking to himself in decided terms. "John, my boy, you're a d----d fool -to be here," he was saying--and that was very true. When he had drunk a -tumbler of white wine and mineral water he found the sweat running off -him like rain. - -"Hot weather for the time of year. Where's your girl, Louis?" - -"Oh! I guess she's all right--better where she is. Will you pass over -that drawing pad? I can see a picture here." - -Faber passed him the pad, and he settled deep in the arm-chair and began -to make a rapid sketch of the crowded street. At the same moment Maryska -entered the room and closed the door firmly behind her. - - - II - -"Where is the priest?" she asked them in a strange tone. The men looked -at her together, then at each other. - -"Why, isn't he in the house?" - -"They are killing him," she said. And then, "What are you doing here?" - -Louis put down his pencil, and leaning out of the window, which was on a -level with the street, he watched the scene a little while in silence. - -"By God!" he cried at last; "they're singeing the old man's beard. -Listen to that." - -They listened and heard a harrowing sound, neither cry nor scream, but -the wail as of a cat mewing. Twenty Turks had "Old Pop" in their midst; -they had torn his clothes from his back and cut off his nose. Now some -of them brought naphtha and poured it on his head, and instantly he -became a vomit of flame.[1] Every feature of the wretched man could be -seen with horrid distinctness, clarified by the fire. The flesh withered -up before their eyes. He stood for a long minute plucking at his own -flesh with hands of which but the bones were left. Then, all his cries -ceased, and he fell forward in a ghastly heap, while the Turks howled -derisively and thrust scimitars into the fire. They had burned many a -priest these latter days, but this fellow was famous, and had fought -many a good fight for Ranovica. His death stimulated a frenzy of lust -and madness, and they rushed away to enter the houses and drive out the -women. All the make-believe of a military occupation had been put aside -by this time. Alussein had led them across the mountains to teach these -Christians a lesson, and they were good masters. - - [1] The incident here described is taken almost unchanged from - the recent story of Macedonia. - -Maryska heard the priest's cries, but she did not see the manner of his -death. Had it not happened so swiftly and with such dramatic finality, -the men would have made some stir to save him; but, as though guessing -their intention, a group of soldiers with rifles across their arms -pressed about the window, and made it very clear that they would shoot -upon next to no provocation at all. Alussein Pasha had ridden on at this -time to the lower road overlooking Scutari, and would return when the -good work was done. He would declare that the villagers had brought it -all on themselves, and his report would be a model of tearful orthodoxy. -Meanwhile, there were very few of the male inhabitants to bring anything -upon anybody; the women alone remained, and they were dragged from their -houses, some by the hair of their heads, some forced by thrust of -swords, a few going without protest, as though they dreamed. Of the -latter were the younger girls, mere children of fourteen or fifteen -years, who stood in a little group before the priest's house, and looked -at the soldiers, uncertain--nay, ignorant--of their meaning. Maryska saw -these anon; and Louis also. He had been chewing his cigarette very -busily since the priest died, and there were few lines upon the paper. -As for Faber, he merely stood motionless by the window. The scene held -him spellbound with an influence he knew to be evil. - -"What have they done with the priest? Why do you not answer me, Mr. -Faber?" - -She touched him upon the arm, and he looked down upon a child's face -from which a woman's eyes stared up at him wonderingly. What answer -could he make to her? - -"You must just run away and think nothing about it, Maryska," he said -quietly. "We can none of us do anything. I wish to God we could." - -"Are you not going to speak for the children, then?" - -"The children! Oh, they're all right; they won't hurt the children." - -"That is not true," she said, for the instinct of the woman guided her -surely. "Someone must speak for the children. Will not you, father?" - -The appeal touched Paleologue, and he threw away the stump of his -cigarette and leaned out of the window. They heard him talking rapidly -with the Turks upon the side-walk, and presently shouting something to -an officer before the guest-house opposite. Whatever he said moved the -soldiers to derision and the children themselves to hope. They knew that -he was their friend, and their round eyes watched his every gesture. - -"What's the man saying?" Faber asked. Louis hardly seemed to know. - -"I guess it's a bad business, boss, a d----d bad business." - -"You don't mean to say----" - -"I do every word of it." - -"We must see this thing through, Paleologue. I'm going out." - -"You can't go out. What's the good of doing stunts? They'll shoot, -sure." - -He tried to hold back the impetuous man, appealing and swearing in a -breath. From below, the children watched the scene with a look of -bewilderment and despair. The unknown strangers were quarrelling, then! -What hope of mercy had they if this went on? This must have been in -their minds when Maryska, climbing nimbly as a cat, slipped by her -father and leaped down among the Turks. She was kissing and hugging some -of the children and telling them in a tongue they understood that all -would be well with them; doing this, and defying the snarling troopers -before a man could have counted ten. Then the men at the window lost -sight of her, the throng closing about her as water filling the vortex -of a falling stone. - -"Good God, man, aren't you going now?" - -Paleologue licked his lips, a little astonished, perhaps, not to find a -cigarette between them. He caught up a great planter's hat and clapped -it on the side of his head; then, without a word, he clambered over the -casement and pushed his way among the soldiers. Of course, Faber was -upon his heels, treading so close on his tracks that they stumbled into -the press together and were instantly swallowed up by it. Instructed to -deal patiently with the strangers, none of the sentries fired upon them, -but all swarmed about them and tried to pull them back. The village -itself had by this time become a Golgotha, from whose wretched houses -came the groans of butchered men and the screams of women in an agony of -fear and shame. Their terrible cries were echoed up and down the streets -from many a group which stooped about an infamy; while at the far end -near the church, flames spurted from an isolated house, and the wood -burned with a detonation heard closely upon the still air. The outposts -of the legions of hell had begun their work; they would do it thoroughly -enough before their chief returned to call them off. - -"Where's my daughter? What have you done with her?" Paleologue's voice -rose to a shrill pitch as he pushed and fought his way into the crowd -and was thrust forward and still forward by the wiry American at his -heels. Faber had never imagined such a scene as this, nor could he have -believed it possible. The heat and clamour of the street, the sweat of -the fighting men; here and there a girl caught in a man's arms and held -firmly as a wild beast holds its prey; smoke of the burning house coming -down upon the wind--the crazy organ still rolling out its dirge-like -waltzes. All this and the fierce oaths of the maladroitly butchered--the -horrid, gashed corpses in the gutters--the rearing, terrified horses of -Alussein's lieutenants; and, above it all, the serene sky and the -desolate mountains lifting their scarred summits in savage menace. What -an inferno, what a hell of human creation! And into this the girl -Maryska had plunged, headlong as a bold swimmer into a raging sea which -has engulfed a child. - -He found himself imitating Paleologue by and by, and calling her name -aloud. The attempts of the sentries to get the pair of them back to the -house were met by thrust upon thrust; a good square push from the -shoulder here and a dive into an opening there. Gradually they won their -way up the street, but could not find her; and upon that a sense of -desperation drove them to some imprudence, and they began to deal in -blows. Such madness might have brought a swift penalty but for the fire -which the priest's death had kindled. The God of Ranovica, designing -that these people should perish to bear witness to their faith, willed -also that Ranovica should fall with them, and that the priest should be -the instrument. From his body the flames had run to the crazy house; -from the house to the church, and thence to the narrow street, which -instantly became aglow. Faber found himself pressing forward amid -showers of sparks, and still crying "Maryska--Maryska!" as though the -child's voice could be heard amid the din. Turks pressed about him -shielding their faces with sun-browned arms and cursing the "spawn of -dogs" by which the visitation had come upon them. He was driven in and -out of courtyards, tossed hither and thither by the human wave, whose -crest was the whirling scimitars of the destroyers. In the end he found -himself out upon the hillside, flaming Ravonica below him, and the still -air alive with the cries of its people. Paleologue had disappeared; -there was no trace of Maryska, and he himself had hardly a rag upon his -back. - -He sat down upon a great boulder, and presently heard a familiar voice. -It was that of his valet, Frank. - -"Mr. Faber, is that you, sir?" - -"I guess it is, Frank." - -"Thank God for that, sir! Our baggage is done for, sure and certain. The -house is afire from top to bottom, sir." - -"Never mind the baggage, Frank. Have you seen Mr. Paleologue?" - -"He was down among the soldiers five minutes ago, sir." - -"And the young lady?" - -Frank could not answer. - -"She went away with some of the young women--I think toward the church, -sir." - -"Was that long ago?" - -"About five minutes before they fired it; I'm sure it wasn't more." - -"Well, look at the church now, anyway. This is an awful business, -Frank." - -"I suppose in their way it's what they call war, sir. But it's a -terrible business." - -"Ah!" said Faber. "I suppose it would be. You don't happen to have a -cigar on you, Frank?" - -"I've got a few cigarettes, sir." - -"Then pass one up. We'll go and look for Mr. Paleologue presently; I -guess he's taken the lower road. We should find both of them there." - -"I hope we shall do so, sir." - -He passed the cigarettes and the matches, and his master lighted one and -sat and smoked in silence. It may be that he asked himself what he, John -Faber, was doing out there upon this bleak hillside when he might have -been on board his yacht in the harbour of Antivari. Such reflections had -occurred to him on several occasions when some absurd venture had -brought him very near to that haven where millions are the poorest -credentials; but they were unduly ironical to-day, and not a little -persistent. Why had he come to Ranovica? Because that little wide-eyed -woman, who made such a curious appeal to him, had insisted upon his -coming. It was very true, and he would not fence with it. He might lose -his life for Maryska even yet; and that would be a grotesque finale -enough. Meanwhile, a certain doubt about her remained and troubled him -with a graver thought. Why had he not discovered her in the village? No -man could venture into that inferno now, for the whole place was just a -flame upon the hillside; but he had been up and down the street with -Paleologue, and they had seen nothing of her. He thought it curious if -nothing more. They should have discovered her immediately when the fire -broke out. - -Alussein Pasha rode up presently and his little staff with him. He had -treated Faber with some deference from the beginning, and now that the -fury of the sack was over he became almost grotesquely polite, gabbling -in appalling German and expressing as well as he could his regret for -the state in which he discovered the stranger. In return, Faber asked -him of his friend--gesture serving where names failed--and the matter -being understood, the Pasha told off a lieutenant and two men who -invited the "infidel" to follow them. Ranovica had burned itself to a -cinder by this time, and if it was not possible to pass down the narrow -street, at least the precincts of the houses might be searched. Faber -trudged after the men and came to the ruined church, now but a shell and -a few blackened beams. A young Turkish soldier walked to and fro here; -but the gulley of the road before the church was blocked by corpses, and -near by them lay the figure of Louis de Paleologue. He had been shot -through the head just as he reached the porch, and he lay face -downwards, an unlighted cigarette between his lips and his kindly eyes -wide open. - -Faber knelt and turned the dead man over. He felt his pulse, and even -laid his head upon his chest to listen for the beating of his heart. -There had been horrors enough in Ranovica this day; but they had to do -with a strange and savage people, of whom he knew nothing. He remembered -that this man had taken his mother to America when she had no other -friend in the world. Had he not come to Europe to reward him for what he -had done as few have been rewarded, whatever the service? And this was -the end of it--this prone figure, still and fearful--this, and the Turks -who looked down upon the scene with Oriental indifference--this, and the -sentry who leered behind their backs and made no attempt to hide his -satisfaction. Faber caught the fellow grinning, and recognized him for -one of the men who had turned on him earlier in the day when Paleologue -floored the officer. The rifle in his hand had come from the arsenal at -Charleston. Surely destiny spoke loudly enough here. - -He borrowed a burned and tattered cloak from one of the dead in the -gutter, and covered his friend's face reverently. Where to go, what to -do next, he knew not; nor in what manner he should seek Maryska. The -truth had gripped him with fingers of iron. - -This was war--and of war was he not the disciple? - - - III - -The Turks left the village about three in the after-noon. It was -understood that they had other work of the kind, but more to the -northward, and removed from the observant eye of their neighbours, the -Montenegrins, who would surely avenge this day. Before they left, they -were able to restore to Faber the mules which had brought his party to -Ranovica. The beasts had been taken up the hillside during the -conflagration, and would have been led much further afield but for the -Pasha's desire to curry favour with the American. He knew that this was -the man who made the rifles with which the infidel dogs must be -destroyed; urgent messages from Constantinople had warned him to show -deference to so useful an ally, and he obeyed his instructions with a -display of manners quite pleasing. It was otherwise when the dead artist -and his daughter were mentioned. Constantinople had said nothing about -them, and it really seemed to Faber that the flat-faced, good-humoured -Alussein could be a genius of understanding or the dullest blockhead at -his pleasure. - -So away the Turk went, just when the sun was beginning to dip down over -the Adriatic and all the wilderness to glow beneath the shimmer of its -deepening rays. A hillside, normally grey and cold, shone rose-pink and -purple in the waxing splendour of the hour. The burned village became -but the blacker for the gift, a charred log lying in a cup of the -burnished rocks. Out of it, when every ruin had been twice searched, -every heap of ashes turned for possible plunder, out of it went the -baggy breeches and the little white horses and the fierce and bristling -men, as cool and laconic as though this were but an episode and -to-morrow would furnish another. Romancers' tales of troops drunk with -lust and slaughter could not be told of them. All that passed, women's -fearful struggles to escape their embraces, the shrieks of men whose -hearts were being torn out, the gasps of the dying and the livid faces -of the dead--all this was already forgotten, and would hardly be -remembered when a week had gone. Had not the Prophet commanded them so -to do, and was not he a discerning person withal? - -Faber had taken a meal with Alussein upon the hillside about midday, and -after that he had patrolled the village with Frank at his side, waiting -and hoping for the coming of Maryska. To return to Ragusa without her -would have been an infamy he could not contemplate; and yet he feared to -meet her or to tell her the truth which must be told. When at last he -did discover her, some hours had passed, and it was quite dark. The -hillside with its savage boulders had given up the most part of the -refugees then, and they had come down to the village to wander amid the -ruins of their poor homes and to fill the street with their wailing. It -was at this time also that another band of Albanians came up the valley -to their comrades' rescue; alas, so many hours too late, but yet in time -to help the desperate refugees and to bring them food and succour. Fires -were now lighted by the valley road, and the women and children grouped -about them. The most timid crept down from the rocks above; girls -dishevelled and weeping, men who had fled with gashed limbs to the -harbourage of caves, children whose parents lay dead beneath the -ashes--all came at the summons of the shrill goat's horn. Meanwhile, -none thought of burying the dead--none except Faber, who would not leave -the body of Louis de Paleologue where it was, and returned with two -lusty Albanians at his heels to do what could be done in the matter. - -It was then that he found Maryska. - -One of the Albanians carried a lantern, and the rays of it discovered -her, kneeling against the broken railings of the church porch, but with -face averted from the dead. She did not appear to have been weeping. Her -eyes were big and round; her head bare, her hair dishevelled. What she -had suffered at the soldiers' hands might not be imagined; but its -memories had been obliterated by this sudden realization of the greater -loss. All that humanity had been to her lay still and ghastly in that -fearsome gutter. Father, brother, friend--he who had gone hand in hand -with her through the wild wilderness of the world, he would lead her no -more. The night had dropped a black curtain between her and the eternal -hope of youth. Womanhood had revealed itself, its secrets thrust upon -her by the bloody hands of monsters; but the drugged soul of the child -could find no place in her mind for that. He was dead. Why, then, did -she live? - -She shrank from the light, but did not cover her eyes. Discerning Faber, -she leaped toward him as an animal unchained, and bared her breast with -frenzied fingers. "Shoot me, stranger--shoot me through the heart!" she -cried. He caught her outstretched hand, and she fell almost lifeless -into his arms. Oblivion, the greater mercy, saved her reason in the -critical hour. She was in a delirium when they made a rude palanquin and -carried her down to Antivari. She awoke therefrom upon the afternoon of -the second day after in a cabin upon Faber's yacht; and then, for the -first time, they believed that she would live. - - - - - CHAPTER V - - A STRANGE VOYAGE - - - I - -The _Wanderer_, carrying Sir Jules Achon and his party, lay in Ragusa -harbour when the fugitives came down from the hills. The two boats were -moored almost side by side in the offing, and hardly had Faber set foot -aboard when he sent a message to Gabrielle, begging her help in an -emergency. Half an hour later she met him at the head of the gangway -ladder, and he led her at once into the gorgeous saloon of the -_Savannah_, as his own boat was named. - -"Is this the emergency?" she asked laughingly, as she pointed to the -wonderful decoration of the cabin. He told her as bluntly that it was -not. - -"I've got a patient on board," he said. "Will you help me?" - -"You know that I will--very gladly. Is he here now?" - -"It's not he--it's she. That's why I sent for one of her own sex. God -help a foreign woman in this part of the world! This is a mere baby. She -calls me an 'old, old man.' So I guess she's interesting." - -He betrayed no emotion of any kind. His anxiety concerning the child, -his perception of the irony of fate directing his footsteps into such -strange paths, the baser curiosity which had sent him into the hills, -were masked successfully by that clear-cut face. Gabrielle imagined that -his act was an impulse of charity, and she was pleased that he had made -her the instrument of it. - -"Where is this precious derelict, and what has happened to her?" - -"She's in the pink saloon. Don't speak of it lightly. She's lost her -father, and has not a friend in the world. I knew she would find her way -to your heart. Shall we go and see her? The doctor's there now, I guess. -We'll have to get our orders." - -He led the way to the cabin, and they went in. It was a beautiful room, -and his servants already had smothered it in flowers. A young Austrian -doctor from Ragusa was trying to give the head stewardess his -instructions, and failing as dismally. He turned with relief to -Gabrielle, whose German was pretty if not eloquent. The cabin was to be -kept as quiet as possible; the patient must be watched zealously in case -of sudden collapse. He understood that this was a case of shock, and -could know nothing until consciousness returned. His suggestion that a -nurse should be fetched from one of the military hospitals was refused -almost ungraciously by the English girl he so plainly admired. Gabrielle -would play the part herself. She had already removed her furs, and was -busy about the cabin where artistic fingers could do so much. It was -quite needless for the doctor to repeat his instructions as he was -prepared to; she dismissed both him and her host with a wave of the hand -which said "begone" as no tongue could have uttered the word. - -It was nine o'clock at night before Faber saw her again. His dinghy had -gone across to the _Wanderer_ with a message explaining the -circumstances, but he himself remained on deck, waiting for news that -might be a new echo of this pitiful tragedy. But a few days ago he had -entered that beautiful place and discovered the little nomad whose life -now hung upon a thread. He had wished to bring happiness to her father -and herself, but had failed beyond repair. Money did not help him in the -wilds of Albania, nor could money buy one jot or tittle of content for -the child of the man he had discovered in the cavern. Had not he himself -paid for the journey to Ranovica--a whim which cost the life of a man to -whom he owed his very existence? And now the child was his legacy. He -stood at the taffrail wondering what unnameable secret she had carried -down from the hills. - -Perhaps he remembered the multitude of women who had so suffered since -God Almighty created a battlefield; but understanding had never come in -that way hitherto. Little Maryska--he would have given a good deal of -his lavish fortune to have saved her life that night. His heart bounded -when Gabrielle came out of the cabin at last to bring him better news of -the invalid. - -"She is conscious and would see you. I think you had better go down." - -"Do you approve my going?" - -She looked at him in a curious way. - -"She has asked for you, Mr. Faber." - -"Why, then, I'll go right now. Have you eaten that dinner yet?" - -"As much as I want. I must go now and get my things from the yacht." - -"But you'll come back, sure?" - -"I think I must--there's no one else." - -"That's right down fine of you. I knew you'd do it when you understood." - -She looked him full in the face and smiled. - -"There are some things no woman can misunderstand. I shall not be very -long. Please let her talk as little as possible." - -"Ah!" he said, fallen to a grave manner. "I fear this is a bad business -altogether." - -She did not ask him why, nor had she any clue to his meaning. The whole -affair was a mystery which could have but a human solution. She made -light of the romantic story concerning Louis de Paleologue, and -believed, with a feminine instinct for the obvious, that vulgar -flirtation had been the impulse of Faber's journey. All this hurt her -pride, but could not be the just subject of complaint. Tenaciously she -clung to the idea that she might yet use this master intellect for the -schemes which had lifted her father and herself from the slough of -monotony to a little place in the story of the world. This very -accident, this revelation of a man's weakness, might be a precious -opportunity, however deeply her vanity suffered. If she succeeded, her -triumph must be the greater; if she failed----But failure was a word -which Gabrielle Silvester refused to add to her vocabulary. - -So she went over to the _Wanderer_ to tell her father of the sick girl, -and to add, almost in a whisper, "I believe there's a good deal in it." -To which Silvester replied that he was sorry to hear it, "for," said he, -"there is no man alive who could do so great a work if he would come -over to us." - - - II - -Faber went straight down to Maryska's cabin and found her crouching upon -a pillow. The long, jet black hair had been taken down, and lay in a -tangled skein about her; she was very pale, and her eyes glowed as with -a fever. Evidently she had been listening for his footsteps, for she -turned instantly when he came in and fixed her eyes upon him. - -"It's Mr. Faber," she said, but without satisfaction. - -He took a chair and drew it to her bedside. - -"Well, Maryska, are you feeling better, my dear?" - -She paid not the slightest heed to the question. Sitting up in bed, she -closed her gown about her chest and breathed a little heavily. Then she -said, without warning: - -"Where is my father?" - -He bent his head, fearing to meet her gaze. - -"My dear little girl, you'll remember all about that presently." - -There was a long pause upon this. - -"Yes," she said at last, and still apparently unmoved; "I do remember. -Why did you let him die, Mr. Faber?" - -"I, Maryska? I had nothing to do with it. If he had taken my advice he -would not have left the Pasha's side. I was quite a long way off when it -happened." - -She insisted, looking at him with pathetic eyes. - -"If you had not come to Ragusa, he would not have left me. I am sorry -you came. Shall I be kept here long?" - -"Do you mean in this ship?" - -"Yes, of course. Is it your ship, then?" - -"It's my ship--at least, I've hired it. Don't you like it, my dear?" - -She looked round about her critically. - -"You are not very rich," she said at last. "We came from America in a -much larger ship than this. He was with me then." - -Her eyes filled suddenly with tears, and she saw no longer either the -cabin or the man. Faber covered the outstretched hand, and stroked it -softly. - -"My poor little girl! You must make your home with me now." - -She shook her head. - -"You are not rich; it would be different with you," she said; and then, -in just the childish tone she had used at the Cantina, she exclaimed, "I -don't believe you have much money." - -He laughed, and reassured her. - -"I've a great deal more than you or I will ever want, Maryska." - -It was evident that the wolf-child was suspicious. The gipsy instincts -were awake. - -"Will you give me some money if I want any?" - -"I'll give you as much as you ask me for." - -"Five crowns, say--would you give me five crowns?" - -"Of course I would." - -"Here and now?" and she held out her hand. - -He was nonplussed for the moment, but he took a bank-note from his -pocket, and thrust it into her tiny fist. - -"There, I guess there are fifty crowns and more there, Maryska. You -shall have another when you want it." - -The hand closed upon the bank-note like a vise. None the less, her -thoughts were not wholly of the money. - -"If my father had been here he would have been very glad of this. He -will never know now." - -"I don't believe that. He'll know that you've become my little daughter, -Maryska. He'll understand that all right. My home's yours now. I want -you to understand that right here." - -She shook her head, the long hair smoothed back from her forehead. - -"He will never know. I cannot speak to him. I have tried so hard and he -does not hear me." - -"Believe no such thing, my dear. He hears every word you say. He knows -that you will be happy with me." - -She looked up inquiringly. - -"With you, Mr. Faber? Why should I stay with you?" - -"Because I mean to make a home for you." - -"Will you make it upon this ship?" - -"Why, you couldn't live always upon a ship." - -She became practical. - -"I would sooner live in Ragusa; but not in the Cantina, because he would -not be there with us. It is very cheap, and if you had the money we -could live very well upon a crown a day and the wine. I have had no wine -since I came away; the lady would not give me any. If you have any money -left and would send for some wine----" She looked up beseechingly, with -a look which reminded him of the little wild wolf who had run to the -wine-shop the night he discovered her father. He hardly knew how to -satisfy her. - -"I'll send down anything the doctor orders for you. If he says wine----" - -"Oh!" she cried, flown into a passion in an instant. "I could kill -you--I could kill you for that!" And without another word she turned her -face to the wall and still clutching her money tenaciously, she made it -plain that she had done with him. - -"All right, Maryska," he said, rising, "you shall have the wine all -right. I don't care that for the doctors; I'll see to it myself." - -She did not answer him, and lay so still that she might have been dead. - - - III - -Gabrielle returned immediately after the interview was terminated, and -with her Harry Lassett, who by no means liked the circumstances of her -visit, and had come to verify them. She went at once to Maryska's cabin, -but Lassett remained on deck to sample the green cigars, and -incidentally to cross-question their owner. He talked upon a number of -subjects with the assurance of twenty-three years and the experience of -ten. - -"I've heard a lot of things about you from Gabrielle. Of course, you -know I'm engaged to her." - -Faber finished the operation of striking a match and then lighted his -cigar. - -"Why, is that so? My congratulations. When is it to be?" - -"Oh, I dunno; marriage is a considerable proposition. Besides, I'm going -out to Australia next winter--cricket, you know." - -"Ah! you play ball, then? Is there much to it?" - -Harry grinned. - -"Nothing. I'm an amateur, you know--that is, if you know anything about -the game at all. We can't take any money for our services, so we have to -charge expenses. And jolly well we're worth it--some of us," he added -with conviction. - -Faber nodded, as though he understood perfectly. - -"I guess you deliver the goods. There's something of that sort in my -country, only we don't call 'em amateurs. Anyway, the name doesn't hurt. -You'll be married when you come back, I suppose?" - -"Ah! there you _cherchez la femme_. Gabrielle isn't struck with -marriage--not very much. She's full of this tomfool business about peace -on earth and goodwill toward Wilhelm. It makes me sick to listen to it. -The yacht loaded up with cranks, and every one of them trying to get -something out of Sir Jules. It's almost as good a game as Throgmorton -Street, if you can find the mugs, chiefly those with handles. I tell -you, I'm just fed up with it." - -"You don't get thin on it, sure. How long does Sir Jules propose to stop -here? Has he said that?" - -"He'll stop on the off chance of another interview with the Emperor on -his return from Corfu." - -"The first one wasn't satisfactory, then?" - -"Oh, lots of pats on the back and that sort of thing--plenty of butter, -but not much bread. By the way, do you think there's anything in the -business, or is it just fancy?" - -"I think there's a great deal. Sir Jules Achon is about the deepest -thinker in this line I've yet struck. But he wants a man with him--he -wants a hustler. Europe listens when you beat the drum, but it's got to -be a mighty big drum nowadays. He's merely playing with fiddle-sticks." - -"That's because his drummer is on the sick list. I hear he's a regular -roarer--Rupert Trevelle, who hustled Balfour into the Blue Ensign Club. -He was to have been here, but he's down with neuritis or something. They -say that's why we're all drifting about the Adriatic doing nothing but -patting each other's back. It will be different when Trevelle gets -going." - -"Then set him going right quick. Does Miss Silvester take to it kindly? -Is she dead earnest?" - -"That's just what I want to know. I'll tell you what, though--she won't -be when she's married to me. No peace at any price in my house, I'm -d----d if there is." - -"Don't believe in it, eh?" - -"Does any good Britisher really believe in it? Wars made us what we are. -Would Nelson have gone to a law court? And what price would Drake -receive in a county court action for singeing the Spanish King's beard? -I tell you it's all d----d nonsense, and some of 'em must know it to be -so. When I am married to Gabrielle----But here she comes, my boy, so -mum's the word. There's time enough for arguments--eh, what?" - -Faber smiled and stood up to get another chair. Gabrielle was very -serious, and looked gracious in her perplexity. She had a strange tale -to tell of her patient, and recited it in a kind of astonished despair -which amused her host very much. - -"Do you know," she exclaimed, "the child drinks wine like an alderman. -Whatever am I to do?" - -"What?" cried Harry. "You're rotting, Gabrielle, you're not serious." - -"It's true, every word of it. She says that she is doing it by your -orders, Mr. Faber. Is it really so?" - -"How much has she taken? I sent a bottle down. It's only the light stuff -they drink hereabouts. You can hardly call it wine." - -"She has drunk the whole bottle. I was never more astonished in my -life." - -"We shall have to humour her a bit. Of course, it must be stopped. And -that reminds me--I want a home for her in England. Will you and your -father give her one?" - -"She'll do for the 'horrid' example at your temperance meetings, -Gabrielle. Better take her." - -"I think," said Gabrielle, "you had better see my father. You know that -he is undecided about this call to Yonkers." - -"He won't be undecided about it when I've had my say. Is the patient all -right now? Do you think well of her?" - -"I think she is terribly distressed, and is hiding it from all of us." - -"A brave little girl! I guessed as much. We must get her away from this -place as soon as possible. When does Sir Jules propose to sail?" - -"Not until the Emperor leaves Corfu. He said so at lunch." - -"He'll weigh before then; the Emperor doesn't mean to see him a second -time. Anyway, you won't leave her, Miss Silvester, I go pat on that." - -She averted her eyes from both of them, and looked away to the other -yacht. - -"I don't think I ought to leave her. The better way will be for you to -see my father. She's sleeping now. We might go over to the _Wanderer_ at -once, if you liked----" - -"And make it an excuse for a jolly little supper on deck," said Harry -voraciously. He had done little but eat and sleep since they left -London. - - - IV - -Gordon Silvester was as astonished as Gabrielle by the proposition which -Faber made to him, but he listened sympathetically none the less. - -"This would mean a definite refusal to Yonkers," he said, and Faber -agreed that it was so. - -"I'll tell you what, Mr. Silvester. This affair has cut pretty deep down -into some of my old-fashioned notions, and is costing me more than I -care to tell any man. I came across to Europe to pay a debt I owed to -one who was my mother's friend. I meant to reward him pretty liberally. -And what have I succeeded in doing after all? You know the story. -Paleologue lies dead up at Ranovica--the child's on my yacht to judge me -for what I've done. Henceforth, she is going to stand to me as my own -daughter. I shall spare no expense to educate and train her. She'll have -the best that money can buy; all that gives a woman a chance in the -world. If you will, you and your daughter shall be my agents in this. -Live where you please, take the best house the agents can find for you, -spend all the money you can spend on making her what I would wish her to -be. You say the pastorate has tired you out, and that you would like to -devote yourself to literature. Here's the chance of your life time! -Don't tell me that you will let it go begging." - -Silvester knocked out the ashes of his pipe with some deliberation. He -was very much excited by the offer, but at some pains to conceal his -surprise at it. Many schemes ran through his head--alas! none of them -had to do with Maryska de Paleologue. - -"Of course," he said, "I could devote myself entirely then to the I.A.L. -It would be a great opportunity. I can imagine no finer." - -"There is one finer, Mr. Silvester." - -"Of what are you thinking?" - -"Of a woman's soul--just the heart and the soul of a little waif from -the hills. She's a finer opportunity, for she's flesh and blood. Your -geese are all swans, Mr. Silvester. You'll know as much when they fly." - -"I fear you are as hostile to us as ever. Yet it seems to me--I say it -with all reserve--that these days should have done something for us." - -Faber thrust his hand deep into his pocket, and bit into his cigar. - -"They've taught me nothing, except to say 'kismet.' Who knows truly how -a man's destiny works? I shall make Maryska de Paleologue one of the -richest women in Europe--well, there I come in. Money's stronger than -most things, and it's going to be stronger than a man's death on this -occasion. Wait until the story is written, then we'll draw the moral." - -"Do you wish me to go to England at once?" - -"To-morrow, in my yacht, if you can. I go to Berlin to sign up a -contract for rifles, but I expect to be in London in a fortnight's time. -You should have your house then. There'll be no difficulty when you show -them the money. I leave all that to you and to Miss Gabrielle. She's got -to be the good angel in this affair. I'm counting on her right through." - -"You may well do that. She is a wonderful organizer; no talk, no fuss. I -am sure they would have liked her in America if we had gone to Yonkers. -As it is, I really don't know what to say to those people." - -"Oh, tell them to go to hell!" said Faber, while he struck a match -sharply and relighted his cigar. - - - V - -The _Savannah_ weighed at dawn, and all that day they steamed by the -glorious isles of the matchless Adriatic. Their destination was Venice, -whence Faber would go via Munich to Berlin. The others were to travel -direct by the Simplon to London--all but Harry Lassett, who meant to put -in a few days at Montana before he returned. - -They carried a young doctor from Ragusa, but he soon discovered that he -had little to do save to take a fee, a performance which he accomplished -with truly professional grace. Maryska had a heart of iron, it appeared, -and a constitution to match it. Whatever the unnameable night had taught -her of life or of men, she held the damnable secret with the tenacity of -a race born to such acts and schooled in the creeds of ferocity. Very -silent, suspicious of all, agitated and given to fits of trembling when -alone, those with her could not read that riddle of a child's dreams -aright. To Gabrielle she remained an enigma, seemingly wanting in -gratitude and anxious to escape every occasion for it. Gordon Silvester -she treated as though he did not exist; Harry Lassett was a problem in -manhood to awake distrust and find her eyes furtive. John Faber she -trusted wholly. - -They had allowed her to come on deck during the heat of the day, and she -lay there in a hammock swung between hatches. An untamed restlessness -found her starting at every sound. She would sit up and watch the -passers-by as though afraid of them; or stare at the crew with deeply -black eyes, as though seeking a friend among them. Her requests that -Faber should be sent to her were unceasing. In his turn, he liked to -hear her talk. He would watch those eloquent eyes, and forget that she -had called him "an old, old man" in the early days of their -acquaintance. - -"Will you come and sit beside me, Mr. Faber, just a little while? I do -not want the others to come. I will not have them near me." - -"But, Maryska, my dear, they just want to be kind to you, that's all. -Don't you like Miss Gabrielle, now?" - -She thought about it. Then she said: "Is she your wife, Mr. Faber?" - -"My!--what an idea! I haven't got a wife. She's engaged to the young man -over there." - -"Not the one with the wolf's whiskers and the teeth." - -"Of course not; he's her father. The other one who's playing with the -quoits." - -She watched Harry Lassett a little while; her face became grave. - -"_He_ used to play that when last he came from America. He played with -me, and then I won money for him from the others. We can't do that here; -is that right, Mr. Faber?" - -He laughed and took her hand. - -"Let me tell you about this money, Maryska. Do you know I'm very rich, -my dear? They call me one of the richest men in the world. You mustn't -think about money any more. I've got more than you and I will ever spend -if we live to be as old as Methuselah. So just change the subject, -little lady, and find another." - -She made nothing of it, the years of the human chase pursued her. Was -she not alone now? _He_ could never help her again, and he had been so -great a part of her life. - -"What is the good of telling me this? It is not my money, Mr. Faber. I -must go and get some for myself when the ship stops. You had no right to -take me away from Ragusa--my home was there. Why have you done it?" - -He tried to tell her, but it was very difficult. In some moods she was -little better than a waif of the streets, who had learned to beg like a -mendicant at a church door; in others her birthright gave her a -wonderful dignity before which the plebeian in John Faber was dumb. - -"I want you to have a new home, Maryska, one that you'll be glad to call -your own. That's why I'm taking you to England. Miss Gabrielle there is -going to live with you and so's her father. But it will be your own -house and everything that's in it yours. You'll like it, sure, when you -see it, my dear. I don't think you'll want to go back to Ragusa again." - -She listened pensively. - -"Will that boy be there?" - -"The one who's playing games?" - -"Yes, the boy who laughs." - -"Oh, I dare say he'll come sometimes. Do you like him, then?" - -"I don't know; he is very young, is he not?" - -"I haven't asked his age, but I dare say he'll tell you." - -"I should not ask him. Men do not like to tell their age. He never -would. Why are you paying for this house you speak of? You have no right -to pay for anything for me. You know that very well." - -The question gave him his opportunity, and he told her as much of the -story as she could comprehend. Her father had been the best friend he -had ever known. He had taken his mother to America at the crisis of her -fortunes. It was an obligation he could never forget. He had meant to do -so much in return, but fate was against them both. They must act -together henceforth and make the best of their lives they could. She -must help him to honour his mother's name. In her turn Maryska replied -but vaguely. He had thought that she was not listening, but when he had -finished, and following a little interval of silence, she threw herself -back upon her cushions and cried wildly, "Jesus Christ! I never had a -mother to honour." And that surely was as lamentable a confession as any -he had heard from her lips. - - - VI - -They were off Venice upon the following night, and so favoured by -fortune that the waxing moon gave them a vista of the hundred isles, -beautiful beyond compare. - -A still sea hardly stirred a ripple upon the sandy shores of the Lido. -Venice herself stood up in a haze of soft light, her spires and domes -rising above the vast lagoon of untroubled waters, dim, mysterious, -entrancing. Seen from afar, she might have been a great house of dreams; -her windows so many stars above a silent lake; her palaces but the dark -clouds of a vision. As phantoms about them, ships drifted upon a -reluctant tide; sails took shape and glided away, spectres of an -instant, into the deeper shadows. There were musical voices crying out -of the darkness; notes of song most pleasing; the dwelling -reverberations of ancient bells to tell of hours which should have been -unnumbered. As they drew nearer still and the Dogana took shape with the -vast dome of the Maria della Salute beyond it, then it was as though the -centuries spoke with one voice, and all the lustre and the achievement -of a thousand years were revealed in a splendid instant. So is it ever -for those who approach Venice from the sea and obliterate the black -modernity which wrestles with her story. Such is the vision of her which -Turner beheld. - -Faber watched the spectacle from the boat deck, and was far from -displeased to find Gabrielle at his side. There had been few -opportunities for confidential talk since they sailed from Ragusa, and -she herself had said no word to lead him to believe that the course of -her life was about to be changed. Very stately in mien this night, her -height accentuated by the place where she stood, her hair a little wild -beneath her wrap, eyes very bright and searching, her manner restful, he -wondered whence came the "aristocrat" in her lineage, and how a mere -manse had sent forth such a missioner. Let the assembly be what it -might, Gabrielle Silvester would take a proud place. Intellectually she -was far above him in education and artistic perception, but he suffered -a sense of inferiority with patience, and admired her the more because -she could awaken it. Bertie Morris had said that she was "cold and -Saxon." Faber doubted the truth of that. - -They discussed many things in an ordinary way. She spoke of the story of -Venice and found him skilfully parrying his own ignorance. He knew -little of the history of the place--had heard of St. Mark's and of the -"Three." The lion's mouth struck him as a fine idea. There ought to be -one in every city for cranks and faddists, he said, and a special box -for politicians and newspaper men. When she asked him if the vision of -the city suggested nothing more, he thrust his hands into his pockets -and said that it reminded him of New York Bay. - -"Which is to say that all this talk of fine buildings is so much flute -blowing. I guess our people wouldn't give New York second best if they -spoke the whole truth. You'll never admit as much yourself just because -you're full of Eastern prejudices. That's to be expected. A thing which -has stood a thousand years has got the moss of the world's approval -pretty thick upon it. I take off my hat to Venice, but I'm thinking of -New York all the time." - -"Of the temples of a mighty industry? Isn't that in the advertisement -line? I don't think you can be quite serious, though. It must mean more -to you than that." - -"Why should it mean more to me. I guess it's brick and marble anyway, -and not so very much better because it's old. What we are seeing -to-night comes out of heaven--light and atmosphere and the sea for a -setting. I could show you a night in New York Bay which is up to -anything hereabouts. Why should I spread myself when conviction isn't -there? Yonder's a beautiful city--is it worse because there are others?" - -Convention bade her smile, but she would yet try to teach him. - -"You have no true inspiration," she said; "there will never be another -great building in the world until we find the key to the old. If a man's -faith could move mountains, he might build such a city as that. But the -faith must be there, I am sure of that." - -"Meanwhile the world gets along very well on stucco fronts. No one -believes very much in anything but money. You yourself are but half -convinced, and you want to make a convert of me. Now, isn't that the -truth, Miss Gabrielle?" - -She was very angry with him. - -"You rich men have no ideals. You discredit the ideals of others. If I -had your money, I would build such a temple to peace as would compel the -world to come in. Oh! think what one might do, the name one might leave, -the homes one might save. It is money that hides all this from you, -money that hides even the purpose of life itself. You grub in the -valleys when imagination should lead you to the hill-top. Your eyes look -downwards--how shall anyone teach you to see?" - -He smoked on patiently. Presently, he said: - -"There's something in the Bible about the blind leading the blind. I'll -tell you what. You are trying to convince yourself about this peace -nonsense, and in the end you may succeed. When you do, I'll build your -temple for you; it's a promise between us, and shall be kept. The -heretic building the church for the faithful; I like the idea of that, -don't you?" - -"You will never build it," she said. "I have come to know that now. You -have not the imagination to build; nothing teaches you in spirit." - -And then she exclaimed with very real conviction: - -"You are a man without pity for humanity--all your story is told in -that." - -He accepted the savage assault with a smile that was unchanging. Candour -in women pleased him; as his wife, this woman would carry him far upon -an unfamiliar road his ambition had often sought. In the vulgar phrase, -she would bring culture. - -"I may be without pity for humanity," he said, "but humanity's had a -good many dollars out of my pocket. Do you know how much humanity I -employ at Charleston, I wonder? Well, all told, I dare say there are -some nine thousand hands, all eating and drinking at the expense of the -man whom nothing touches in spirit. When I'm dead, maybe I'll write as -good an epitaph as your friends who blow other people's trumpets and -give their money for the archangels who don't exist. Anyway, I'll let -the record stand, and as to this temple of yours, I'll build it all -right, and you shall have it as a wedding present. Can I say fairer than -that?" - -She looked up quickly, her face flushed. - -"Why do you speak of a wedding present?" - -"Because I must make haste to do what I ought to have done long ago, and -congratulate you--of course, I did not know." - -She laughed rather hardly. Very wonderful castles were falling all about -her, and a woman's chagrin did not help her. - -"We were both very ignorant," she said helplessly. - -He watched her closely. "A very old friend, Mr. Lassett, isn't he?" - -"I have known him all my life." - -"Ah, that is the sure way of knowing him better. Did I hear he was a -cricketer? I thought he said something of the kind." - -"He is one of the greatest cricketers England has had. Anything else?" - -"Why, no; well, I congratulate you. You'll be married, I suppose, before -we meet again." - -She was surprised at this. - -"Are you not coming to see Maryska?" - -"When she asks for me, yes; but I know the sex. She'll have forgotten my -name in a month's time; it is the privilege of women." - -"And in that case----" - -"Oh," he said, "I shall be in America building my temple. It's steel -mostly, and butters a good deal of humanity's bread." - -She was very much perplexed. - -"Maryska will never like that. I am sure she will be very unhappy -without you." - -"I don't agree," he said, and bade her listen. - -The sound of young voices came up to them from the cabin. Harry Lassett -was talking to Maryska, and when she answered him, there was a little -ripple of girlish laughter, which seemed to say that she had found a -friend. - -"I don't agree," Faber repeated, and then with some sternness, he added: -"Mr. Lassett is teaching her cricket, I suppose. Well, that's a game I'd -rather she didn't learn!" - - - - - CHAPTER VI - - GOODWILL TOWARD MEN - - - I - -Faber arrived in Berlin three days after the yacht had put into Venice. -The cordiality of his reception in the German capital surprised him. -Known both as the inventor and the manufacturer of the famous "Faber" -magazine rifle, the greatest instrument of war the twentieth century had -yet seen, he found himself a celebrity most welcome to the Germans. -Rarely had there been so much "hoching" for a comparatively private -individual. Remarkable personages in remarkable uniforms overwhelmed him -by their hospitality; he was made familiar with superb "vons" in -accoutrement more superb. The gay city--by far the gayest in Europe at -the present time--delighted him by its capacity for enjoyment and its -freedom from social cant. The women flirted with him outrageously. He -had never been made so much of since fortune first smiled upon him. - -Bertie Morris came from Paris on the fourth day, and brought him all the -news in exchange for his own. Bertie was not surprised that Faber's -first question should be about little Claudine d'Arny, and what had -happened to her since the tragedy of her father's death. He had come to -Berlin prepared to give a good account of his stewardship in that -affair, and he was very proud of what he had done. They were at dinner -when the narration took place, and the restaurant of the Metropole Hotel -glowed with light and colour, and the glitter of fine uniforms. There -were officers everywhere; women whose gowns neither Paris nor Vienna -might shame. They moved in an atmosphere of soft tints; the warmth of -crimson carpets and the spotless white of polished walls setting off -their "creations" to perfection. The air was heavy with the scent of -crimson roses, which were on every table, despite the season. - -Faber had a table in the corner of the room, and he allowed -_hors-d'oeuvre_ and soup to be served before he interrupted the -journalist in his occupation of criticising the company with that -running and often ironical commentary in which writing people delight. -When the prettiest women had been "sized-up," famous people reduced to -pulp, and the European situation dismissed in twenty words, Bertie was -ready to speak of Claudine. He was too good an actor to bring her on the -scene before. - -"She arrived at Cannes yesterday," he said at last. "I chose the Riviera -Palace because it's the kind of hotel where she'll meet the most people, -and forget the quickest. Of course, Issy-Ferrault is going. It was -difficult enough to do your business, but I did it bluntly in a business -way. 'Marry Claudine d'Arny,' I said, 'and she'll have a guaranteed -income of one hundred and twenty-five thousand francs a year.' His own -douceur was to be another hundred and twenty-five thousand paid on the -day the contract was signed. I put it to him as plainly as if I had a -picture to sell. In the end, he bought her with no more scruple than if -she had been a horse." - -"Blustering first; I suppose, and talking of his ancestry." - -"I don't think--there was about an hour and a half of it. Issy-Ferrault -came out of the history box like pepper out of a pot. You'd have thought -they made France and that Charlemagne was a bagman. When he was through -with his talking, I just put the cinch on him with the remark that he -wasn't writing history books but contracts. He pumped me like a -tax-gatherer to learn the why and wherefore of it all; but the most I -could tell him was that an old friend of Claudine's was determined to -see her through and that good hard dollars expressed the measure of his -determination. There I left it, and that's what he signed upon. He'll go -to Cannes and marry her directly public opinion will let him do it. They -are to live in London, I understand. He's a good sportsman and is out -after the English shooting and fishing, so I told him to get a house in -the shires, and he promised to do so. Claudine's money will tie him up -all right--and as for that, I should think a girl with those eyes could -hold most men. You may take it, Faber, that the matter is settled--as, -of course, it was bound to be--after your generosity." - -Faber brushed the suggestion aside as one which hardly concerned him. He -was pleased by the news and his pride stirred at the suggestion of -power, the reality of which he began to understand. Who but a man of -vast fortune could have repaired such a tragedy as that? He looked -Destiny full in the face and laughed at its omens. - -"I've bought most things," he said, "but this is my first deal in -husbands. Well, I'm glad the little girl is on the road again. Isn't -this Issy-Ferrault rather a hustler in his way? I heard him well spoken -of when I was in Paris; they say he's an aeroplane on the road or in the -air. Do you know of it?" - -"Oh, there's some talk. He was with Blériot a month or two back. The -French army does not sleep much nowadays--a pretty wide-awake lot -without any whiskers on their ideas. Issy-Ferrault is one of the -aviation detachment. I suppose he'll be flying on his own account now if -he can keep out of the arms of that black-eyed little girl. But he -won't, if I'm any judge of women. She'll stick like the best glue; she's -just the sort." - -"Then you haven't altered your opinion of her since we left Paris?" - -"Guess not; nor of your flaxen-haired Venus either. You don't tell me, -by the way, what's become of her." - -"She's gone to London to get married." - -Bertie opened his eyes very wide. - -"To get married! Who's the man?" - -"He's a boy--knocks balls about and considers himself famous. Just one -of these British boys, nice voice and manners, and legs like the Moses -in the pictures. I don't think you would have named him for her choice -in twenty guesses, but there it is. They've been billing and cooing on -the Adriatic for a week, and now they've gone to do it in London. -They're a difficult proposition, Bertie." - -Bertie, watching him shrewdly, guessed the same. - -"Is she in love with him--real?" - -"Ask me something else. She's a woman, and being a woman, many sided. -One side likes being kissed on the lips by twenty-two, who must be -big-limbed and masculine. The other sides are turned toward various -objects--ambition, money, and a woman's common vanities. She's at an age -when they turn like a wind vane, and as often. If he catches her in a -calm, he'll marry her." - -"But if he doesn't--well, that's in the air. You were speaking of Rupert -Trevelle a while back. He's over there in the corner yonder. Shall I -introduce him?" - -Faber looked up and saw a man of about his own age, faultlessly dressed, -and accompanied by two pretty women in the smartest gowns. Trevelle, by -his looks, should either have been a major of a smart cavalry regiment, -or in "the diplomatic." He had jet black hair and a fierce moustache, -large manners and a habit of authority. His party, like their own, had -just finished dinner, and presently they all found themselves in the -lounge where mutual introductions were made. - -"My friend, Mr. John Faber, of Charleston, the Baroness von Hartmann, -Lady Florentine. This is Mr. Rupert Trevelle, of whom Sir Jules Achon -has spoken. So now we all know each other and may get down to business." - -Bertie placed chairs for the party, and with one of his characteristic -"Shall we's," he ordered coffee and liqueurs. Faber found himself -between Trevelle and the baroness--a woman with a milk-white skin she -was at no pains to conceal, and a method of crushing her handkerchief in -a fat hand which was quite deadly with young men. She spoke little -English, but that was sufficient to convey to the somewhat reserved -American an intimation of possible weakness under pleasant conditions -and of her own indifference to the absurdities of some modern -conventions. Trevelle, on the other hand, had great news, and he -bestowed it as gracious manna upon a field of fertile flirtation. - -"They are talking of you at the Embassy to-night," he said. - -Faber merely retorted, "Why, is that so?" and edged a little farther -from the baroness. - -"Indeed, it was very much so. You know that you are to have the White -Cross of Prussia?" - -"That's fine news. Has Sir Jules got anything?" - -"Nothing whatever. They don't give white crosses for ideas, more's the -pity. Jules Achon is a great man--the world will find it out some day." - -"The sooner the better for its credit. What you have to do, Mr. -Trevelle, is to educate the people; but I'm telling you nothing new. You -know that as well as I do." - -"Most certainly I do; I have told Sir Jules so some ten thousand times. -He has a great idea, but he must have public opinion behind it. The -people make war to-day, not the princes." - -"But princes have a say in it, sure." - -"They do when the people are willing that they should. At present the -popular mind is pretty well where it was fifty years ago. Look at the -reputation you bear in Berlin. Why? Because you have made an instrument -which allows the German to kill his enemies as he has never been killing -them before." - -"You are saying, vat?" asked the baroness, impatient of neglect. "You -are telling Mister Faber to kill ze enemies?" - -"Of his own sex, madame," retorted Trevelle immediately. - -"Then he is not like ze Spanish king, who do not kill his enemy because -he have killed him already. I should be afraid of this friend of yours; -he have nothing but killing in his mind--he live to kill, is it not so?" - -"Oh!" said Trevelle, "you must ask the ladies about that." - -The baroness shook her head. - -"We was all to go to the Alcazar to see the Russian dancers. Why do we -stay? I am all hot. I would get far from here--all hot, and yet they say -dat in England is joost one good big cold, so cold dat ze nose is freeze -off the face. Shall we go to dance, Mr. Trevelle?" - -Trevelle said, "Certainly." He had heard of the terrible winter they -were having in England, and was glad not to be in London. - -"The Thames will be frozen right over," he told them, "the first time -since the beginning of the nineteenth century. I suppose there is -something in this story of the weakening of the Gulf Stream after two -years of drought over yonder. Anyway, it's extraordinary. I wonder what -would happen if the Channel froze----?" - -"Ah!" said Faber, "a good many people would wonder then, and some of -them would be in Berlin. I don't think Sir Jules's stock would stand -very high if that happened, Mr. Trevelle." - -"But you think it quite impossible?" - -"Which is to say that I dictate to Nature. Well, I don't think I should -do that at my time of life." - -They all laughed, and went off to the Alcazar, where a Russian woman -danced divinely, and was followed by a red-nosed man, who broke plates -to the great delight of an immense audience. Faber was not displeased to -find himself with these two pretty women in a box, where all the world -could see him; and it occurred to him before he had been there very long -that the house had recognised him, and that he was being pointed out to -other pretty women in the seats below. Certainly, this visit to Berlin -was becoming a famous thing in its way. It compelled him to understand -the meaning of that fame he had won for himself and the homage paid both -to him and to his house. A glamour of life, unknown hitherto, but very -dazzling, could influence even so balanced a judgment and so cynical a -student of humanity. Hardly one of the women, rustling in silks and -velvets, bedizened in jewels--hardly one of them to whom he might not -have thrown the handkerchief, if he would. The knowledge flattered his -pride, and set him thinking of Gabrielle Silvester. Well dressed and -wonderful as these women were, Gabrielle would have held her own among -them all. He thought of her as destined to rule amid a glitter of jewels -and an incense of roses. There was no house in all Europe she could not -grace, he said. - -A vain thought. She was engaged to a fool of a boy, who could play -cricket; and that very night upon his return to the hotel, he found a -letter from her in which she confessed to the folly without excuse. -Harry wished for an early day. He had altered his plans, and thought now -that he would not go to Australia. - - - II - -Faber read the letter in a deep chair by the fireside--in his private -room at the Metropole. Bertie Morris, meanwhile, had the English -newspaper and a very large whisky and soda. Both men had caught the -Berlin habit, and lived rather by night than by day. The hotel itself -was then, at a quarter to one in the morning, beginning to amuse itself -seriously. - -Gabrielle wrote a pretty hand, round as her own limbs, precise as her -own habits, with here and there a fine flourish to denote a certain want -of stability. It was to be expected that she would make early mention of -her charge; but she dwelt so insistently upon what Maryska de Paleologue -had done that she must have presupposed an interest beyond the common. -And then there was the postscript--a word of real alarm or of deep -design. Faber readily granted the former, and would have nothing to do -with the latter. Gabrielle was transparently honest in all that she said -and wrote. - - "We arrived in London after a bitter journey," the letter ran, - "the frost has returned, and the cold is dreadful. I am afraid - Maryska feels it very much after Ragusa, and is not grateful to - us for bringing her to such an inhospitable country. The streets - of London shone like rivers of ice as we drove through, and even - my father now admits that there is something in a taxi. What - Maryska does not understand is your threatened journey to - America, and your unkindness in leaving us all with so brief a - farewell. She is very strange here, and she is entirely without - friends--though Harry has done his best to cheer her up, and has - really developed surprising powers as a private entertainer. - Perhaps the cold and the fog have affected her spirits unduly--I - would not make too much of it, but she is undoubtedly changed - since we left Venice, and the change is not for the better! This - much you ought to know. - - "Of course, it is much too early yet to speak of the house. We - are all at Hampstead in the old home, and it seems difficult to - believe that so much has happened in so short a time. I refuse - to allow that Christmas Day falls next week, and that in twelve - days we shall be ringing the old year out. If anything could - convince me it is this bitter cold, this biting cruel weather, - which is like nothing England has seen before, and I hope will - be like nothing that is to come after. Here at Hampstead, they - say the ice is inches thick upon the ponds--I can hear the whir - of the skates from my windows, and everyone who passes is - dressed like a grizzly bear. Maryska has seen a severe winter in - America, and suffered terribly there because of the cold. So you - will understand how anxious we are about her, and how very - watchful it is necessary to be. - - "My father says she is the strangest compound of oddities he has - ever encountered. It is a description which does less than - justice to an original character. Of religion she has none. Her - god is an oath--nothing more: and yet to say that she is without - a deep capacity of feeling would be untrue. Some of her ideas - are fantastic--I suppose the orthodox would call them barbarous. - She has a locket about her throat with a miniature of the - Crucifixion after Francesco. I know that she has painted out the - face of Christ, and made a crude likeness of her father in its - place. Her trunk is full of his drawings--there are hardly any - clothes, poor child, and we shall have to fit her out directly - she is well enough. By that time we should know where we are to - live, if I can persuade my father to see the house agents. He - has a morbid idea that he will commit some great mistake, and I - should not be surprised if he took a good many houses before the - New Year. - - "The only other news is that Harry does not now think that he - will go to Australia. He appears to be capricious in his new - ideas, and is ready to insist upon a crisis in our affairs. This - is so wholly unexpected, that I do not know what to say about - it. The foundations of the Temple are not laid, and it would be - terrible if the building fell. I suppose it is all very serious, - and I should consider it in that light, but I remain an enigma - to myself, and am content to let the future speak for itself. - - "Oh, how cold it is--how cruelly cold! I can write no more, even - by a warm fireside. Perhaps Maryska will write herself - soon--horrible thought, I have yet to learn if the child can - write at all. When she reads, she terrifies me with the - possibilities. Her acquaintance with the most dreadful words is - a daily fright to me! She speaks Italian and French quite - fluently, and another language which my father does not - recognise, but thinks may be Roumanian. He brought a professor - of Oriental languages from one of the Universities here - yesterday, but the poor man was utterly at sea. I am sure he did - not understand a single word of what she said--none knew that - better than clever Maryska! - - "She is asking for you every day, and I must tell her that you - are going to America. It is a heavy burden upon my poor - shoulders. Yesterday she said, 'Even _his_ friend has gone - away.' So, you see, she knows that you were his friend, and I am - sure that will not be unwelcome to you. - - "Believe me, with all our kindest regards, - - "Dear Mr. Faber, yours sincerely, - "GABRIELLE SILVESTER." - - "P.S.--The news is not so well to-night. We have had another day - of the damp cold, and I am seriously alarmed for her. Have we - done right to bring such a hot-house plant to England at all? - She is asking for you again even as I write, for she knows that - it is written. 'Tell him,' she says, 'that _he_ would have - wished it. Then he will come to me.' I am doing my duty even if - it be done without hope." - - - III - -Bertie Morris drained his glass and then folded the paper he had been -reading with great nicety. The journalistic habit inspired a restless -curiosity which would probe even the intimate affairs of his friends. He -knew that the letter was of great importance, and was almost indignant -that his great friend did not speak of its contents. - -"Well," he said, with a pretence of a yawn, "I suppose it's time for me -to be trotting. See you to-morrow, anyhow." - -Faber thrust the letter into his breast coat pocket and lighted a new -cigar. - -"If I am here, why, yes; maybe I'll not be here." - -"You'll not be here! But haven't you an appointment with General -Heinstein, to say nothing of the Count?" - -"An excellent pair; they can amuse my man of business. I guess I'm going -to England." - -Bertie whistled. - -"You don't toe the mark for any ceremony, Faber. What about this White -Cross?" - -"Let them hang it round the neck of the little girl at the Alcazar. I've -seen the Emperor, the one big man in this country, perhaps the one big -man in Europe, unless you care to name Kitchener. The others are no good -to me." - -"Then you'll be going sure?" - -"Not sure at all. See me in the morning, and I'll write the bulletin. -Just at the moment I'm thinking about it." - -"Well, I hope you won't go, anyway. If you do, so long." - -He put on his hat slowly as though still hoping to hear the reason why. -That the "flaxen-haired Venus" had something to do with it Bertie Morris -was convinced; and being a mere man, conviction amused him. Had Faber -said a word to invite his confidence, he would have spoken freely -enough. What was this multi-millionaire, who might marry where he -pleased in any famous family in Europe, what was he doing in the -company of a mere parson's daughter? Here, in Berlin, Bertie could -have named half a dozen high and mighty personages, beautiful women -with wonderful swan-like necks and the blood of bountiful barons in -their delicate veins, who would have packed their traps like one -o'clock had John Faber but dropped a handkerchief in their path. And -here he was, restless and uneasy and stark indifferent to his social -opportunities in the German capital, just because a tall girl with -flaxen hair had preached sermons upon peace to him, and rubbed in the -moral with some meaning glances from far from inexpressive eyes. -Bertie could not make head or tail of such primitive passions, and he -gave up the business as incomprehensible. - -He had left Faber upon a note of interrogation, and to the man chiefly -concerned it was a perplexing note enough. Should he go to England -because this little waif of the world had called him, or should he leave -her to forget, as forget she must before many weeks had run? If he went, -he would recreate for himself all those difficulties he experienced when -in the presence of Gabrielle and of her sometimes inexplicable charm. -That she was drifting, drifting into the marriage with Harry Lassett, he -would not deny. The tragedy of her life might be the consummation of -that marriage based upon the passion of an hour and doomed to perish as -swiftly. Dimly he perceived the truth about himself and about her. Both -had been tempted by a physical instinct--both were born to a destiny -more spiritual. He himself had stood for an instant toward Maryska de -Paleologue as Gabrielle towards this very human boy. And the child had -called him "an old, old man," awakening realities with her words and -opening his eyes as no other had dared to do. - -Long he debated it, perplexed beyond experience. Should he go to -England, and if he did, what then? Day did not help him, nor the early -hours of a busy morning. It was not until he had lunched that they -handed him a cable from Gabrielle, and he knew that the argument was -ended. - -"She is very much worse. I think you had better come." - -So the cable ran. He caught the night mail, and was at Ostend upon the -following morning. - - - - - BOOK III - - AFTERMATH - - - - - CHAPTER I - - THE MEMORABLE WINTER - - - I - -The leap into the dark is made willy-nilly by every passenger who steps -upon a mail boat at night and asks no preliminary question concerning -the weather. - -What a spectacle it is of ease buffeted by necessity at the harbour -station; of luxury driven out howling to the rigour of a raw and -relentless atmosphere; of gregarious humanity sent as sheep to the -slaughter or the satiety of the elements. Here comes the train blazing -with lights. The passengers wake from their unsettled slumbers to -de-wrap and thrust anxious faces from the carriage windows. They call -for porters in many tongues, and porters often enough are not vouchsafed -to them. There is a dreadful confusion upon the platform--the strong -pressing upon the weak, the helpless giving place to the cunning, the -rich wondering that they cannot bribe the sea. So we go to the ship -lying as a phantom at the wharf. She must laugh at all this humanity so -suddenly uncoddled. It is little to her whether the night be fine or -windy. She has no rugs to cast aside, and the porters can do nothing for -her. - -Faber was an expert traveller, and his man, Frank, a paragon. He found a -cabin reserved for him upon the steamer _City of Berlin_, and was -surprised when making his way below to rub shoulders with Rupert -Trevelle, the last person he believed to be on the train from the -capital. Trevelle, old hand that he was, admitted that he had been -caught napping this time, and was without a berth. It was the most -obvious thing to offer him one. - -"Come right along with me--I always book a second bunk, and you're -welcome to it. You didn't say last night you were going across?" - -"I hadn't heard from Sir Jules then. It's his business which is taking -me. He's thinking of going to St. Petersburg." - -"A wonderful man, sir!--this appears to be our den. Come right in, and -when the ship starts we'll get some cigars and some claret if they've -any aboard. Ever try claret against sea-sickness? It's the finest thing -in the world! I'll give you a dose just now." - -Trevelle laughed, and began to dispose his things about the cabin. It -was the best on the ship, and the beds looked inviting enough. He, -however, had the Berlin habit, and would gladly make a dawn of it. It -was a wonderful piece of good luck that he should have happened upon -this amazing man, who went through the world on the magic carpet of -luxury. Trevelle determined that John Faber was the man for him. - -"I don't know about claret, but a little rye whisky would suit me very -well. You're going through to London, of course?" - -"As the crow does not fly this odd weather. Sit down and take your boots -off. I'm Western enough to know the road to comfort, and boots don't -carry you far along it. We'll make ourselves snug while Frank is putting -the fear of God into the steward. Go right slick, my boy, and let us -hear the sound of corks. We shall want all the warmth we can get before -we make Dover harbour." - -Trevelle assented to that. He had already lighted a cigar and was deep -down in an unprotesting bed. Soon glasses rattled in the cabin, and the -well-desired music of corks was to be heard. The steamer moved slowly -from her moorings: they had sailed. - -"So Sir Jules is going to St. Petersburg? Does it strike you as not a -little extraordinary that this great man, who has the sanest ideas about -the peace question of anyone alive, should be wandering about Europe in -this way, knocking at every door like a weary evangelist? To me, it's a -sad sight, sir. I wish I could do something to make it better." - -"I, not less," said Trevelle. "Do you think, though, that the world is -very much in love with sane ideas just now? I don't. You hit the -multitude either with fact or fiction. The _via media_ leads nowhere. -Sir Jules says to these people, 'I can give you peace, but my scheme may -take twenty years to mature.' So they think in a twenty years' measure!" - -"Meanwhile the other man, who says 'Here is the millennium, take -it!'--he is on the first floor. None the less, I would go on if I were -Sir Jules. He's got a real good thing. When he's advertised it long -enough, the public will know it's real good, and he'll get a hearing. I -said and I repeat: 'Educate the people--the others wouldn't let you -educate 'em, if you could.'" - -Trevelle laughed at that. - -"I wish you'd come in yourself," he said, falling suddenly to great -earnestness. "By gad! that would be a coup for Sir Jules! Have you ever -thought about it, Mr. Faber? You are one of the few who could really -help him. Why not come and form an international committee? You could -work the American end yourself--no one better! I'm sure it must be some -interest to America to see a final settlement in Europe, even if she has -to make sacrifices to obtain it. Now, won't you think of it?" - -Faber seemed very much amused. He had expected this request from one or -the other, but he recognised now that Sir Jules had been too shrewd to -make it. Why, the very essence of his scheme was an assault upon -American enterprise. It required this undaunted hustler to put the thing -in plain terms--he liked Trevelle none the less for his effrontery. - -"I'll think of it all right," he said, still smiling; "perhaps I can see -myself upon an American platform telling my fellow countrymen that the -only way to keep Europeans from cutting each other's throats is to tax -our goods another twenty per cent. That's the pith of Sir Jules's -proposal. Free trade in Europe as a federated state--no more internecine -rivalry. All brothers, except when the United States are on hand. You -save your war bills because you fight for commercial reasons nowadays, -and there won't be any commercial rivalries there. Well, I don't think -it would do on my side, great as it is here. Make a federated state of -Europe, if you like, but my countrymen would sooner federate Christ and -His disciples. That's an honest truth, sir. I do believe my country is -averse to war, because Almighty God has taught her to be so. I am -thankful that it should be so, and yet I don't put human nature on too -high a pedestal, and I believe America would fight to-morrow if a slap -in her face rang loud enough. That's why I go on making guns for a -living. I don't want to see men shot any more than any other man; but I -do hold that the fighting instinct is deep down in the heart of every -man, and that you will require some centuries yet to root it out. My -gospel's there in so many words--I'm too old to alter it, and some of -you will say I make too much money out of it." - -Trevelle expected nothing less, but he still persisted. - -"What then of the others--of Carnegie and the arbitration movement, and -all that? Do you turn your back on them also?" - -"I never turn my back on brains wherever I find them. These earnest men, -some of them men of genius, are educating the people of the whole world. -I wish them God-speed! They are as truly defending their country as the -man who holds a rifle. Their enemy is the brute beast, born in us from -the beginning. They have to cast out devils--there's one in every man's -story, but the best of us keep him under. It's just because there are -others that men like myself are necessary. We bring brains into the -argument--no country was yet saved without them, or ever will be." - -"Which is as much as to say that you do your work in your own way. -America first in your mind all the time." - -"All the time, sir, except when I go to England, as now, to do what I -can for those who may have need of me." - -"Privately, of course, Mr. Faber----" - -"Both privately and publicly, Mr. Trevelle, if the occasion should -arise." - -"Ah," said Trevelle, "you are thinking what might happen if this frost -should bring a panic." - -"I am thinking of nothing else, sir." - - - II - -The _City of Berlin_ slowed down very much as they drew near to Dover, -and even those in the private cabins became aware that something unusual -was happening. Loud cries were heard from the bridge, and then heavy -blows upon the steel plates--repeated while the ship shivered and -trembled, and the dullest intellect awakened. As it was not yet light, -none of those who ventured from their beds to the decks could make much -of the circumstance; but when dawn broke, the state of affairs was -revealed, and surely it was significant. - -Faber had not closed his eyes during the first four hours of the -passage, and he and Trevelle went out to the upper deck together -directly the light broke. They were off the Goodwins then, upon a sea so -still that the rising sun made of it one vast and silvered mirror. From -an almost cloudless sky above a powder of snow fell, as showers in -summer from the blue ether. Not a breath of wind appeared to be -stirring; the air was like ice upon the cheek; the whole atmosphere -ominously still. - -The men had lighted cigars, and they walked aft to peer down into the -white water and learn what secrets it had to yield. An old salt, -round-barrelled and full of wise saws, a man who had spent a long life -upon that narrow sea which girds the silver isle, edged up to them, and -for once in a way uttered sentiments which had not possible half-crowns -behind them. He was genuinely astonished; "took all aback," and not -ashamed to say so. - -"It's ice, gentlemen, that's wot it were. I seed it with these eyes, and -I've been looking down into that waterway nigh four and forty year. Ice -off the Goodwins: d----n me, who'd believe it?" - -"I guess some of them will have to believe it," said Faber dryly, -"unless the weather keeps them out. You don't see any sign of a break, -eh, my friend?" - -"I don't see no sign at all, sir, not as big as a man's hand. The wind's -from north by east, and little to speak of. Who's to change it? Would -you kindly tell me that?" - -"Oh, don't look at me," exclaimed Trevelle with a laugh. "I'm not a -bagman in weather. So far as my memory goes, there was a good deal of -ice in the English Channel somewhere about 1820, and a very little in -the year 1887--I've read it somewhere. You don't remember that, my man?" - -The old fellow spat into the sea with some contempt. - -"As much ice as you could put down a woman's back. I remember 1887 well -enough. The Thames was nigh froze, and there was a fringe of summat they -called 'ice' right round by Herne Bay and all the way to Dover. But this -here's more than a bucketful, gentlemen--by gosh! it is." - -He jumped involuntarily as a floe, some yards wide, struck the steamer -and set the metal reverberating. All on deck ran to the side and watched -the dirty ice bobbing like a human thing in the vessel's wash, and then -drifting upon the tide over toward Cape Grisnez. Hardly had it passed -when the captain rang an order from the bridge, and the ship went to -dead slow. Another floe had been sighted ahead, and it was large enough -to provoke greater wonder; a mass of black ice as though coming down -from a considerable field over yonder towards the land. The ship passed -by this and began to swing round to make Dover Harbour. The cold seemed -to be increasing with every knot they made. Such an experience upon the -English shore was within the knowledge of no living man. - -"I've been up to the ice-blink twice, and I was in Alaska three years -ago," said Trevelle. "This beats anything I have seen, easily. What -would you say the temperature was, Mr. Faber?--phenomenal without -doubt." - -"About as many degrees below zero as you can get into a common swear -word. Look yonder on the shore. Is that ice or am I dreaming it?" - -"It's ice right enough! Hi, my man, that's ice by the harbour wall, -isn't it? Good God, what a sight! In the English Channel, too!" - -The sailor enjoyed this spontaneous tribute to the eccentricities of -nature. He thought he would catch them upon an exclamation sooner or -later, and he did so triumphantly. - -"The harbour's going to be froze," he said sardonically; "they'll be -cutting of it with sardine-openers--at least they were a-talking about -it. You could walk as far as the bathing machines gin'rilly git out. I -dare say you'll see some of 'em a-doing it now if your eyes are good -enough. They tell me it's the Gulf Stream what's responsible. Well, -d----n the Gulf Stream! say I, and that's all about it." - -His peculiarities produced no other effect than the _sotto voce_ of a -chaplain's lady, who thought that he was a very wicked man. The others -were far too much interested in the unusual appearance of Dover Harbour -and the environs to take any notice of such emphasis. Early as it was, -groups of boys and lads sported with hard ice which ran right round the -seawall, and even floated in great lumps in the mouths of the basins. -Rills of waves ran, not upon a beach of shingle, but over the frozen -waters, spreading as molten silver and often freezing as they ran. There -were effects of the frost most bizarre--buoys covered with the hoar, -ropes of ice where ladders stood, vast stalactites as of pure crystal -from the roof of every walled bay into which the sea ran. The cold, -still air breathed upon all as with the breath of the Arctic wastes. The -town of Dover was frozen out from the heights of the Castle Hill to the -very depths of its meanest streets. - -They went ashore over a gangway dusted with sand that they might obtain -a foothold upon it. They had thought that it would be warmer off the -sea, but when the train moved away and they crossed the frozen fields of -Kent, a new rigour penetrated the ill-warmed carriages and seemed to -search their very bones. At Dover newsboys had cried the morning papers -with the latest news of the phenomenal frost and of the rumours of a -great strike of transport workers following upon it. It seemed to be the -one topic of conversation in the train and out of it. Great experts in -meteorology had been interviewed in London, in Vienna, in New York. They -agreed that England was suffering this abnormal spell because of the -reduced flow of her old friend, the Gulf Stream. There could be no other -logical conclusion, and the best that could be said was that the -severity of the visitation was the soundest argument for its speedy -disappearance. - -Trevelle read all this out to his companion in the reserved compartment -which carried them to Victoria. He seemed willing to be impressed by -such authorities and was amazed to find that his companion differed from -him absolutely. Faber confessed that he had looked for such a winter in -England and would have been surprised at any other. His manner had -become a little restless again, and he was very anxious for the journey -to terminate. - -"We are going to have a lively time in London," he said. "I guess I'll -be caught in this pit after all, and pretty warm it will be for some of -them. Do you know how much wheat your country wants every week to feed -its people, Mr. Trevelle? I've figured it out, and it seems to me it's -somewhere about five million bushels; that's wheat alone, to say nothing -of an Englishman's roast beef and what goes with it. Well, I suppose -you've food enough in the country for three weeks at a press. Perhaps -you have and perhaps you haven't. Let this frost hold and the strike -continue in my country, which I hear is likely, and you're going to see -the biggest panic in London you ever saw in all your life. I had a -notion of it when I was last here and I mentioned it to some of them. -Professor Geikie, of St. Louis, first put it into my head as long ago as -last October, when he was taking observations of the Gulf Stream for the -Shippers' Institute of the southern ports; he noticed this check in the -flow. 'Let it go on,' he said, 'and they'll have a winter in Britain -which will be memorable.' I knew the professor and put my money behind -him. You've got the winter, and you're only at the beginning of it. God -knows when it will end or how, but I'd be glad to be out of this country -if I could, and that's sure. It's too late to think of that, now, -however." - -"Do you seriously believe then that the wheat supply from your side will -fail?" - -"It's failing already--the cables tell me so. Great extremities of -temperature are as sure a call to discontented labour as the spring to -the cuckoo. Let this go on a week and there'll be something like a -national panic. Then you'll see who believes in universal peace, and I -guess you'll see it quick. For my part, if I were a free agent, I'd pack -and be off to-night. But I'm not a free agent, and there's work for me -to do; mighty serious work, I know. Perhaps I'll ask you to help me. -You're just the man for the job. You step quick, and don't talk on the -road." - -"It doesn't concern the weather, of course?" - -"It concerns the people, Mr. Trevelle. I'll tell you when the time -comes. We are in London now, I think. My address is the Savoy Hotel. -Send me yours there. To-night I'm off to Hampstead to see a little girl. -She's just out of Ragusa, and it's to be imagined what this means to -her. The north is merciless to the south in that respect. I'm afraid of -the news I shall hear; more afraid than I can say." - -He fell to silence suddenly as the train crossed Cannon Street bridge -and the face of the river was disclosed. A drizzle of snow had begun to -fall again, and many hummocks of block ice floated beneath the bridges. -Such a night had not been seen since Victoria was Queen and Melbourne -her Minister. They entered the station to the raucous shouts of the -newsboys, crying the latest tidings of the frost. - - - III - -In the suburbs, there was little real understanding of the momentous -truth. - -Kensington, Paddington, and Hampstead were frozen out, but their young -people enjoyed the predicament. Weary water-men plugged the mains and -wondered if Christmas half-crowns would compensate them for the trouble. -Plumbers left footprints on the silks of time and had become great -personages. The roads were like iron; the wood pavement impossible but -for the sand which covered it. Even the meanest wore some kind of shabby -furs, while the well-to-do were so many bundles of fine skins, from -which rubicund jowls peeped out. - -Faber went to the Savoy Hotel and rested a few hours in his room before -going on to Hampstead. There were a few of his own countrymen there and -they, oddly enough, spoke of a mild winter in Eastern America and a -general absence of severity throughout the States. He learned with some -surprise that his meeting with the Emperor had been made known to New -York and was considered a triumph of a personal kind--though it had -given offence in some religious circles and was supposed to be -antagonistic to the peace idea. He determined to confute this without -loss of time, holding, as he did, the firm faith that the Kaiser was the -one great instrument of peace in the western world, and had the sanest -ideas upon the subject. For the first time in his life, there was a -trouble of the conscience concerning his own business and the mission -upon which it had sent him. Was he, in truth, an obstacle to a gospel -which had begun to obsess the minds of the Anglo-Saxon race? He knew -that the charge was false and his pride resented it warmly. He desired -peace absolutely--what forbade him to prepare the nations for war? - -It was growing dark when he set out for Hampstead, and there were many -lights in the little house in Well Walk when he arrived there. A very -ancient parlourmaid, who would have served Rembrandt for "a head," -opened the door and told him that Mr. Silvester was at home. She added -also that she had supposed he was the doctor, and plainly conveyed her -disappointment that he was not. - -"Ah!" he said, "the young lady is no better, then? Well, I'm sorry for -that!" - -"Indeed, and ye may be, sir. We think it's new-monica." - -He shook the powdered snow from his boots and went into the hall. -Gabrielle, hearing footsteps, ran out on the landing above and looked -over the banister. - -"Is that you, Mr. Faber--how good of you--how glad she will be!"--and -saying all this in a breath, she came down the stairs and held out her -hand. - -"So, there's no great danger after all," he rejoined. - -She looked surprised. "Why no danger?" - -"Because you come to me smiling. Well, I'm anxious, anyway. Shall I be -able to see her?" - -"Of course, you will. She is asking for you always. Please come right up -at once. Oh! there I am, speaking your language--how ridiculous it must -sound to you?" - -"I guess it makes me feel at home. Is this the room--will she be ready, -do you think?" - -"She heard you at once. She has been counting the hours." - -Her soft fingers knocked twice and they went in. The room was small, but -it had been furnished with a great elegance. He was glad to see some -beautiful white flowers on a little table by the bedside, and a basket -of fine grapes with them. The note of it all was pure white, with rich -red curtains and pictures in gilt frames. The bed had dimity hangings -with great red roses for a pattern. A fire of logs roared up the chimney -and a thermometer was hung upon the wall by the mantelpiece. - -"Hallo! Maryska, my dear!" he said, going to the bed and pressing her -thin fingers with his own. He thought her terribly changed: the black -eyes shone as those of a famished animal; the face was very white; the -breathing laboured; the hands hot to the touch. But she smiled at him -nevertheless and tried to sit up. - -"I've got the marsh fever," she said, as though satisfied by her own -diagnosis, "it's your ship that did it. Why did you leave me in this -damnable country when I was ill? Don't you hate it as much as my father -did? Oh! I think you must, you really must." - -He was a little taken aback, and sat at the bedside before he answered -her. Gabrielle nodded as who should say, "Now, you would like to talk to -each other." Then she slipped away, and closed the door softly. The -crackling of the logs and the ticking of the clock were loud sounds in -the cheery room. - -"Why!" he exclaimed at last, "you surprise me, Maryska. I thought your -father liked England?" - -She shook her head almost fiercely. - -"I'd tell you what _he_ said if she would let me! She says it's wrong. -Why should it be, when my father said it? He called England--but there, -it hurts me, boss. Oh! it hurts me so much!"--and with that she flung -herself back on the pillow, warm tears of the memory in her eyes. - -He perceived that she had no business to be talking, and for some time -he sat there, holding her hand and watching her. What a child she was, -and with what justice had she called him from the platform of her age, -an "old, old man." The tragic irony of his attempt to bring happiness -into the life of the man who had befriended him struck him anew and -would not be silenced. How little money could achieve when destiny -opposed! He reflected that brains were the greater instrument and fell -to wondering if brains had helped him in his dealings with Maryska. - -"Feeling any better, my dear?" he asked her by and by. She turned upon -her side and looked at him with eyes pathetically round. - -"I should be all right if I could get away from England, Mr. Faber. Do -you think that you can take me?" - -"Of course, I'll take you, Maryska. Where would you like to go to, my -dear?" - -She thought upon it, biting the sheet with fine white teeth. Her white -cheeks flushed with the effort. - -"I would like to live in a city where there are many lights--in Paris, I -think. _He_ liked Paris. He said it was a bit of a hell, and he liked -it. I told the wolf man with the whiskers that, and he said, 'Oh, hush, -hush!' Why did he say that, Mr. Faber?" - -"Because, my dear, he's a clergyman, and your father was what we call a -Bohemian. They don't say such words amongst our people. You mustn't be -offended with them, Maryska; you must try to do what Gabrielle tells -you." - -She looked up, her suspicion on an edge. - -"Are you going to marry Gabrielle?" - -"Why, how can you ask me that?" - -"Because I think that you are." - -"What would she want with 'an old, old man' like me?" - -Maryska reasoned it out. - -"You are not so old when you are with her. Besides, I am getting used to -you. It is your looks which I don't like. You are not really so old, are -you?" - -"I'm not forty yet, my dear." - -"And how old is Harry Lassett?" - -It was a surprising question, and he turned sharply when he heard it. - -"Don't you know that Harry Lassett is going to marry Gabrielle?" - -She bit her lips and half sat up in bed again. - -"I don't believe that. They say so, but it's wrong. You can't make any -mistake in those things. _He_ used to beat me when I asked him; he -wouldn't let me talk about it, but I know. It's something which changes -your life. It is not that awful thing I saw in the streets of Ranovica. -God Almighty! none of those girls will ever have a lover now, will they, -Mr. Faber?" - -The child's eyes were staring into vacancy as though she saw a vision -beyond all words terrifying. Here in this silent house remote from -London's heart, the unnameable hours of war were lived again both by the -man and the girl. John Faber's soul shivered at the hidden meaning of -these words of woe. Had not his act carried Louis de Paleologue's -daughter to the hills? Was he not responsible for what had been? And he -was a servant of such a nation's instruments--a servant of war in its -lesser aspect as in its greater. He did not dare to look the truth in -the face. The judgment of God seemed to be here. - -"We won't speak of the things which are dead, Maryska," he said at -length. "The men you name are like the beasts; it is well to leave them -in their kennels. Your life begins again with me. I'll take you to Paris -directly you are able to bear the journey. Can I say more?" - -"Will you, Mr. Faber? I could bear the journey any time--now, this -minute, if you would take me." - -"My dear child, you are not fit to go. We must nurse you many days yet." - -"That's what the doctor says. _He_ never liked doctors. They were -all--yes, knaves, he said, and the other word which Mr. Silvester hates. -Why should I be kept here for these men?" - -"Because this time they are right, my dear. It's too cold for anyone to -go out of doors. What's more, the sailors are on strike, and so we -couldn't go if we wished. You'll be well when the thaw comes, and then -I'll take you." - -"Will Harry Lassett come too?" - -It troubled him to hear the reiteration of this idea. The anxiety with -which she regarded him, her eyes so big and round, her breathing so -laboured, her cheeks so flushed--this anxiety added not a little to his -own. - -"Why do you bring that young gentleman into it?" he asked her. "How can -he go with us? Hasn't he got his duties to do here, my dear? What would -Gabrielle say if she heard it? Wouldn't she be put out, don't you -think?" - -The round, dark face assumed an air almost of cunning. It was evident -that she knew just what Gabrielle would say, but was unmoved -nevertheless. - -"What does 'engaged' mean in England? When _he_ and I were in Paris, a -lot of them came to the studio. They would be engaged for a little -while, and then there would be others. Jeannette Arrn had three lovers -while I was there--Henri Courtans was the last. Was she engaged to him?" - -It was very earnestly put, and it embarrassed him. What a life the child -had lived; what an education had been hers! And now he feared that the -inevitable had come to be. Thrown into the society of the big-limbed -boy, she had immediately fallen in love with him. This should have been -looked for, and it would have been if he had realised a little earlier -the nature of her birthright and its consequences. She was born in a -land where passion is often uncurbed and the blood runs hot in the -veins. Religion had done nothing for her; those who would educate her -must begin at the very beginning. He himself felt totally unfit for the -task. And she had refused already to live with the Silvesters, at any -rate in England. - -"Has Harry Lassett spoken to you about going to Paris?" he asked upon an -impulse. She shook her head. - -"I wish he would. I wish he would ask me to go away from her." - -"Don't you think it would be very unkind to Gabrielle to go with him -even if there were no other reason?" - -"I don't think that. She wouldn't care." - -"She is going to be his wife." - -"Yes, and that is why I hate her." - -No further question could be asked or answered, for Gabrielle entered -the room at the moment, and immediately the child hid herself in the -bedclothes and would not speak another word. - - - - - CHAPTER II - - OF LOVE BUT NOT OF MARRIAGE - - - I - -"You'll stay to dinner?" she asked, as they went down to the -drawing-room together a little later on. It was very warm and snug -there, and the deep red shades upon the lamps appeared to him -particularly English. They had few such suggestions of home in his -country. - -"Why," he rejoined, "if it will not be putting you out." - -"We have some pea soup and a sole. My father is Popish enough to eat -little meat, but that is for his stomach's sake--as Timothy was to drink -wine. Of course, the baby cannot eat anything at all. Did you think very -badly of her, I wonder? Is she really as ill as the doctors make out?" - -"Tell me how ill the doctors make her out, and I'll say what I think. -Anyway, it isn't pneumonia yet. I've seen too much of it to be scared by -that particular spook. She's a bit of congestion of the lungs, and she's -worrying herself into a fever. The rest's doctor's talk--what they take -a fee to say." - -She smiled, and went on busying herself about the room. The fire light -showed all her height and the fine contour of well-developed limbs. -Every movement was full of grace, he said. Gabrielle Silvester could -have taken her place in any society in Europe. For an instant, he -thought of her as the bejewelled hostess of a Fifth Avenue mansion, and -that thought returned later on. - -"It is good to hear you," she said with a light laugh. "Everyone who -comes to a sick house seems to think it necessary to speak in a morbid -whisper. They expect to look sorrow in the face on the doorstep. Of -course, she has been very ill--dangerously ill, I think. Our bringing -her to England was a very great mistake; even father knows that now." - -"Then she isn't very happy here?" - -"Very far from it. Did she say anything of it to you?" - -"Why, yes; she asked me to take her away by the next train." - -"I thought she would; was it back to Italy?" - -"No; to Paris--and what's more, she wants Harry Lassett to be of the -party." - -He thought it necessary to tell her this: he had debated it while -sitting there and watching her graceful movements about the room. His -own act had committed Maryska to her charge; his own words must warn her -of a possible danger. Upon her part, however, the whole thing was -treated without concern, merely as the odd whim of a capricious child -who was sick. She surprised him very much by her attitude. - -"Harry amuses her," she said without turning, "he can be so atrociously -vulgar. An accomplishment, is it not, when it brings a little sunshine? -They have been the best of friends, and he comes here every day with -some present or other for her. It is all quite pretty, and I am very -grateful to him." - -"Then you would approve of his coming on my yacht?" - -"If he could go, yes; but I know that it is quite impossible. He has -developed a surprising interest in his business; he is in town every -day. It's really most wonderful!" - -"May I ask what his business is, by the way?" - -She looked a little pained. - -"He gets money from the people who sell stocks and shares--the jobbers, -don't you call them?" - -"That's the name, to be sure. So he goes down to the city to watch them -making money for him. It's a joyous employment, sure; it won't make him -bald!" - -Gabrielle did not like the tone of this at all, she bridled instantly. - -"I dare say that Mr. Lassett is very well content with it. Don't you -think that we might be?" - -"Why, certainly, I do. That's just what was in my thoughts just now. If -he's so well occupied in London, he won't mind your taking a little -holiday with me----!" - -"With you! How odd it sounds!" - -"Odd, or even; I mean every word of it. Will you come to Florida on the -_Savannah_?" - -She hesitated and flushed. There are some tones of a man's voice a woman -never mistakes. Let him lie to her, and she may be wholly convinced; -deceive her by vain promises, and she will believe him--but let him -touch the tonic of a lover's chord, and her instinct is immediately -attuned. Gabrielle knew that John Faber was about to make love to her. -It came as a bolt from the blue. - -"Why should I go to Florida in your yacht? Do you propose to take -Maryska there?" - -"I do indeed--and you also!" - -"As her nurse, I suppose?" - -"No, as my wife!" - -He bent forward and watched her closely. She had been standing by the -piano, the aureole of the lamp about her flaxen hair, making pure gold -of its silken threads. For an instant she trembled as though some -strange chord of her nature had been touched. Then, very slowly, she -crossed the room and sat in the chair upon the other side of the -fireplace. A warm light played upon her young face now; she was, indeed, -a beautiful woman. - -"Why do you ask me to be your wife when you know I am engaged to Harry -Lassett?" - -"Because I believe it is necessary to your happiness and mine." - -"Just a guess at reasons then. If I believed it, I would say it is a -want of compliment to me. But I don't believe it. You are masterful and -would brush aside all obstacles. If I were not a woman with some faith -in things, you would do so. I happen to be that--perhaps to my sorrow. -No, indeed, I could never be your wife while I believe in the reality of -my own life, and the good of what I work for. You must know how very far -apart we are." - -"In what are we apart? In causes which politicians quarrel upon. I guess -that's no reason. Does a man love a woman the less because she believes -the earth is flat? If he's a fool--yes. A wise man says, she is only a -woman, and loves her the more. Gabrielle, I don't care a cent for your -opinions, but I want you very badly." - -She sighed heavily, and raised herself in her chair. - -"My opinions are my life," she said quietly. "I have built a temple to -them in my dreams. How it would come crashing down if I married you!" - -"I'll build it, anyway--it's a promise. You shall have your temple if it -costs half a million. They won't miss me there if I find the money. I -shall be proud enough of my wife the day it is opened!" - -"Caring nothing that she could only speak of money. Oh, don't pursue it; -don't, don't! All my years have been a schooling against such things as -are dear to you. There are a hundred interests in my life I have never -dared even to mention to you. This home, my father's work--do they not -say 'no' for me? I should be a burden to you every day; you would have -nothing but contempt for me." - -"If a man were fool enough to base his unhappiness on his wife's -goodness--why, yes. Don't you see that I may admire all this, and yet -differ altogether? Isn't it one of the reasons why I ask you to be my -wife, that I know how much reality and honest faith lies behind all you -do? You haven't considered that--you'll have to before it's done with. -I've a habit of getting my way; you'll discover it before I am through!" - -The taunt turned her patience to defiance. - -"No," she said, standing up as if impatient of it all, "I shall discover -nothing, Mr. Faber. I intend to marry Harry Lassett in February!" - -"Ah! then I'll have to begin upon that temple at once. Have you thought -about the plans of it?" - -She shrugged her shoulders. - -"Do not spoil my dreams--there is the bell. I think it must be Harry, -for my father has a key." - -She went toward the door, he watching every step she took. Was it the -face of a woman going to meet her lover, the face of an ecstasy, or of a -painter's dream? The prosaic man deemed it to be neither. - -And yet he believed that she would marry the boy. - - - II - -Gabrielle believed that also, but it was a vague thought, floating amid -a medley of reproaches and vain longings. - -She had gone to her bedroom at eleven o'clock, when the night-nurse came -on duty, and the quiet house was hushed to sleep; and there she sat -before a great fire listening to the footsteps of the skaters who passed -by, or the chime of bells upon the still air. - -What momentous thing was this which had happened to her to-day--what -flood of fortune which had swept by and left her to a woman's reckoning? -Was it not the thing which she had conceived in dreams most sweet--the -hope which her father had not been ashamed to utter, the golden shore to -which her eyes had been turned in hours of vain imagining? In a -twinkling the gates of great promise had been opened for her, and she -had refused to enter in. A word, and all the power and place of money -would have been at her command. She had been silent--the coach of -opportunity had rolled by and left her alone. - -She would have been less than a woman if some blunt truths had not -emerged from this labyrinth of changing ideas. It is true that Faber had -offered to make her Maryska's guardian, an obligation she was to share -with her father to their mutual benefit. No money was to have been -spared. They were to take a great house in London, and furnish it -regardless of cost. The gates of that narrow social enclosure which -money can open were no longer to be barred to them. Luxury of every kind -was to be at their command--but all as recipients of a comparative -stranger's benevolence, and as the servant of his whims. It would be -different as his wife, for these things would have come to her then as a -right. - -She was but a minister's daughter, but these are democratic days, when -money builds altars whereat even the ancient houses worship. Men are -made peers because they have so much money to put on the political -counter, or were famous as makers of jam and vendors of good provisions. -All sorts of vulgar personages crowd the royal precincts and wear a -William the Conqueror air, most ridiculous to see. The old titles of -birth and breeding are hardly recognised; unrecognised absolutely where -women are concerned. Gabrielle looked at herself in the glass, and knew -that she would have gone far in this latter-day hurly-burly they call -society. She had all the gifts, youth, beauty, wit; she was found -sympathetic by men and they were her slaves whenever she appeared among -them. She could have built a social temple, and there would have been -many worshippers. - -And for what had all this been put aside? For the love of a man, or for -the trick of an imagined sentiment? Harry Lassett made a purely physical -appeal, but she was hardly aware of the fact. Faber had said that she -was drifting into the marriage, and this idea occurred to her when she -sat alone in the silence of the night. The years had conspired to bring -this impasse, from which there was no escape but by marriage. She -believed that the opportunities of the day would not recur, or if they -did recur, that she must give the same answer. - -He would build her temple and lay the first stone, perhaps upon the day -she became Harry Lassett's wife. - - - III - -John Faber himself had thought very little of this wonderful building -when she had first mentioned it to him; but the idea began to obsess his -mind as he returned to his hotel. - -To say that he was greatly impressed by Gabrielle's refusal of his offer -is to express his feelings upon that matter somewhat crudely. There are -women's moods which hurt a man's pride, but heal it as quickly. His -early astonishment gave place anon to a warm admiration for her -principles. They must be something more than mere professions, after -all, and were so real that she had refused one of the biggest fortunes -in the world because of them. This of itself was a considerable fact -which dwelt in his mind. He had discovered few great characters in the -course of his busy life, and was tempted to believe that Gabrielle -Silvester was one of them. - -Her passion for Harry Lassett, if it existed, was a more difficult -matter. The man of forty, who has never married, is prone to some -sentimentality where calf love is concerned. Well as he may disguise it -from the world, there is a bias towards a lover's Arcady; a tenderness -for the secret groves which he will never confess. The mere man goes out -to the witching hour of the young life. He has mad moments when he rages -against his lost youth, and would regain it, even at the cost of his -fortune. One such moment Faber himself had known when he went out with -Maryska to the hills. It would never recur; he had mastered it wholly -even before they returned to Ragusa; but he could credit Gabrielle with -a similar weakness, and wonder how far it would wreck her story. Let her -marry Harry Lassett, and the first chapters of a pitiful tragedy surely -were written. He was quite certain of that. - -With this was some new estimate of his own position. He could be no hero -in the eyes of such a woman. From that standpoint his appeal to her must -be quite hopeless. There had been nothing of the dashing cavalier in his -record, nothing but the mere amassing of money; no glamour, no public -applause. Women like all that and forget much else when it is there. He -had not done the "great good thing" which Maryska, the untutored child, -had promised him he might do. Was it too late even yet? This temple he -would build at Gabrielle's bidding, must it stand as the perpetual -witness to the futility of his own attainments? - -And so, finally, and merging into the one great thought was his own -awakening love for a beautiful woman. He no longer doubted this. -Admiration was becoming a passion of desire, which might lead him to -strange ends. He saw her as she sat by the fireside, the warm light upon -her eloquent face--he heard her sympathetic voice, watched the play of -gesture, the changing but ever-winning expression. He would have given -her every penny he had in the world that night to have called her his -wife. It came to him as an obsession that he could not live without her. - -For thus do men of forty love, and in such a passion do the years often -mock them! - - - - - CHAPTER III - - AFTER TEN DAYS - - - I - -Bertie Morris was a man who rarely knocked upon any doors, and -certainly, had he stooped to such a weakness, it would not have been -upon the door of his very democratic patron, John Faber, who was never -surprised to see him whatever the hour or the place. - -"So it's you, my boy! I thought no one else would butt in at this time -in the morning. Well, and what brings you now? I thought you were in -Portugal!" - -Bertie Morris, who smoked a cigarette which had the obliging quality of -rarely being alight, sat down by his friend's bedside and thrust his -felt hat still farther upon the back of his head. - -"Guess I came over last night--the hotel clerk said you were visiting. -Say, I must have a talk with you. Benjamin has cabled Paris for the -news, and he's got to have it. You know Benjamin, sure! Well, then, you -know what you've got to do." - -Faber knew Benjamin Barnett of the _New York Mitre_ very well, but the -process of "doing it" seemed to amuse him. He sat up in bed and called -for his man, Frank, who had been brushing his clothes in the bathroom. - -"What time is it, Frank?" - -"A quarter past nine, sir." - -"Then go and order half a dozen Bass's ale for Mr. Morris, and bring me -my coffee." - -The journalist offered no objection whatever to this drastic -prescription, and when the beer was brought, and coffee, with hot-house -grapes and other fine fruit, had been set at the bedside, he drained a -glass to the dregs and then spoke up. - -"Benjamin says the strike on their side is going to keep wheat out of -England for a month. You're the man most concerned in that, for a word -from you could end it. It's because your Charleston people went out that -the others followed. What I'm thinking is that you're hoist with your -own petard. You must tell me if it's true or false?" - -Faber was out of bed by this time, dressed in a wonderful Japanese -kimono which gave him the appearance of a theatrical mandarin. He was -always amused by Bertie Morris, and generally ready to help him. Now, -however, he seemed at a loss, and he walked to the window and looked out -before he gave him any answer whatsoever. - -What an unfamiliar spectacle he beheld from these high windows of the -Savoy Hotel! The River gave promise of soon being frozen from bank to -bank. Great lumps of shining ice protruded from its black face, and -thousands of idlers were ready to play in the arena this memorable -winter would create for them. Far away, to Westminster and beyond, the -scene suffered no change, the river of ice flashed in the wan sunlight -of the bitter day. He had heard yesterday of a pageant the city would -prepare, and here this morning were the outposts; jovial men who waited -to prepare the theatre, hew down the hummocks, and make many a broken -path straight. An ox would be roasted whole upon the Thames to-morrow, -and many a keg of good beer broached. The citizens themselves watched -the strange scene from the banks and the bridges, thousands of them in -black lines--well-to-do and ill-to-do; men and women about whose glowing -bodies fortune had put fair furs; wretched out-of-works who shivered in -the cold and had hardly a rag to cover them. Stress of weather could -break many a barrier; there would be little caste in England when a few -weeks had run. - -Faber regarded the scene for a little while in silence; then he took up -the conversation at the exact point where Morris had left it. - -"Does Benjamin name me in this?" - -"Be sure he does; you're the marrow of it. What's Faber going to do with -the wheat he's cornered? That's what he asks. I don't suppose you'll -tell him, and so I ask also. What are you doing in corn?" - -"I'm buying it, Bertie. I began about a month ago when the weather first -did stunts. Of course, you don't say that. For Benjamin the news is that -I happen to hold a number of steamers at Liverpool and in the Thames, -and that the men on strike there won't unload them. Say I'm a d----d -unlucky man, and leave it there." - -"I'll do that, sure. The British public won't, though. Guess you're out -for a big scoop this time, John. I'm d----d if you're not the quickest -flier I ever saw at any game you like. Selling it, I suppose to the -philanthropic agencies? Is that the line? They pay a hundred per cent. -to feed the hungry, and you look on and bless 'em! What a story for -Benjamin! How he would put the ginger in!" - -"Dare say he would. I know Benjamin. The philanthropic agency business -is in his line. He met Miss Silvester, I think, when she was over. Does -he know that she's at the head of this good Samaritan flare? Has he -heard of the national committee with her name among the four hundred? -I'd say something about that if I were you; it's the 'homes of the -people' lay, and goes down every time." - -"I don't think--a committee for feeding the people and a minister's -daughter at the head of it. Shall I tell 'em they must buy the corn from -you in the end at a forty per cent. rise? By gosh! that laugh would be -on time, anyway." - -"Why, it would, certainly. But you may leave my name out there. Say I -take a serious view of the situation, and if the frost holds, I look for -something like a panic." - -"Then you don't think the government can feed them?" - -"I have no doubt about it whatever. If you'll come with me by and by, -I'll show you such scenes in London as you may not see again if you -lived the lives of your great-great-grandchildren. It's war and no war. -When some fool gets up and cries that the Germans are sailing from Kiel -you'll have pandemonium. There's sure to be one before the week is out. -I open my papers every morning and expect to read the news. I tell you -we are going to see something and see it quick. Let Benjamin understand -that. I don't suppose you'll forget to point out to him the advantage of -having such a brilliant man upon the spot. You won't be backward in -coming forward, my boy." - -Bertie assumed a meek look which served him very well upon these -critical occasions when he interviewed a great personage for the purpose -of taking away his character. A pleasant "I don't think" was his only -comment upon the impertinence of the observation; but for the rest even -his conventional imagination was impressed. John Faber was not the man -to be wasting his time upon mere speculations. When he indulged in the -luxury of a guess, a fortune usually lay at the back of it. - -"Are you meaning to say that there is any real danger of this same -invasion?" he asked rather timidly. "Benjamin would like to hear you -about that; you're the first man he'd send to if he thought the game was -on. Do you think it yourself, now?" - -"I think nothing of the kind. The Germans are not madmen. They've got -the sanest man in Europe at their head, and he is not likely to do -stunts with the Gulf Stream holding the stakes. What the Britisher has -got to fear is the consequence of war without its actuality. He's had -that to fear any time these ten years. Now that wheat is cornered, and -the shipping trade has fallen foul of the sailors, there is a flesh and -blood bogey behind it. By gosh! he's frightened. I know it, and so do -the newspapers. The Cabinet met last night and the King sent for -Kitchener afterwards. They know there where the shoe pinches, and they -see other bogeys. Let this frost hold, let hunger get a grip on the -people over yonder, and there isn't an institution in Great Britain -which will last a week. You can tell Benjamin as much, though there's no -need to say I said it." - -He had become unusually serious, pacing the room while he talked, and -often looking out at the frozen river. Shrewd interviewer that Morris -was and blessed with an excellent memory, nevertheless these things were -big enough to be made a note of on the spot, and he took paper and pen -for the purpose. That was the moment, however, when a servant came in to -announce Mr. Rupert Trevelle, and immediately afterwards Faber fell to -earnest talk with this famous diplomatist who was Sir Jules's right -hand. There was nothing left for the journalist to do but to drink up -the beer--a task he performed with alacrity. - -To be sure, his curiosity was provoked not a little by the vivacity of -the talk to which he listened, and when a little later on Faber -apologised for taking his guest into the adjoining room to discuss some -private business, the journalist prevailed against the man, and stooped -without hesitation to the methods of Mary Jane. Bertie's ear fitted the -keyhole very well, and he did not mind the draught overmuch. What he -heard seemed to interest him very much. And the greater merit of it was -that it had not been told him in confidence. - - - II - -The three men left the hotel in a private car some hour and a half -later, and told the driver to go past Aldgate to Commercial Road East. -They all wore heavy fur coats and were put in good spirits by the vigour -of the day and the stillness of the frosty air. London looked her best -that morning. The whiteness of her roofs, the iron hardness of her -roads, blue sky above and a kindly sunshine to make a rare spectacle of -the gathered snow--never had she worn a fairer aspect. Even the -Americans felt at home and needed but a blizzard to deceive them -utterly. - -The cheerful aspect of London chiefly impressed the imagination of the -people in the West End at this time and they had got little beyond it at -this stage. They talked in the clubs of the newspaper canards and -pooh-poohed them. It was true that the rivers were frozen, but it was -ridiculous to suppose that the severity of the frost would endure. As to -the food-supply, what did it matter to men who could order a sole à la -Victoria or a _tournedo_ without causing the club steward to lift an -eyelid? The frost was phenomenal, but it would in due course be followed -by a thaw. Meanwhile, those d----d bakers were charging a shilling a -loaf, and making a fortune by other people's necessities. It was a -scandal with which any but an incompetent Radical government would have -known how to deal. - -Such a pleasant way of regarding things was universal through the West -End, where business went on much as usual, and only the newspapers -displayed the vulgarity of agitation. It is true that the cold caused a -seeming bustle upon the pavements; but this was merely the cold, and the -old gentlemen, who trotted vigorously where yesterday they walked, were -not driven to such antics by the bakers, but by the bitterness of the -weather. Not until the car had carried the three men past Aldgate -Station to the junction of the Commercial Road, was there any evidence -whatever of that menacing spectre the wise men had dreaded. Then it came -upon them without warning--a procession of the social derelicts with a -red flag for their banner. - -"Hallo, now!--and what do you call this?" Faber asked, as the car came -to a standstill and the mob pressed about it. "Is this a dime show, and -do we get you?" - -Trevelle, a little shaken by the attentions of his neighbours, who had -climbed upon the footboard to look at him, declared that they were the -"out-of-works." - -"Just one of the usual January processions--I expect we shall see a good -many before we are through." - -"I guess they look ugly, anyway--see that fellow with the lantern jaw -and the club? It will want a pretty big baker to stop him if he's -hungry!" - -"We are stopping him by food--the government must help us." - -"And buy Faber's corn?" chimed in Morris, "he's about two or three -hundred cargoes to sell--at a price," and he laughed as though it were -the finest of jokes. Trevelle, however, was too busy with his neighbour -on the footboard to say anything at all. A swarthy ruffian with a ragged -crimson tie had grabbed at his watch and chain, and discovered a fifteen -shilling enamelled timepiece, which annoyed him. - -"A ---- fine gentleman, you are--I don't fink!" and he went off, -rattling the money-box, which he had dropped for the purpose of this -assault. - -It was an aggressive procession--long, disorganized, revolting in -aspect. Men of all ages had set out upon the long march to Trafalgar -Square, where they would demand of the government work or bread. You may -see the same any winter; but this winter of surpassing cold had given -the wolf's jowl to many who were pleasant-faced without it, and the fire -of hunger shone from many eyes. A few girls of brazen mien walked by the -ragged coats and occasionally danced a few steps to keep themselves -warm. With them went grandfathers and grandsons; old men, whose backs -were bent by the labours of distant years; mere lads looking for a row -with the "coppers." - -"What do those fellows think they will do?" Faber asked of Trevelle. He -had seen the same kind of thing in his own country--but there, as he put -it, the club of the policeman was more powerful than the brotherhood of -man. Trevelle admitted that it was so. He had been three days in New -York. Therefore, he knew it must be so. - -"If the frost holds, they will loot the shops. They've done it before -with an embryo Cabinet Minister to lead them. I tell my journalistic -friends that they are going to do a finer thing than they have ever done -before--they are going to help the mob to loot Bond Street. We are on -the top of a volcano; we have been really, for twenty years. The wonder -is that we have never discovered it before." - -"Meaning to say that the volcano is now about to take a hand in it! -Well, Bertie here will be on the spot if there's any looting to be done. -I guess the side-track won't see much of him." - -Morris was rather flattered. - -"I was up among the lakes one winter," he said, "and I saw the wolves -pull down a buck. He came out of the woods like a race-horse on the -straight. There were twenty snarling devils at his heels, and they had -eyes like live coals. Presently one jumped at the buck's throat, and you -could not have struck a match before the others had fixed their teeth in -him. He bleated for about two minutes; then he was so many gnawed bones -on the ice. Well, that's what I think of the social system sometimes. -Let the cold get a cinch on those particular wolves, and you'll count -some bones! It has got to be--hunger is going to make it so!" - -No one contradicted him, for the scenes on the side-walk were too -engrossing. All Whitechapel appeared to be abroad that day as though -curiosity drove it out of the mean houses. Wan women stood at their -doors seeking vainly for some tidings which should be carried to the -famished children within. Hulking labourers took their leisure with -their broad backs supported by friendly posts. Paradoxical as the thing -seemed, the public-houses were beset by fierce mobs of ruffians, both -sexes being fairly represented in the mêlée. By here and there some -anxious philanthropist in a black coat moved amid the throngs, and spoke -words of good cheer to all. There were ministers of religion whose faith -knew nothing of new theology but much of bread. - -Through this press, by many a filthy street, the car conveyed the -strangers to their destination. This lay some way down the Commercial -Road and was officially in Stepney. Long before they reached it, the -increasing throngs spoke of its whereabouts. A vast mob of the hungry, -the homeless, and the desperate strove to reach a square-fronted -building over whose doors were written in golden letters the words "The -Temple." A shabby structure of dull red brick, this day it had become a -house of salvation to the multitude. And high above them, upon the -topmost step of a stairway which led to its unadorned halls, stood -Gabrielle Silvester speaking to the people. - -She was dressed from head to foot in grey furs, and her flaxen hair -showed golden beneath the round cap of silver-fox which crowned it. The -excitement of her task had brought a rich flood of colour to her round -girlish cheeks, and her eyes were wonderfully bright. The nation's -tragedy had dowered her with a rare part, and finely she played it. All -this publicity, this movement, this notoriety of charity was life to -her. She worked with a method and an energy which surprised even her -most intimate friends. In Stepney they had come to call her "Princess -Charming"--a title taken from their halfpenny stories and apt for them. -Whenever she drove, men doffed their caps, while the eyes of the women -filled with tears. This very day she was feeding the people even as -Christ, her Master, had fed them. And, looking on with new wonder and -pleasure, was the man who knew that she was necessary to him--she and -none other. - -The car came within a hundred yards of the Temple and then was held up -by the press. Faber called a sergeant of police, and slipped a sovereign -into his hand. - -"Get us up to the door and there's another," he said, and immediately -five sturdy policemen drove a way through the hungry throngs with -shoulders hardened by such tasks. The car followed them slowly, and as -it went Faber threw silver among the people. It was a mad act, for they -fell upon it like wolves, and when the police had quelled the riot, two -of those who had come to the Temple for bread lay stark dead upon the -pavement. - - - III - -There were two long counters running down the centre of the Temple, and -between them lay piles of new crisp loaves. Many servers handed them out -to whoever asked for them, and continued so to do until the day's supply -was exhausted. It was a study to watch the faces of those who came for -relief--cunning faces, pitiful faces, the faces of mean desire. Some of -these people would go out with their bread and return immediately for -more, trusting to the press to remain undiscovered. Others were given to -wild words of thanks; but these were few, and in the main it would seem -that natural greed dominated other thoughts. - -Gabrielle shook hands with Faber a little coldly; her manner toward -Trevelle was cordial; she hardly noticed Bertie Morris. A habit of -authority is easily assumed by some women, and it sat upon her -gracefully. With unfailing dignity, she moved amid her assistants, -directing, criticising, applauding them. When the mere man ventured a -word of suggestion, he perceived very plainly that he was no hero in her -eyes. - -"Why," Faber remarked, "have you nothing in the ticket line? Do they all -come in here on the nod?" - -"Absolutely. Why should we have tickets?" - -"Well, I've seen one old woman stow away five loaves since I came in. Is -that your idea of it?" - -"Oh, we can't stoop to trifles. And we have so much to give away. Mr. -Trevelle is so wonderful. He has done a beautiful thing." - -"A good collector, eh? So he's doing it all?" - -"Indeed, and he is. It would not last a day without him. We are coming -to a time when the others will have no bread to give away. He says that -we can go on for weeks and weeks." - -"I shouldn't wonder. Trevelle is a bit of a hustler, anyway. I suppose -you've no time to tell me the news?" - -She shrugged her shoulders, almost impatient of the mere cynic who could -watch all this and say nothing in its favour. - -"She is much better--of course, you are thinking of Maryska? I don't -think she wishes to go to Italy now." - -"Then you will take that house we spoke of?" - -"I will talk to you about it when all this is over. If you could only -live a few weeks among these people! And they say it is but the -beginning. There will be downright starvation soon. Thousands dying in -the very streets." - -"Just because God Almighty has sent an extra turn of winter. Well, you -are doing fine things, anyway. This is better than the Temple we spoke -of." - -"Why is it better?" - -"Because there are brains behind it. They are the only things which -count in the story of great causes--brains and money. I put them in -their proper order." - -"Ah!" she exclaimed; "of course you think of the money." - -"How can I help it? What is feeding these people? Bread! But you don't -buy bread with a stone." - -She smiled. - -"There will be always money for those who really suffer. I count upon -Mr. Trevelle for all that. He is a miracle." - -And then she said: - -"I suppose he has begged of you?" - -He brushed the question aside. - -"Trevelle knows me better. You don't come to rich men unless you have a -proposition. What are all these people to me? I didn't starve them, -anyway. Why should I give them money?" - -She thought him quite brutal, and went away presently to speak to some -of "her guests," who had nearly fallen to blows on the far side of the -hall. The heaps of bread were vanishing at an alarming rate, and the sea -of faces beyond the doors of the building declared its tragedies of want -and hope. In many a street in Stepney and Whitechapel that day the -bakers had no bread to sell. Men told you that the government were at -grips with the affair, but could any government compel men to work when -they had the mind to be idle? A panic of threatened starvation drove the -women to frenzy--the men to oaths. There is always hope in the meanest -house; but there could be no hope if this frost endured and England were -paralysed by strikes. So they fought for the gifts of the Temple, the -strong triumphant, the weak to the wall. - -"Guess you will have to lay on those tickets," Faber said to her when -next she came round to his side of the room. She listened, now impressed -by the reason of it. - -"We could feed ten times the number," she said--"it is awful to turn -them away!" - -"Why not take your Temple across the road? I saw an empty factory as I -came along; rent that, and see that each man and woman comes but once a -day. Trevelle will do it for you." - -She said that it must be done, and went away to speak to the unwearying -aide-de-camp about it. Later on, with hardly another word to him, Faber -saw her enter a plain hired carriage and drive off through the streets, -followed by a howling mob whose moods were twain: gratitude on the part -of some, rage and disappointment of others. She was going down to Leman -Street to the children's institute there, Trevelle said; but he did not -suggest that they should follow her. - -"By the lord Harry! you've let me in for something!" he protested, -mopping a perspiring face when Gabrielle had gone. Faber replied that he -would let him in for a good deal more yet. "Anyway, you're a hero in her -eyes," he said--and as he said it, he reflected once more upon the -meaning of that quality to women, and how far he seemed, from its -possession where they were concerned. - - - - - CHAPTER IV - - CINDERELLA - - - I - -Gordon Silvester's mission to the East, as he would call his work beyond -Aldgate, was really a charity of ten years' standing, and one that often -proved a thorn in the flesh to Gabrielle, who, at heart, had no great -love for poor people. - -When the memorable winter came, it was a natural thing to use the -resources of this mission for the purposes of that undiscriminating -charity the season required; and so we had the Temple (suggested by -Rupert Trevelle and other organizations not less useful). Silvester -himself went into this work with the ardour of a man of twenty. His -sermons at Hampstead were masterpieces of eloquence; his labours at -Stepney would have wearied a giant. The national necessity demanded -heroism--there will always be many in England to answer such a call when -it comes. - -Gabrielle herself had been handicapped somewhat by Maryska's illness; -but the child responded quickly to the devoted care bestowed upon her, -and youth emerged triumphant. Her every whim gratified, as Faber -dictated, she was nevertheless often alone in the little house now, and -many were the solitary hours she spent there. Harry Lassett alone saved -her from despair; and so much did she come to rely upon him, that she -would send a note round by hook or by crook whenever Gabrielle went out, -and sometimes when she was at home. - -One of these letters went up the fifth morning after Faber's visit to -the Temple. Silvester was to address a big meeting at the Mansion House -upon that day, and Gabrielle to open the factory as a second centre for -the distribution of bread. Maryska, who heard with impatience all this -talk of things she failed utterly to understand, sulked for an hour in -the lonely house, and then dispatched a letter by a friendly butcher to -Harry's rooms, near the Holly Bush Inn. To her great joy, he came at -once, wrapped in a monstrous fur coat and evidently amiable. This little -waif from the unknown was already growing into his life, though he would -have been angry had his oldest friend told him as much. - -"Hallo, little Gipsy!--and what's up this morning?" he asked, as he came -like a great bear into Silvester's puny dining-room. "Gipsy" was his -favourite name for her, and she liked it well enough. - -"Oh!" she said, "they've all gone praying again, Harry--they're not fed -up with it, even yet! I'm sick of this house! Oh! I'm d----d sick of it, -Harry. Won't you take me out?" - -He always laughed at this trick of strong expression, caught by the -child from a Bohemian father; an anathema to Gabrielle and the Reverend -Gordon. Harry rather liked it, for it seemed to him somehow that he was -talking to a man when he and Maryska were alone together. - -"Why, Gipsy!" he cried, taking both her hands, "you do look blue, upon -my word! Where do you want to go to now? Where shall I take you if we -have a spree?" - -She thought upon it with a quick and serious glance aside. - -"To a café!" she said at length. "Let us go and eat bouillabaisse at a -café! _He_ always did when the drawing had tired him. Let us melt the -old pot, and drink it--that's what he used to say!" - -"But, Maryska! If I haven't got any money?" - -She laughed at that. - -"Oh!" she cried, "I've got lots! Here's a whole bank-note. Cannot we buy -bouillabaisse with that, Harry?" - -Harry took the bank-note and perceived with astonishment that it was for -no less a sum than one hundred pounds. - -"Guess Papa Faber gave you this, now, didn't he? Generous old daddy, -too. Have you seen him lately, Gipsy?" - -She was a little troubled by his question. - -"He came--it would be many days ago. He is going to take me back to -Italy. Why do you say he is generous? Was he not _his_ friend?" - -"Do you mean your father's? Well, but we don't always give a lot of -money to the daughters of our friends--not in this country, anyway! You -ought to think yourself very lucky, Maryska!" - -She did not understand that. - -"He is very old," she said. "Once I thought that he looked at me as -other men do--as you do sometimes, Harry! It was when I first saw him at -Ragusa. Then it became different! He took us to Ranovica, and I saw -dreadful things. Jesus Christ, what things I saw! Oh! if you had -known--but I try to forget them now. _He_ would wish that--he never let -me speak of yesterday." - -Her eyes were very wide open and shining; the expressive face spoke of -woe most piteous. And this memory of suffering affected the boy also, -destitute of sentiment as he was in a general way. He stooped suddenly -and kissed her warm lips. - -"Never mind, Gipsy dear! You've got some jolly good friends, and old -Papa Faber will see you through. I know he means to, for Gabrielle told -me so. Just think of it!; one of the richest men in the world your -godfather! Aren't you in luck?" - -She smiled. Money, by hook or by crook, had been Louis de Paleologue's -gospel; how could she forget it? - -"He's in love with Gabrielle," she said, making no shadow of a -resistance to his kisses, but rather lifting her lips to his, "I know -it, and so does she! Why aren't you angry with them, Harry--don't you -care? Doesn't it make any difference to you?" - -"Oh," he said with just a touch of hardness in his voice, "I'm not going -to be jealous of an old bounder like that. He's old enough to be her -father. Let's go and spend some of your money, Maryska. Does the doctor -say you may go?" - -She made a wry grimace. - -"_He_ used to say doctors were----But no, I mustn't tell you. I hate -them! How can they know what's inside us and why we feel it? Of course I -shall go! Why are you such a fool?" - -He gave way with a shrug, and she went up to get her furs. It was a -clear day with little wind and a fine red sun. The frost had not broken, -and these two went down toward a city over which loomed the menace of a -peril terrible beyond imagination. But of this the suburbs said nothing. -Here and there a baker would have a flaring bill in his window; there -were advertisements and appeals upon some of the hoardings, but few -stopped to read them. Such idlers as gathered at the street corners had -long exhausted the only topic of conversation and smoked in silence when -they did not beg in companies. "Bread, for the love of God!" was the -chant of gangs of impostors whose corduroys were no ornament to streets -of red brick. 'Buses, trams and taxis seemed quite unaware of a crisis. -The newspapers alone were hysterical. They were covered with flaring -black headlines. - -Harry had engaged a taxi, and he took her for a drive round Hyde Park -before going on to the Savoy Café for luncheon. There were a few -horsemen in the Row, but they looked cold enough, and Maryska, who had -seen the Italian cavalry ride, thought but little of their performance. -For the most part, the big houses in the West End were left to Jeames -and his humours. It would have been unfair to the owners of these to say -that panic had driven them away. They were just wintering at Cannes or -Monte or Aix as they always did. Out there, the news from England seemed -very dubious; it was almost impossible to believe that such consequences -had attended the severity of the winter. Here in Western London, the -intensity of the cold, the relentless winds, the bitter weather taught -men to incline an ear to every rumour. Perhaps even the sanest critic -experienced a new sensation when he stood apart and asked himself if it -were true that the sea might freeze from Calais to Dover. A menace of an -unknown peril troubled all; the East End alone gave tongue to it. - -They went down St. James' Street and turned into Pall Mall. Here their -taxi was held up by a howling mob, indulging in the ancient and amusing -pastime of breaking the windows of the clubs. Did a politician as much -as show a nose at a window-pane and a shower of stones rewarded long -years of salaried labour or unfeed eloquence. Was he not one of those -who pocketed the profits the bakers were making?--and if he did not, was -he not, at any rate, "capital in a black coat"; and where would you have -a better target? The hulking youths, who rattled their money-boxes -offensively in every face, cared much about beer and little about bread, -but that little had become rather a grim reality these later days. They -saw men, and, women, too, dying, down East of absolute starvation--the -ghosts of the "might be" stood at their elbow and whispered "Better the -jewellers' shops than the mortuaries." And to Bond Street they went, -adding to their numbers quickly and uttering bolder threats. "Bread or -death!" An odour of beer was the incense to this prayer. - -Maryska regarded these gangs of loafers with inquiring eyes. She had -seen nothing of the kind in any country, and they excited her contempt. -When she asked Harry why none of them carried guns, his laughter seemed -to her quite silly. - -"The police would never let them do that in Austria," she said -emphatically. "Each side would have guns and they would kill each other. -The English are afraid, I think. They should not let such people be in -London." - -"But, Gipsy, don't you know this winter is killing them by thousands? -Haven't you read it in the newspapers?" - -"Oh!" she said. "He would never believe what was in the newspapers. He -said it was--but you would be angry. Are we going to have bouillabaisse -soon? I am dreadfully hungry; I could eat a man, truly I could." - -"Then I mustn't take you where any man is. This is the Strand, the place -a lot of your people come to. Do you see that sign over yonder? We are -going to eat there." - -"But, Harry, it's a tailor shop! Oh, you little beast! You would not -take me to a tailor's shop? You can't mean to take me there!" - -"Cheer up!" he said, squeezing her arm, "they cut very well," and so -they drove into the courtyard, and seeing the actresses in weird furs at -the door of the café, Maryska leaped down from the taxi and laughed with -pleasure. - -"I could kiss you if it were English," she said. - -Evidently she was of the opinion that it was not English, and so no more -on that point was said. - - - II - -Her idea was still a café chantant, and the Savoy met it badly. - -She had seen a number of well-dressed women in Berlin, in Madrid, and in -Paris; but these, apparently, had belonged to the undesirable classes, -and she could hardly believe that any showy creature in the -neighbourhood of the ancient hospice of the Fratres de Monte Jovis--a -fraternity unknown, may be, to the courtly Gustave--could be of any -other kidney. Twenty times during the elegant repast must Harry say, "Do -shut up, Gipsy!" and as often must her eyes express wonder. What had she -done? - -There were odd moments when the mere girl in her came out with a bang, -and the boy blushed up to his ears. She laughed uproariously at two -waiters who cannoned each other off the soup, and when a clumsy fellow -dropped her box of chocolates on the floor, she was after it in a -twinkling and down on her paws like a cat. This was a depressing -interlude which alarmed her conventional cavalier. Harry hated "scenes" -with the distaste habitual to the Englishman of strait laced manners. - -He forbade her to smoke, moreover, and that was a grievance. She had -smoked cigarettes since she could remember anything at all, and were not -other women, especially the daughter-in-law of a personage famous in -great circles, were not they smoking? Maryska knew nothing about -palaces, but much about tobacco, and this was a question which nearly -led to the resignation of the Cabinet. - -"I shall tell the waiter to bring me a cigar," she exclaimed at last, -resting her pretty face upon her clasped hands and dealing him out a -look which was feline in its intensity. Harry gave up the contest at -that and ordered her a little box of Russian cigarettes upon the spot. - -"What would Mr. Silvester say?" he asked her. He might as well have -talked of the weather. - -"I don't care a ----, and if you provoke me, I will say it. Am I a -little, little child that the priests shall beat me? Give me a liqueur, -and I will call you a good boy. If you do not, I will go away." - -He did not wish her to go away, and he gave her the liqueur. When, at -length, he escaped, she besought him to take her to "the café chantant," -and for very importunity they went over to the Coliseum. Here both the -_Connaisseuse_ and the child were in evidence. She called the echo of a -tenor "a beast," was dreadfully bored by a comic sketch, but enraptured -by the "plate-breakers." When a Russian _danseuse_ appeared, her eyes -sparkled, and all her body swayed to the rhythm of the graceful -movements. She would like to be a dancer--she said so. - -"When I leave the Silvesters, I will come to the man who owns this -theatre, and ask him to let me dance. How much will he give me for that, -Harry?" - -He was watching the Russian when she spoke, and hardly noticed it--but -she persisted, and would be heard. - -"I used to dance for _him_, sometimes--after we had been to the cafés -together. He played the fiddle--oh, so badly!--and he said I was born to -it. Why should I not dance when those Silvester people are tired of me?" - -The man said, "Oh, rot!"--but chancing to look at her presently, he was -startled to see the expression upon her face, and the evidences of an -ecstasy she could not conceal. The music had entered into her very soul. -She bent to it; seemed to suffer a trance because of it, while her eyes -watched the scene as though this were a house of visions. Harry Lassett -wondered; she was, indeed, an extraordinary child. When the ballet was -over, and they were in the cab again, he told her so. - -"What about this dancing nonsense? Did you say your father put it into -your head?" - -"I used to dance for him--very well, _he_ said. I would like to be that -woman, Harry! The Russian one, with the diamonds in her hair." - -"Don't be a fool, Maryska! She's been dancing ever since she was four, I -suppose. I expect she's got a husband who drinks champagne and thrashes -her with a horse-whip. If you tried that game, they'd laugh at you." - -She leaned back upon the cushions of the cab, and looked straight before -her. - -"No one laughs when I try to do things. I know what I am saying. I could -dance as well as the Russian woman, and they would give me a lot of -money. Why should I not do it? I have no one who cares for me! Mr. Faber -is going to America--the Silvesters do not like me because I am tired of -praying. There, I shall come to the theatre, and they will keep me." - -Harry was not a sentimentalist, very far from it; but the restrained -dolour of this confession made a curious appeal to him, while, at the -same time, the childishness of it exasperated him. Was she not in -reality one of the most fortunate women in London that day? Her failure -to realise what John Faber's friendship meant was incomprehensible, and -yet it could not be disputed that she did fail to realise it. - -"Look here, Maryska!" he said emphatically, "you don't want me to be -angry with you, do you, now?" - -"No," she said very quickly, "not you, Harry." And she laid her hand in -his. He did not repulse her, but went on with the argument. - -"If you don't want me to be angry, talk sense! Faber has adopted you, -and he is one of the richest men in the world. Very well, you'll never -want for anything on this planet. You're going into life on a good -pitch, and the bowling is bilge. I expect they'll speak of you as a -famous heiress presently, and half the men in London be after you! -What's the good of romancing, then, or pretending you don't understand? -I'm sure you understand just as well as I do--and if it were me, I'd -knock up a century, certain! Don't you think you're rather foolish, -little Gipsy?" - -She shook her head, and put her arms about him in a gesture she could -not control. - -"No," she said, "I am very lonely, Harry!"--and she spoke no other word -until the cab drove up to the house in Well Walk. - - - III - -These excursions were no secrets between a boy and a girl, and Maryska -would recite every detail of them upon her return to Hampstead. She was -spared the necessity upon this occasion by the appearance in the road of -another taxi, bringing Silvester and Gabrielle from Stepney. The four -met upon the pavement, and immediately fell to a narrative of events. So -much had been done, Gabrielle said; it had been a day of triumphs, and -they had been achieved by Rupert Trevelle in the face of great odds. - -Harry looked at his fiancée while she was talking of her success, and he -could not but realise that the recent days had changed her greatly. She -had won dignity, he thought, and a new outlook upon life, which could -not be a transient influence. There was in her manner towards him a -sense of superiority, which the inferior intellect resented; while her -good-natured badinage upon his "holiday" suggested anew his inability to -play any serious part in the grave affairs which now occupied her. But, -beyond this, was her utter indifference to his attempts to make her -jealous, and he knew that she hardly listened to him when he spoke of -Maryska and the theatre. - -"She wants to be a dancer! Oh! every child wants to be that some time or -other. Were you not going to be an engine-driver yourself when you were -seven? You told me so." - -"Yes, but she's a jolly lot more than seven, and if you don't look out, -she'll catch and bowl the three of you." - -"My dear Harry, that is nonsense. Are you going skating to-night?" - -"Yes, if you are coming." - -"I can't. Mr. Trevelle is going to dine with us." - -"What! hasn't he done talking yet? Someone ought to take away the key. -That man is wound up!" - -"At any rate, he is the life and soul of things. He's got nearly twenty -thousand pounds for us in five days." - -"I'll have to borrow a monkey of him. Is your tame millionaire coming -also? They say in the papers that he's been sent for by the Cabinet! Is -he going to sell some of his wheat cheap, or what?" - -Gabrielle froze perceptibly. - -"I have seen very little of Mr. Faber. It is not to be supposed that he -is interested in what we do. They say he is going to America from -Queenstown. All the steamers are to sail from there next week." - -"If the strike lets them! Is Maryska going with him?" - -"I don't think so; we are to have charge of her. Won't you come in, or -must you go? I am perishing here!" - -"Oh!" he said with chagrin, "I must go, as usual"--and he lurched off -down the street without even offering his hand to her. - -The truth was that he was angry both with himself and with her. Brief as -their odd engagement had been, he knew that it had been a great mistake. -He felt vaguely that his brains were no match for hers, and that she was -coming to understand the fact. And then there was his new attitude -towards Maryska. How strangely the child could influence him! He -remembered almost every word she had said since they set out for the -Savoy together. The memory of the many _faux pas_ she had made was so -humorous that he stood upon the pavement to laugh at them again. There -followed a recollection of the moment when she had put her arms about -him, and he had kissed her. His whole soul had gone out into that kiss! -The warm lips upon his own, the hands which thrilled him, the hair -brushing his face lightly--all had moved him in a transport of desire he -could not resist. And he was engaged to Gabrielle! His step quickened -when he remembered it, and he tried to sweep the inevitable accusation -aside. He was engaged to Gabrielle, who trusted him. A silent voice -asked, was it cricket?--and he could make no answer. - -In his own rooms, by the Holly Bush Inn, the hag who robbed him had -stirred up a splendid fire in the grate and set the teacups for two, a -suggestion which caused him some irritation. Here was his holy of -holies, chiefly devoted to cricket bats and tennis rackets. The walls -were decorated by a number of "groups" of the teams for which he had -played, including two English elevens against Australia, and at least -six which had opposed the Players. Elsewhere, and chiefly upon the -writing table at which he rarely wrote, were smaller pictures, including -one of Gabrielle which had been taken in New York, and another which he -called "the Flapper" portrait. The latter showed a chubby-faced child of -fourteen with her hair down her back, and legs of such ample proportions -that she might have been in training as an athlete. The picture had been -his ideal for many years, but he regarded it a little wistfully now. -When he sat down to tea, he took with him a little book between whose -leaves was a miniature of Maryska, done by her father some three years -ago. Such an exquisite painting had never been in his possession before. -It had been one of her few treasures, and yet she had given it to him. - -Louis de Paleologue had painted this in Paris, intending to sell it; but -Maryska stole it when he was at the café one day, and neither threats -nor persuasion had robbed her of it subsequently. It showed her head and -shoulders, a veil of gauze about her, and a Turkish cap upon her head. -The note of it was the passionate intensity of the girl's eyes, glowing -like jewels in the picture, but with a depth of human feeling art is -rarely able to convey. For the rest it might have been a miniature of -the Bologna School and it had all the virtues of colour of which those -masters were capable. Harry understood its value, and he thought that he -knew why Maryska had given it to him. He did not ask himself why the -gift had been kept secret, or why he had no courage to speak of it to -Gabrielle. - -He was at the stage when he knew that something must be done, and yet -would consent to drift upon the tide of circumstances. The inevitable -had happened, and this boy and girl, thrown by the chance of confidence -into each other's society, were lovers already. What the future had in -store neither dared to ask. Vanity and John Faber were driving him into -a speedy marriage with Gabrielle, and they had spoken already of the -week previous to Lent. This was to say that in five weeks' time he would -be her husband. It seemed impossible to contemplate. Harry drank his tea -with his eyes still upon the picture of Maryska. - - - - - CHAPTER V - - THE MAN OF THE MOMENT - - - I - -It was quite true that Faber had been summoned to Downing Street; -equally true to declare that not even the wit of that engaging Paul Pry, -Master Bertie Morris, would have divined the nature of the interview. - -Perhaps good common sense might have helped him had he trusted to such a -cicerone rather than to his ears. - -Here was the head of one of the most famous engineering firms in the -world held prisoner in London during these days of national tribulation. -The house of John Faber and Son had achieved colossal undertakings in -all quarters of the globe. Its transport mechanism was beyond question -the finest in existence. The genius of it was known to be the man who -had recently sold some millions of rifles to Germany--a man accredited -by rumour with such sagacity that he had cornered the wheat-market -during the earliest days of this memorable winter. The latter proceeding -did not help his popularity in England, though it was ignored by the -politicians who invited him to Downing Street. In a word, they desired -to know how he was going to bring his wheat into England. - -Faber was some hours at the conference, and directly it was over he left -London with Rupert Trevelle, and set off for Liverpool. Unusually quiet -and obviously troubled by a "brain fit," he delved into a mass of -newspapers while the train rolled on over the frozen fields, and it was -not until they had passed Crewe that he laid the paper aside and -addressed a remark to his ready friend. - -"I guess London is pretty well like a rat pit just now; at least these -newspaper men make it so. Hunger's a useful sort of dog when his dander -is risen. I suppose Miss Silvester has found that out already?" - -Trevelle, who smoked an immense cigar, and wore a fur coat with a -wonderful collar of astrachan, rose to the occasion immediately. - -"We are living on a volcano," he said. "The government knows it, and -others must guess it. I am waiting every day to see the shell burst and -the lava come out. We want imagination to understand just what is going -on in England at the present time. That is where we are short. All the -way down here, I have been looking at these cottages and asking myself -in how many of them the children have no bread this night. My God! think -of the women who are bearing the burden--but, of course, you are the man -who has thought of it. I wonder sometimes how much you would have made -but for certain things. You didn't buy corn to give it away in Stepney, -Mr. Faber; that wasn't in your mind a month ago. I'll swear you had very -different intentions." - -"No need to swear at all. I'm not a philanthropist; I never was. I -bought that wheat because the cleverest weather man in New York promised -a winter which, anyway, would make the market sure. I went in as any -other speculator. How I am coming out is a different proposition. They -don't seem to think much of me in England--not by what these writers -say. I guess if I were a prize fighter, I'd be doing better business in -the popularity line." - -Trevelle was a little upset about it. - -"It can all be put right in a day if you wish it." - -"But I don't wish it." - -"I know you don't; you are wanting the girl to have the credit of it." - -"Why not? It's a bagatelle to me. And the game will soon be up. I can -feed a few thousands in London, but I can't feed a nation. Either I send -a cable to Charleston surrendering to my men or I do not. If I do, it -will cost me half my fortune; if I don't and this frost holds, you'll -see red hell in England before twenty days have run." - -"Then the rumours about the strike breaking at Liverpool are true? There -is something in them?" - -"There is everything in them. The government can deal with this side if -I deal with the other. It's up to me in the end and I must say 'Yes,' or -'No.' If I say 'Yes,' all America will laugh at me--if I don't, well -who's to charge me? That's the situation, that and your own people, who -are going to give the politicians their day. I tell you, it's a -considerable proposition and is going to make me older before I have -done with it." - -He was unusually earnest, and his manner forbade any inquiry as to what -had happened in Downing Street, a matter Trevelle's curiosity would have -probed if it could. To be candid, this polished gentleman, who -indirectly had brought the fact of Faber's presence in England to the -notice of the government, was immensely pleased by the part he had -played in the stirring events of recent days. Not a lover of money, but -a persistent seeker after social credit, when it could be gained by -worthy ends, Trevelle had won distinction in twenty ways: as a founder -of boys' camps, an officer of Territorials, and a promoter of some -schemes which had become national. And here he was in these critical -days by the side of the man whose genius might well be the salvation of -his fellow-countrymen. - -Then entered Liverpool a little late in the afternoon, and went at once -to the scene of the strike. It was bitterly cold weather, but nothing to -justify the fearsome stories which had delighted London for some days -past. The strike itself appeared to be the result as much of lack of -work as of any fundamental discontent; starvation had been busy here, -and the fruits of starvation were now to be reaped. As in London, -haggard gangs paraded the streets and clamoured for bread; there were -turbulent scenes in the darker quarters of the city, and not a little of -that unmeasured mischief which ever treads upon the heels of want. An -interview with the men's leaders convinced Faber that America alone -could unlock the doors of this compulsory idleness, and it set his own -responsibility once more in a lurid light. Let him cable that message of -surrender and the end would be at hand; but in that case his own people -would call him a genius no more and Wall Street would deride him. He saw -himself as the enemy of the British people, dominant in victory and yet -upon the eve of a defeat which never could be retrieved. And if this -befell him a woman must answer for it--an ancient story truly. - -From Liverpool he journeyed to Fishguard, thence to the south coast. A -greater rigour of the frost was here, and it was possible for the -dreamer to understand some of those fears which had haunted the timorous -during the eventful days. Perhaps a man of large imagination might have -been justified in looking across the still seas and asking himself what -would befall the island kingdom if the prophets were justified. - -At Dover, even John Faber dreamed a dream and did not hesitate to speak -of it to Trevelle. Sleeping lightly because of the bitter cold, he -imagined that the Channel had become but a lake of black ice in which -great ships were embedded, and that far and wide over the unbroken -surface went the sledges of the adventurous. Driven to imitate the -leaders in this fair emprise, he himself embarked also upon an ice-ship -presently, and went out into the night over that very silver streak -which had been the salvation of England during the centuries. The white -cliffs behind him disappeared anon in the mist; a great silence fell all -about; he passed an ice-yacht moving before the lightest breeze, and she -was but a shadow picture. Ultima Thule and the frozen wastes were here. - -It was a dream of the darkness, and it carried him many miles from the -English shore; he perceived that the coastwise lights blazed out as -usual, and he could discern in the far distance the magnificent beams -from Cape Grisnez and nearer to them the splendid message of the -Forelands. A phantom light upon his own ship was powerful enough to cut -a golden path over the frozen sea and show him its wonders and its -solitudes. Here where great steamers went westward to the Americas, -eastward to the city's ports; here where many thousands crossed daily at -the bidding of many interests; here a man might stand alone and hear no -other sounds than that of the freshening winds of eventide or the -groaning of the ice when the sea refuses its harbourage. A weird, wild -scene, stupendous in its suggestion, an hour of Nature's transcendent -victory. And yet but a dream of his sleep, after all. - - - II - -Such was the vision which reality supported but ill. - -There was ice in the southern harbours, but there had been ice there -before, and nothing but the imagination of discerning journalists had -bridged the peaceful seas and put upon the frozen way the armies of the -invader. Faber perceived immediately that a few of his ice-dredges from -Charleston could undo any mischief that Nature had done, and he sent a -cable to America there and then, as a sop to the fears of the timorous -rather than a measure of real necessity. - -It was odd how, through it all, this man whose name was known to so few -Englishmen had become the arbiter of the nation's destiny. He held the -bulk of the wheat which could be shipped from the West if the men who -loaded the ships were willing; with him lay that "Yes" or "No" which -should unlock the gates and bid a starving population enter the -granaries. Once in his younger days he had heard a preacher who took for -his text the words, "Sell that thou hast," and he remembered how that -this man had declared the need of an all-embracing sacrifice once in the -course of every life. The words haunted him, and could not be stilled. -He had become as a King or Emperor of old time who could make war or end -it by a word. Irony reminded him that he was an apostle of war, and that -a sentiment which would deride it had no place in his creed. Why, and -for whom, should he beggar himself to serve this people? His financial -empire would come down with a crash if he surrendered now--he believed -that he would never surrender, and yet he sent a compromising cable to -America that day. - -This was just before Trevelle and he returned to London through a -country which seemed to have no other thoughts than the pleasures of the -frost. Everywhere the villages kept carnival upon the ice with merriment -and music and the pageantry of snows. - -To Faber this seemed a wonderful trait in the national character, and -not to be met by Trevelle's cheery reminiscence of the gladiatorial -salute. These people had not saluted the frost because they believed -that they were about to die, but because they thought that the national -intellect would enable them to live. It had been the same during the -Boer War and far back during the Crimea. Beneath the veil of tribulation -lay the enduring faith that the nation would emerge, purified by the -ordeal and greater for the knowledge of its own strength. - -"You see yourselves worrying through, and that's all you care about," he -said, as the morning train carried them to London, and the daily papers -were strewn about him like the monstrous leaves of an unhealthy plant: -"the skin of this nation is the thickest on the globe, and perhaps its -most wonderful asset. When you do get into a panic, you show it chiefly -in the smoking-room or over the dinner-table. This time you've the -biggest chunk to chew I can remember, and yet you are only beginning to -see how big it is. The mob is teaching you something, and you'll learn -more." - -He took up a journal from the seat, and passing it over to Trevelle, -indicated some immense headlines. - -"See, here! the crowd has burned down your Temple, and is asking for -another to keep 'em warm. That's British right through, I guess, and -something to go on with. It's just what a man should expect when he -turns philanthropist on his own account. You give them what they want, -and they are mad because they want it. It's a pretty story, and you -should read it. It will certainly interest you." - -Trevelle took up the paper and read the report to the last line. -Yesterday at five o'clock, an enormous rabble had surrounded the factory -by Leman Street, and there being no one in charge who could deal with -them, the hooligans had set the place on fire and burned it to the -ground. From that they had gone on to other pleasantries, chiefly -connected with the philanthropic agencies in the East End. A mission had -been burned at Stepney; a boys' institute at Bethnal Green. There was -hardly a baker's shop in the locality which had not been looted, while -some of the larger stores were but shattered ruins. The report added -that a vast horde of ruffians, numbering at least two hundred thousand -men, was then marching upon Pall Mall, and that troops were being -hurried to London. It was altogether the most sensational affair since -the beginning of the frost. - -"Poor little Gabrielle!" said Trevelle, thinking first of the woman. -"I'm glad she wasn't there. This will be an awful blow to her!" - -"Not if she's got the common sense I credit her with. Women's ideals are -not readily shaken, and Miss Silvester has some big ones, which are -permanent. I'll see her to-day, and we'll know what's to be done. Tell -her as much when we get to London." - -"If there is any London left to get to----" - -"Oh! there'll be a nook and corner somewhere. Your fellows have a genius -for dealing with mobs. I would back the police in London against all the -riff-raff east of St. Paul's. But they'll do some mischief, none the -less--and even this may not help us for the moment. Do you guess what's -in that cable, Mr. Trevelle--why, how should you? And yet it might mean -more to your people to-day than ten million sovereigns, counted out on -the floor of Westminster Hall!" - -He held up the familiar dirty paper upon which the Post Office writes -the most momentous of messages, and then showed his companion that it -had come from Queenstown. - -"The men on my side have given in," he said, adding nothing of his own -act in that great matter, "the steamers will be sailing inside -twenty-four hours. It's a race, sir, between me and the worst side of -your nation. And I guess I'll win." - -"If you do," said Trevelle earnestly, "there is nothing our government -can do to repay the debt." - -"Unless they teach the people the lesson of it; do you think it is -nothing to an American to see this great country at the mercy of the -first food panic which overtakes her? I tell you, it is as much to my -countrymen as to yours. Teach them that they have a precious possession -in this island kingdom, and you are doing a great work. I shall be a -proud man to have a hand in it----" - -"You certainly will have that. It's a lesson we all need. I don't think -I could have repeated it myself, but for these weeks. Now, I know--and -the man who knows can never forget." - -He fell to silence upon it, and regarding the drear country from the -blurred window, perceived a barren field and a drift of snow falling -from a sullen sky. Yet sore afflicted as she was, he remembered that -this was Mother England, and that he and countless others had been but -ungrateful sons in the days of her glory. - -Would it be otherwise when the shadows had passed? - -Ah! who could tell? - - - - - BOOK IV - - MERELY MEN AND WOMEN - - - - - CHAPTER I - - AFTER THE DEBACLE - - - I - -Gabrielle was at her club in Burlington Gardens when the news of the -riot in Stepney was brought by her father. She determined to go back at -once that she might know the worst. - -"How can they say such things?" she protested while a footman helped her -on with her furs, and her father watched her humbly, as latterly it was -his wont to do. "Why! everything is going so well, father. I had a -perfect ovation this morning; it was nearly half an hour before I could -get away from the people. Why should they have done this?" - -Silvester said that he could not tell her. All that he knew he had -learned by the mouth of a messenger, who had been dispatched headlong -from Stepney and came panting with the news. - -"You should not have listened to Mr. Faber, my dear. He is an American, -and he does not understand our people. The ticket idea was quite wrong. -It led to many jealousies, and now to this. The people think there is a -great store of bread in Leman Street, and that it is being given only to -our friends. I am sorry the story got abroad, very sorry! Charity cannot -discriminate in such times as these." - -He would have gone on to preach quite a little sermon to the hall porter -and the footmen, who told each other afterward that the young lady gave -it to him "'ot"--but Gabrielle, amazed and chagrined beyond all -experience, immediately ordered them to get a taxi and drive without any -delay to Stepney. It was then about seven o'clock of the evening; a -bitter cold night with a wraith of snow in the air. The West End seemed -entirely deserted at such an hour--even the music-halls had no queues at -their doors, while the theatrical managers complained dolefully of their -financial sorrows. London had awakened to the truth of the situation at -last, and London was frightened. Even the unobservant Silvester could -realise the omens of menace, and say that the city was in peril. - -"I don't know what it means," he told Gabrielle, as they drove, "but I -passed a regiment of cavalry as I came here, and it was going toward -Oxford Circus. Do you notice how many police there are about, and -mounted police? There is hardly a shop in the West End which is not -boarded up. Perhaps they are wise--this has taught them what lies on the -other side of Aldgate, and it is a lesson they should have learned a -long time ago. My own opinion is that we are upon the brink of a -revolution; though, of course, I would not say as much to any of these -newspaper people!" - -"If you think it, father, why not say it? Surely the day has gone by for -the old foolish ideas. The government has left the people to starve, and -must take the consequences. We have done our best, but we are not -policemen. I feel tempted to go back to Hampstead and having nothing -more to do with it. Think of the ingratitude, the shame of it all--and -we have worked so hard!" - -"You should not have listened to Mr. Faber, my dear; I said as much at -the beginning. He is very ignorant of English people; it was a mistake -to listen to him." - -"You didn't think that on the steamer, father, when we came over from -America. You were his bravest advocate; you called him one of the -world's geniuses, I remember it." - -Silvester admitted it. - -"I hoped much from him. If we could have won him, it would have been the -greatest victory in the cause of peace we have ever achieved. I fear now -he must be called our evil genius. He has undoubtedly sold all those -rifles to Germany, and that is to say that we shall have the old foolish -scares again and very soon. A man like that is a terrible instrument of -mischief. I think we shall have to dissociate ourselves from him -altogether when the little girl is well enough to leave us." - -Gabrielle sighed as though all these things had become a burden on her -mind. An innate sympathy for John Faber prevented her saying what -otherwise it would have been a truth to say. How much he could have done -for them had he chosen to do it! His money would have helped them so--an -inconsequent thought, for her charities had never wanted money. - -"He was certainly wrong about the tickets," she admitted. "I know Mr. -Trevelle thought so, but he gave way. If it is really true that he is -keeping bread from the people to serve his own ends, nothing bad enough -can be said about it, but I want to know that it is true. It has been -very unkind of him to do nothing for us when he might have done so much. -My opinion of him is greatly changed; I do not think he is really our -friend." - -Silvester was quite of that opinion also. - -"He made us such extravagant promises. A house in the West End, -motors--every luxury. I really thought he was quite serious when I left -Ragusa. Sir Jules Achon did not wish us to go. He knows these people; he -thought I was ill-advised to give up Yonkers for such vague promises. I -wish I had listened to him now; he is still on those delightful waters, -far away from all this. We should have been with him but for our foolish -generosity." - -Gabrielle avoided the difficult subject. She must have been a little -ashamed of it when she remembered the gifts John Faber had lavished upon -them already and the concern he displayed for Maryska. The conversation, -indeed, carried her back to a somewhat commonplace reality from which -she had emerged to win this temporary triumph as a ministering angel in -the East End. And now they had burned her Temple and the idol was cast -down. Her father would send Maryska away, and they must return to the -old humdrum life. John Faber and his riches would pass as a ship of the -night. Harry Lassett and the dead leaves of a withered passion remained. - -"Oh," she said at last, "how vain is all we do! How vain, how hopeless! -We are just like ants crawling about the earth and trying to set -ourselves up for gods. We talk of peace and war, of good and evil, of -what we shall accomplish and what we have done, and then down comes the -great flat foot of circumstance and out we go. I lose the power even to -hope sometimes. Why should we not let things drift? Who is the better -for our work?" - -Her father would not agree to that. - -"Every stone cast into the lake of the world's ills is an asset in -humanity's balance sheet," he said. "You have cast many, Gabrielle, and -will add to the number. Look out there at those poor people. Is it all -vain when you remember how many of their kind you have succoured? This -American hardness is no good influence; I wish we could shake it off -forever. Indeed, it were better so." - -"We shall do that," she said quietly. "Mr. Faber will not be many days -in England when the frost will let him get away." - -He remained silent. They had passed Charing Cross, and now their way was -blocked by a vast torchlight procession of women, debouching upon the -Strand from the neighbourhood of the Old Kent Road. It was a sorry -spectacle, for here were young and old, white-haired women with their -backs bent toward the earth which soon would receive them; drabs in rags -who flaunted their tattered beauty in the face of every male; quiet -workers whose children were starving in garrets; women from mean streets -who had never begged in all their lives; children who wondered if the -end of the world had come. Headed by a lank harridan who wore a crimson -shawl and carried an immense torch, these miserables tramped stolidly -toward the West End, seeking God knows what relief from the shuttered -houses. And after them went a dozen mounted policemen, good-humoured, -chubby-cheeked fellows, who had never wanted bread and were never out of -patience with others less fortunate. - -A thousand expressions were to be read upon the faces of this haggard -crew, and not a little fine determination. Here would be a woman reeling -in drink; yonder a young mother hardly strong enough to walk the -streets. There were sluts and shapely girls, creatures of a shabby -finery, and hopeless woebegone figures of an unchanging poverty. From -time to time wistful glances would be cast up at the lighted windows of -the houses as though succour might be cast down thence. All moved with -rapid, shuffling steps, an orderly concourse which concealed the forces -of disorder. By here and there, some of the younger members broke into a -mournful song, which was checked at intervals to permit of the exchange -of coarse wit with the passers-by on the pavements. The whole throng -seemed driven relentlessly on toward a nameless goal which must break -their hope when at last they reached it. - -"Isn't it dreadful to see them?" said Gabrielle when the last of the -procession had passed by and traffic in the Strand was resumed once -more. "This sort of thing affects me terribly; it makes me feel sorry -that there are women in the world at all. Think of the children of such -creatures! What can we hope for them?" - -"It is the children for whom we must work," rejoined the father. "I -should think of England with despair if it were not for the children." - -Worthy man! Despair had always been among the wares in his basket; and -yet, how often had this unhappy British people gone laughing by with -never a thought for him or his melancholy gospel? - - - II - -The menace of the streets was not less when the women had passed by and -the traffic flowed again. - -London was full of wild mobs that night; of savage men and men made -savage by hunger, and they were drifted to and fro upon the shifting -seas of authority and stranded on many a relentless shore. There was -riot, too, and upon riot, pillage and the incendiary. Now for the first -time since the winter set in, hunger drove even the orderly to the West -in the wild search for the food the East could not give them. Long -through the dark hours, in Bond Street, in Piccadilly, by Hyde Park, -away in the remotest suburbs, sleepers were awakened to listen fearfully -to the tramp of feet and the hoarse voices of the multitudes. Those who -had the curiosity to look from their windows beheld a sky quivering with -light, a glorious iridescence above many a flaming building the rioters -had fired. It was the beginning of the end, men said; a visitation of -Almighty God against which all were impotent. Who shall wonder that -those whose faith was sure prayed for the salvation of their country in -that hour of her need? - -There were enormous crowds about Aldgate, and the taxi containing -Gabrielle and her father made but slow headway. When at last it entered -Leman Street, they perceived in an instant the whole extent of the -disaster; and so irreparable it seemed that the girl's pride broke down -utterly, and she shed bitter tears of shame and grief. How she had -worked for these people! What a heroine they had made of her! This very -morning there had been a kind of triumphal procession from the old -Temple to the new. She had been followed by a vast concourse of thankful -people, who cheered her as she went; while the bishop had addressed the -throngs from the doors of the mission, and spoken of the "noble lady," -whose services to them had been priceless. This was just eight hours -ago, and now there were but reddening ashes where the workers had stood -to give the children bread. - -The cab made its way to the doors of the wrecked building and an -inspector of police received them. The few who had been admitted within -the barriers were evidently ashamed of what had been done, but quite -unable to apologise for it. The inspector put it down to the hooligans. - -"We breed too many of them in these days, sir," he said, "the country -finds it out when there's hard times, and God knows they're hard enough -now. It must have been set afire after Mr. Gedding had locked it up for -the day. There were flames as tall as chimneys coming out of the roof -when I was called." - -This was a man who took tragedy as a matter of course, and would have -used the same words if St. Paul's had been burned. When asked if the -incendiary were taken, he replied that he was not, but that acting upon -"information received," he hoped to make an arrest before morning. His -anxiety for the "young lady" was real, and he advised that she should -return immediately to her home. - -"Now that there's this spirit abroad, I'll answer for nothing at all," -he said; "you'd be better the other side of Aldgate, and that's certain. -There's nothing but a pack of foreign cut-throats in the streets -to-night, and no man is safe. Just you take my advice, sir, and come -back in the morning, when they've had time to cool awhile. This is no -place for the young lady, whatever it may be for us." - -Silvester agreed with him, but he found it impossible to influence -Gabrielle. She seemed strangely moved by the melancholy glamour of the -scene; by the savage figures shadowed in the after-glow; by the -reddening skeleton of the Temple which stood up so proudly a few hours -ago. To-morrow there would be but a pit of ashes, where to-day a -sacrifice had been offered to the nation. She suffered profoundly when -she surveyed this wreck of her handiwork, and it seemed to her that her -work among the people was done. - -"Let us go on to the old Temple," she said with what resignation she -could command, "if they have burned that also, then I will return with -you, father, for I can do nothing more." - -Silvester disliked the idea of it. He would have been pleased enough to -have been back in his little study at Hampstead, where he might have -composed a sermon upon "ingratitude," as an obstacle; but he had long -been schooled to obedience when his daughter commanded, and so they -re-entered the cab and drove to the old Temple. A silent multitude -watched them as they went, but none cheered. The bitter cold night -either sent people to their houses, where they might shiver upon heaps -of rags, or it drove them to the open street where many a huge fire had -been kindled that the outcasts might warm themselves. Hereabouts you -would often see a whole family lying upon a filthy pallet of straw, and -so huddled together for warmth that it had the appearance of some -fearsome animal which had crawled from the darkness to the light. The -shadows gave pictures more terrible, husbanding the dying and the dead. -Starvation abetted the rigour of the winter. Nature waged war here in -these silent alleys, and no sound attended her stealthy victories, which -were multitudinous. - -In London beyond "the gate" there were other anxieties, but these poor -people knew nothing of them. War and its menace: the chimera of fabled -foes crossing the black ice in endless columns; cannon rumbling where -ships had sailed; England no longer an island, her ramparts of blue -waters gathered up; her gates thrown open to any who would affront -her--if the West End discussed all this covertly and as though afraid, -the East knew nothing of it. Here the danger was not of to-morrow, but -of to-night! The peril, ever present, fell upon them now at the bidding -of the natural law. For the first time since the outcasts of the world -had found sanctuary beyond Aldgate, their city of refuge had been unable -to feed them. And now hunger bade them go forth to the land of promise, -so near, so rich in all they needed. Shall we wonder that starving mobs -gathered in every square; that the courts were full of desperadoes with -murder in their eyes; that even the honest would listen and admit that -this or that might be done? - -Upon the other side were the police and the soldiers, many thousands -hidden prudently from the eyes of the mobs. If the Government could do -little to feed these people, it could, at least, protect the people who -were fed for the time being, at any rate. Commanded by the "man of -iron," the cavalry were marched hither and thither, but always to form a -cordon about the dangerous areas. Special drafts of constables came from -the distant suburbs to overawe poor devils whose greatest crime was -their hunger. Stepney was besieged by authority, fearful that men would -go out to get the children bread, and ashamed that bread should be -withheld. Here had Nature's war become one of a civil people, paying a -debt they long had owed to their exacting creditors, "Want of -Forethought and Economy." The sword of a foreign enemy would have been -the lesser peril--it was evident enough now to everyone! - -Through such scenes, by the dark and dangerous streets, went Gabrielle -to the ancient Temple. She found it occupied by busy missionaries, who -knew neither night nor day while the work of mercy must go on. In and -out they went as they returned from some mean house, or set off for -another. Dawn found them still at work, the terrible dawn when the -country waited for the verdict in Nature's court, and even the dullest -had come to know that this was an island kingdom. - - - III - -Faber and Trevelle reached Stepney early on the morning of the following -day. Gabrielle was still at the Temple and while she had expected the -visit of the resistless "inspiration," as she had come to call Trevelle, -John Faber's advent was unlooked for. - -"We heard you were burned out, and came along at once," he said, in the -best of humours. "I guess you'll want all the masons you've got, Miss -Silvester, and want 'em on time. That old factory should take five days -to put up if you go the right way about it. If it were me, I'd leave it -where it is, and make 'em toe the line among the ashes. That would teach -them to behave themselves next time. You can't burn the house that's -been burned already, and if they want to warm themselves, coal is -cheaper. Say, write that upon what's left of the door, and you'll have -the laugh on them, sure!" - -She was chagrined at the tone of it, but none the less, she seemed to -understand that he wished her well. - -"If we rebuild, where is the money to come from?" she asked him, -helplessly. "And what is the good of it if there is no bread to give the -people? My father says the end is coming. What have we to hope for if -that is the case?" - -"You have to hope for many things, my dear young lady--the weather for -one of them. Your good father is a little premature, maybe, and is prone -to believe what the newspapers tell him. The end is coming sure enough. -It's not the end he looks for by a long way." - -He glanced at Trevelle, and they smiled together. There had been great -news from Queenstown that morning. Why should they withhold it from her? - -"The fact is," said Trevelle, "the strike in America is over and the -wheat ships are sailing. You read your evening paper to-night and see -what it says. We have brains amongst us and they are busy. That's what -we've been asking for all along, in peace or war, not the dreamers but -the brains. And we've got 'em, Miss Silvester, we've got 'em!" - -He snapped his fingers, an habitual gesture, and seemed thereby to imply -that he, Rupert Trevelle, had laid down a doctrine which henceforth must -be the salvation of the British people. Gabrielle, however, heard him a -little coldly though she was full of wonder. - -"I did not think you were so interested in this matter," she said. And -then, "Will you, please, tell me why the men in Liverpool are striking -still?" When the scientific exposition had left her more in doubt than -ever, she asked of her work once more. "Then it is no good going on here -if the wheat will come in," she said; "our task will be finished then, -will it not, Mr. Faber?" He shook his head at that and told her of his -fears. - -"It will be a slow business. I advise you to stand by yet awhile. If we -get the cargoes slowly, as we shall have to do, the price of wheat will -still stand high, and that's no good to these people at all. Take my -advice and go on with what you are doing. The country owes you -something, sure, and it is just beginning to find that out. Did you see -your pictures in the halfpenny illustrateds, this morning? I like those -fine; I've got 'em here somewhere, and I mean to keep 'em." - -Trevelle thought it wise to move away at this point, and they were left -together in the great bare hall of the Temple, whither the people would -soon be flocking for bread. A winter sun shone cold and clear through -the wide window above them; then voices echoed strangely beneath the -vault as though they were tricked by a mutual self-restraint to an -artificiality of tone foreign to them. This man had come to love this -woman passionately, and he was about to go to his own country, never to -return. - -"Oh!" she cried, surprised and delighted when she beheld the pictures, -"what a dreadful guy they have made me! Now, don't you think this sort -of thing ought to be stopped?" He shook his head as though she had -disappointed him. - -"I never knew a woman yet whose picture was in a newspaper who didn't -say they had guyed her. The thing seems well enough to me, and I must -keep it for a better. Say, now, you know, I'm going away the first mail -that sails. Will you give me a better portrait or must I take this one?" - -Her spirit fell though she did not dare to tell him why. He was going, -and the building her hope had raised must come crashing down. With this -was her feeling that in some way he had failed her in the critical -hours. There were men who cried out upon his astuteness, made manifest -in the hour of crisis, but she had never heeded them. - -"If you really think that you will remember my name when you are in New -York again----" Her hesitation was the complement of the obvious, and he -smiled again. - -"It will be a new name. Let's hear how it sounds. Mrs. Harry Lassett! -Well, I don't like the sound of it overmuch, but I suppose it's not my -say. The wedding, I think, is for next month, is it not?" - -"For the week before Lent. You will not build me a Temple now; it would -be a mockery!" - -"Why, as to that, if it's a Temple for brains, I don't know that we -mightn't build it after all. That's what your country needs, Miss -Gabrielle. All the brains at work to educate the people. Sentiment will -carry you a very little way upon the road. Let your Temple go up to the -men with brains." - -"Ah!" she said, "I think we are all beginning to understand that. Even -my father says that universal peace will be won by the intellect not by -the heart of the nation. You will see him before you go, of course?" - -"I shall try to; it will be a misfortune for me if I do not." - -"And Maryska?" - -"Ah, there you get me into harbour at once. I've been thinking over what -Mr. Trevelle has told me about your difficulties, and I guess I'd better -see you out of them by taking Maryska to New York. Does that seem to you -a wise thing to do?" - -Her face became very pale, her thoughts seemed distant when she said: - -"Quite wise; she will never be well in England." - -"Or happy?" - -"Ah, who can say just what happiness is?" - -"True enough," he replied. "We look up and down the street for it, and -sometimes it is on our own doorsteps all the time. We say that we were -happy yesterday, and talk of happy days to come when to-day may be the -happiest of our lives. Some of us are not born for that ticket, and it's -human nature which shuts us out from it. Who knows, you and I may be -among the number." - -"An auspicious thing to say, remembering that I am to be married next -month." - -"Pardon me, I should not have said it. It's like one of your Lord -Salisbury's 'blazing indiscretions.' You are taking the line which your -welfare dictates that you shall take. You have thought this out for some -years, I don't doubt, and you say, there is just one man in the whole -world for you. Well, that's a bid for happiness any way. I'll put a -motto to it when I cable you on your wedding day." - -He held out his hand, and she took it. Their eyes met, and he knew that -he read her story. - -"The Temple," he said; "I guess you'll want me to help you open that. If -you do, I'll come." - -"Shall I write to Charleston?" - -"Yes, to Maryska de Paleologue, who is going to keep house for me." - -Her hand fell from his and she said no more. The doors of the Temple -were already open that the hungry might enter in. - - - - - CHAPTER II - - THE SHADOW IS LIFTED - - - I - -When a woman has drifted into an engagement imposed upon her by years of -friendship, it is rare that she has the courage to break the bonds, -however irksome she may find them. - -Gabrielle knew that she was drifting into this marriage with Harry -Lassett, and yet her will was paralysed. The baser appeal had passed as -a menacing wave upon a strange sea, and all that was left was the -troubled waters of the seemingly inevitable. Her love-making had been so -many hours of a dead passion, which no pretence could reanimate. She had -posed as the fond mistress of a man whom her coldness gradually repelled -until his pride revolted. Held in his arms, treated still as the child, -kissed upon her lips, all her sentiment appealed to by his ardour, she -tried to say that this was her destiny, beyond which she might not look. -Hundreds had drifted as she into that desert of the waters where no tide -of life emerges nor harbours of a man's love are to be found. She had -been tricked by circumstance, and delusion must be paid for by the -years. - -Be it said that this was chiefly an aftermath of the busy weeks. While -the shadow lay upon England, the fame of her work had blinded her to the -true meaning of the promise Harry Lassett had won from her in an -irresponsible hour. Swiftly, upon the tide of the national misfortune, -she had risen to notoriety; been applauded in the public press and named -as a heroine for her work at Stepney. When that work was ended; when -England awoke one day to the thunders of a thanksgiving more real than -any in her story, then she learned for the first time by what means her -triumph had been won, and whose hand had guided her through the -darkness. - -The letter came from Paris, one of the very first the mails brought in. -Well she remembered afterwards how that there had been a bruit of the -passing of the frost many days before the deliverance came. Crowds who -had learned to say that the American engineer, John Faber, had been the -master mind during the terrible weeks; that his were the wheat ships now -coming into the ports; that his genius and his money had accomplished -miracles--these crowds heard with new hope of his promise that the -weather was breaking, and the end at hand. Waiting patiently during the -momentous hours, London slept one night through a bitter frost to awake -next day to a warm south wind and a burning sunshine. Never shone sun so -kindly upon a people which mourned its heritage. The oldest became as -children in that hour of deliverance. The church bells rang for a peace, -not with men, but with God. - -The island home! God, what it had meant to them all in the past! And -they had dwelt in ignorance; blind to their possession; regardless of -the good sea which sheltered them; of the ramparts which were their -salvation. Now, as in a flash, they perceived the truth: the gifts were -returned to them; the meanest knew that he was free. In a frenzy which -the circumstances may have justified, men took train for the seaports -and watched the passing of the ice. They stood upon the high cliffs and -beheld the sun shining upon the open waters; lakes of golden light at -the heart of the ocean--a widening girdle of security their country had -put on. The loftiest imagination could not soar to the true heights of -this revelation, or embrace it wholly in the earlier hours. The dullest -were dumb for very fear that the Almighty would but trick them after -all. - -In London, it was as though the whole people took one great breath -together. Just as upon the conclusion of a peace, the church bells were -rung and the City illuminated. Vast crowds poured from the houses, and -gave themselves up to the most childish manifestations of joy. There -were scenes to disgrace the story; scenes to lift it to great nobility. -But yesterday, it had seemed to some of these revellers that they were -no longer the inhabitants of an island which the strongest power would -hesitate to assail. All the tradition and glory of the kingdom had gone -out of it--to return in a twinkling at the passing of the frost. - -Gabrielle could hear the church bells ringing in Hampstead, but the -theme of their chime was less to her than the letter which Eva Achon had -written to her from Paris--a girlish, gossiping letter, full of -inconsequential chatter about absurd people, and ending ever upon the -tonic chord of the masculine scale. Eva's Odyssey had been full of -event, but she had returned to Paris as a maiden Helen, torn by -imagination only from the phantom bridegroom of her dreams. -Incidentally, and as though it had to do with a fair in a remote -country, she spoke of the great strike and of the man whose name was -upon every tongue. - -"My father thinks very highly of Mr. John Faber," she wrote. "He would -very much like to work with him. I wrote to Rupert Trevelle about it, -but he seems too busy to remember me now. It was so like an American to -spend all that money on charity and leave the people to think he was a -scoundrel. The truth came out from Mr. Morris, who made what he called a -'great story' and sent it to America. I am sending you the cutting from -the _New York Herald_--it has also been in the English _Times_, I think. -All the English people here are gone mad to know Mr. Faber now--they say -he is one of the cleverest men in the world, and one of the kindest. All -the same, my father says his brains are better than his money, and when -you come to think of it, I suppose that must always be the case. Even -he, rich as he is, could do little for that poor artist, Louis de -Paleologue, and now there comes the news from Montey that Claudine's -_fiancé_ has been terribly hurt at the aviation meeting there, and is -hardly expected to live. So you see, dearest Gabrielle, his money seems -to bring ill-luck to everyone; but when he works, there is no one like -him. If only he would help father, how much he could do for the world! -But, I suppose, he is going back to America, and we shall see him no -more. - -"And that reminds me. Isn't it provoking how many people we never see -any more! I have had a delicious flirtation here with a fair man whose -name I don't know. We passed each other on the stairs of the hotel -nearly every morning, and one day I dropped my bag, and he picked it up -and spoke to me. I was frightened to ask anyone who he was, and I never -saw him in the _salle à manger_, but he used to pass me on the -stairs--oh, quite six or seven times a day after that; and we had such a -jolly time. Then, suddenly, he went away, never said a word to me or -wrote any letter. I shall never see him any more--_mais tout bien ou -rien_, if it were always to be on the stairs, I am glad that he is -gone." - - - II - -A tinkling gong called Gabrielle to lunch, and she found her father -alone in the dining-room. A mutual question as to Maryska's whereabouts -revealed the fact that she had not been seen since breakfast and that -none of the servants had news of her. Once or twice before, when Harry -Lassett had been cajoled into some wild excursion, Maryska had spent -most of the day out of doors; but both Silvester and his daughter seemed -to think that this was not such an occasion, and they were troubled -accordingly. - -"I really fear that it is time that Mr. Faber took charge of her," -Silvester said, as he sat down wearily. "She is very self-willed, and we -have no hold over her. Would Harry be responsible for this, do you -think?" - -"How can he be? Is he not at Brighton? I hardly think that even he would -keep the child out without a word to us." - -Silvester looked at her shrewdly. That "even he" suggested a train of -thought which had been forced upon him more than once latterly. - -"Do you think it is wise for Harry to take her out at all, Gabrielle?" -he asked. "We treat her as a child, but is she one really? I hope our -confidence is not misplaced. We should incur a very grave responsibility -if it were." - -Gabrielle did not like Maryska, and was hardly one to conceal her -prejudices. - -"We should never have consented to receive her, father. It was all done -in such a hurry; I think we were the victims of our own good nature. Who -is she? Where does she come from? A gipsy girl, perhaps, and one who -dislikes our country, and us. It was sentiment upon Mr. Faber's -part--altruism at our expense. Of course, he talks of taking her -ultimately to New York. But is he likely to do that? Do you believe -that?" - -"I must believe it or say that he has not written the truth. There was a -letter from him this morning--you will find it on my study table. He -wishes us to keep her at least for a time and until he can make some -provision for her in America. It will be possible for him to sail -to-day, he thinks, if Sir Jules Achon arrives from Cherbourg. He appears -to want to see Sir Jules very much before he goes." - -"Then Maryska remains, father?" - -"For the present, yes." - -"And that is the last we are to see of our friend? Well, our castles -come tumbling down, at any rate. We have been his builders, but he -leaves us a wretched house. I think you would be wiser to go to -Yonkers." - -"I think so, too--when you and Harry are married." - -"Need Harry and I enter into the matter? I am thinking all the time of -the way these clever men make less clever people their dupes. Sometimes -I say that what I need to make a success of my life is the help of a man -of genius. I felt it every day when Mr. Faber was here. It was to stand -upon a rock and laugh when the sea flowed all around. And you need it -too, father. Think of all that good men might do in the world if they -had brains such as his behind them. He preaches all his sermons from -that text. Brains will save the people, the country, even religion. I am -sick of sentiment; it accomplishes nothing. We have meetings and -speakers, and conferences and discussions, and the world just goes -laughing by, like a boy who passes the open door of a schoolroom. What -have we done since we left America? How have we helped our great cause? -You know what the answer must be. We have done less than nothing, while -a stranger has made our people think and learn." - -He was much taken aback by her outburst, and a little at a loss. A man -of high ideals, he knew how hopeless was the task of uplifting the -people, and yet hope and endeavour were the breath of life to him. - -"Oh," he said, "I won't say that we have done nothing. This dreadful -winter is just what has been needed to make the people think. A reaction -will follow, and we shall go to them with a message of peace they cannot -resist. I am sure the truth will come home to all now. It will be easy -to say that God Almighty did not create mankind for the shambles. What -astonishes me, Gabrielle, is that in this twentieth century it should be -necessary to preach such a doctrine at all. When you consider what -universal peace would mean in every home in the country, what it would -do for the poorest, how it would help the children, I am altogether at a -loss. The thing is an incredible anachronism giving the lie direct to -Christ and His gospel. And we are powerless to cope with it; we seem to -address those whose hearts are of stone." - -"Then why do you address them? That is just what Mr. Faber asks. Why not -turn to those who can lead the people? If the great names of Europe and -America were behind you, the millennium would come. I myself would hope -more from two such men as Sir Jules Achon and John Faber than from all -the sermons in the world. But I have become a very practical person, -father. I think sometimes I am growing terribly masculine." - -"You always used to be, Gabrielle. I remember when you were the greatest -tomboy in Hampstead. That, by the way, was before your engagement to -Harry. Do you know, my dear girl, I wonder sometimes if marriage is your -destiny at all." - -"If not marriage, what then, father?" - -"Public work. The practice of the ideas you have just been pleading to -me." - -Gabrielle shook her head. She spoke with little restraint, and in a way -that astonished him altogether. - -"I don't agree with you. I believe in my heart that I am destined to -love and marriage. If it is not so, I may do something mad some day. -Sometimes I long to get away from all this; but it must be with a man -who can lead me. I shall never marry Harry--I wonder that I have not -told him so before. Perhaps I should have done so had it not been for -these awful weeks. Do you know, father, that I find life in opposition -to every convention you have taught me since I was a child? There are no -fairy godmothers in the world. Our guardian angels might be gamblers who -throw us headlong into the stream and make wagers about our condition -when we come out. We have to decide the most momentous questions when we -are still babies and understand nothing about them. In the end it comes -just to what Mr. Faber says, our brains make or mar us; and neither you -nor I have any brains to speak of. Let us leave it there, father. I am -growing really anxious about the child, and must know the truth. If she -is not with the Bensons, I don't know where she is." - -He assented, moved to some real anxiety by her obvious alarm. They wrote -a note and dispatched it to the house of their friends the Bensons, who -had shown much kindness to Maryska, but the afternoon had merged into -evening before any answer was brought to them. - - - - - CHAPTER III - - THE MARIGOLDS TO THE SUN - - - I - -Maryska had been out and about London with Harry Lassett upon more than -one occasion, and this had been to the knowledge and with the approval -both of Silvester and of Gabrielle. Both had known Harry for many years, -and he had become almost as the son of the house. Their own duties -carried them so much abroad during the terrible days that they were well -content when the young man did what he could to amuse the child during -the long hours; and they used to hear of the mutual escapades with the -interest they would have bestowed upon two children come home from -school and eager for the holidays. - -Here their trust went out wholly upon their own plane of honor and -convention. The boy had been to a public school and to Cambridge. He was -of a type which three hundred years of a great tradition have moulded -finally and left as a corner-stone of the national society. A firm faith -in the blessings of domestic freedom had always been characteristic of -Silvester's teaching. Trust your sons, and they will not fail you, he -had said. - -But, if he knew that Harry had taken Maryska to such places as a young -woman of her age (and one who was a stranger to the City) might visit, -he would have been astounded and dismayed had he known that she had gone -to Harry's lodgings, and latterly had made a practice of visiting him -there. This was concealed by both as a secret between them of which no -whisper must be heard. It was the first scene of an act of drama -speedily to follow. Maryska would never forget that day. They had been -to Madame Tussaud's, where a wretched group of people were sheltered -from the cold, and tried to forget the shadow which lay upon the City. -Returning towards five o'clock, Maryska had told him that she knew the -truth about England at last, and that it was the arctic land of which -her dead father had told her. - -"They come here in little ships," she said, "and it is to find _le Pôle -Nord_. There was a café of that name in Dijon, and once when we were -very poor I danced there and got money for him. He beat me when he found -it out, and that night I hated him, and went back to dance once more. -That is what a girl should do when a man beats her! Ah! I shall run away -from you yet, _bête sauvage_." - -He laughed in a great boyish way, and drew her arm the tighter within -his own. How good it seemed to have these bright eyes looking up into -his own, to hear the little savage prattling, and to know that she was -happy. Though the kingdom of England had perished that night, these two -would not have cared a scudo. The eternal voice of youth called them, -and they bent to it as "marigolds to the sun." - -"Do you think I shall beat you, Maryska? Is that in your head? You are a -rum little devil, I must say!" - -She took it rather as a compliment. - -"I do not know what you will do when you are angry. The English are -difficult to understand. I think they are afraid of women. Mr. Silvester -runs away when I stamp my foot. I have heard him shut his door when I -come down the stairs. _Bon Dieu!_ what a cat of a man--and he is a -priest, and the people do not know that he is afraid of women! Shall we -go to your lodgings, Harry--shall I make you some coffee there? It will -be ripping,--and they would be so angry if they knew. Let us hurry on, -for it is late--to your lodgings, I say." - -He was a good deal taken aback, and argued with her while she trotted by -his side; all her strength returned, all her youth triumphant. To his -rooms! That was a new proposition, to be sure. And what would Gabrielle -say if she knew of it? - -"Look here, Maryska, people will talk if you come to my lodgings!" - -"Will they not talk if I stop away?" - -"They'll say rotten things. I shouldn't like to have them said about -you." - -"But, Harry, do you always live alone in your rooms?" - -"I don't take ladies there, Maryska." - -She was amazed. - -"It is not wicked to be with you in the street, then, but wicked in your -rooms. _Ecco!_ what a country! And all the people are frozen and the -wind eats them up, and they are so frightened of us they lock us out of -their lodgings. How _he_ would have laughed! Why, all the ladies in -Ragusa came to his room, and he would sing and laugh all day. It was not -wicked there! He would not have done it when I was with him, if it had -been." - -He tried to tell her that countries have different customs, and that -what is done in the south may not be done in the north with impunity. -But she was wholly unconvinced, and the spice of daring being added to -the dish of her thoughts, she led him insensibly towards Holly Place and -not towards Well Walk as they approached Hampstead. - -"Just to see what this wicked place is like, Harry. Surely, I may stand -at your door and see you go in? They will not punish me, these horrid -English, for that. Oh, yes, I shall stand at your door and see you go -in, and you will give me some wine. Do you know that we have nothing but -syrup at the Silvesters'? Oh, _mon pauvre_! it is all ice inside as well -as out. I go thirsty all day--there was wine always when _he_ was alive, -and now there is none! I shall wait upon your doorway until you give me -a little wine, Harry." - -This idea pleased her very much, and she danced and sang her way through -the silent streets upon it. Even the searching cold of the early night -did not affright her, nor those suggestions of loneliness and isolation -which usually attended her journey northward. She was going to see -Harry's rooms and to drink some wine when she got there! The fact that -he had nothing but good Scotch whisky did not enter into her -calculations. - -As for Harry, the proposal annoyed him at the beginning, but grew upon -his sympathies as they went. He tried to follow her logic, and to think -that it would be absurd to treat her otherwise than as a child. What -harm could there be after all, and was not her view of it safer than his -own? The Silvesters were too busy looking after impossible people in the -East End to do their duty by this little exile. What forbade him to -treat her as a sister? Upon this there came tumbling many a picture of -that bewitching apparition as sympathy could frame it. What a riot she -would make in his puny lodging! And how good it would be to watch her -swinging her shapely legs on the edge of his pet arm-chair! She filled -the whole house with visions already. - -They marched up Heath Street forlorn, wind-swept, and deserted, and came -at last to his door. He remembered how easily she took possession of the -place, marching here and there as though she were its mistress--setting -this or that in order instantly; tidying his desk; looking reproachfully -upon his joyous negligence. When a lean landlady asked her genially if -she would take a little tea, she answered immediately, "No; you are to -go to the café for the wine, Mr. Harry will give you the money!" - -And Harry gave it, as though it was the best of jokes, and one in which -he must now play his part. - - - II - -The first of many visits--how soon it was forgotten, that others more -intimate should be remembered! - -She came almost every day during the final week of the tribulation, and -would sit with him, smoking his cigarettes and drinking his claret as -though his house had been a café! He discovered that she had many -talents, was a rare dancer of the wild, uncouth dances of the East, and -could draw with a wonderful sense of portraiture. Her pictures of -Silvester should have gone to _Punch_, but her portraits of Gabrielle -were full of feeling. One day, when she had been sitting upon the arm of -his chair, using his broad back for an easel, she asked him, à propos -nothing at all, if he were in love, and when he looked at her astonished -she seemed insistent. - -"Are you in love with her, Harry? Why do you not answer me?" - -"Why, you know that I am. Aren't we going to be married, little Gipsy?" - -She put the pencil down and laid her head quietly upon his shoulder. - -"I shall never believe it; you do not love her--she is nothing to you." - -"Oh, come, Gipsy! What do you know about it?" - -She sighed, but did not raise her head. - -"If you loved Gabrielle Silvester you would not let me come to this -house." - -"Why not, Gipsy?" - -"Because I love you, Harry." - -So there it was, in a flash, and both her arms were about his neck and -her lips hot upon his own. She loved him and had no shame in the avowal. -Destiny gave him to her. The little wild girl who came God knew whence, -was not this her haven at last? She entered into her heritage fiercely -as one who would not be dispossessed. - -Of course, Harry treated it as a good joke, or perhaps attempted so to -treat it. He could not resist her kisses and made no effort to do so; -but when she had calmed down a little and he had pulled her on to his -knees so that he could look deep into her black eyes, he said: - -"We mustn't tell Gabrielle about this; we mustn't say a word just yet, -Gipsy." - -She thought about it, pulling at the button of his vest. - -"Do you wish to love me in secret, Harry?" she asked presently. He -laughed again at that, and said it would be a good joke. - -"Gabrielle will never marry me; I know that, Gipsy. She's gone on your -American friend, and is too proud to tell him so. Our affair was all a -mistake. Time will put that right, and then you and I will be free. -Let's keep it secret, and have the laugh of them all. Will you do that, -Maryska?" - -Her eyes were wide open; she made an effort to understand. - -"You do not forbid me to love you, Harry?" - -"Certainly not; aren't we pals?" - -"I may come here just when I like?" - -"As long as Silvester doesn't get mad about it." - -She thought upon this, but half satisfied. - -"Will you take me to Paris some day? I want so much to go to Paris. -There is life there--life, life, life! One sits in the door of the hotel -and sees all the world. These English people make me hate them, but I -love the French as my father did. They said in Paris that he was a great -artist; I know it was true. He could have compelled all the world to say -so if he had not been so idle. There were whole weeks in Ragusa when he -lay in bed; sometimes we had no food in the house; then he would paint, -and I would go with the picture to the Jew with the beard and bring the -money home. That night was always a _festa_. It was better in Paris, -where he had many friends who would come and say, 'Work, beast!' and he -would laugh at them and take up his brushes. You know that he was a -prince in his own country, Harry? Once when he was very ill, he told me -so and gave me some papers. That was at San Gimignano--oh! so many years -ago. When he got better he took them away again, and we travelled and -travelled, just like two gipsies, together upon the lonely white roads. -At last we reached Granada, where there is a mountain with gipsies, -running in and out of their holes like the rabbits in the forest. We -lived with them a month and he painted many pictures; then we took ship -and went to Italy, and he was so ill that I knew we should never go over -the white roads together again. Ah, dear God! what a life I have led! -and now you--you are the only one in all the world, Harry." - -She hid her face from him and put her arms about his neck again. Her -passionate story moved him strangely and seemed to set her in a new -aspect before him. Was it possible that this waif was what the dead -artist had proclaimed her to be? Beneath all the sorry veneer of the -_Wanderjahre_, would he find at last the grains of nobility and of a -precious birthright? That would mean very much to a man of his -temperament; to one whose whole career had taught him to esteem these -things. The mystery of it all fascinated him strangely--she frightened -him in such moods as this. - -He did not promise to take her to Paris, but, comforting her with fair -words, they went round together to Well Walk and he saw Gabrielle for a -few brief moments. The talk between them was quite commonplace, but, as -often before, the name of John Faber quickly crept into it. Harry turned -his heel upon that, and went back to Holly Place in high dudgeon. - -"Good God!" he said. "That man again!" - -Why did she not tell him frankly that her ambition lay here and would -not be rebuffed? - - - III - -He had been very proud of Gabrielle in the old days, and was proud still -in a vain boyish way. He knew that she was a beautiful woman, and could -suffer chagrin when he admitted that the measure of her intellect was -far beyond his own. A sportsman and little else, all this cant of -movements and causes and social creeds stirred him to ebullitions of -temper of which he was secretly ashamed. Nothing but the influence of -years forbade him to say that both of them had made a great mistake, and -that he must end it. He resolved to do so after Maryska's avowal, but -his courage was not responsive. He could not bring himself to what must -seem in Gabrielle's eyes but a vulgar affront upon her loyalty--and so -the days drifted. In the end he made up his mind to leave London for a -week or so and trust to new scenes for inspiration. - -By all accounts John Faber was about to sail from England, and, having -altered his plans at the last moment, Maryska had been left with the -Silvesters--to her great grief but not to Gabrielle's dissatisfaction. -Harry knew little of the circumstances, for his friends at Hampstead -were secretive, and latterly had become unaccountably vague in all their -plans. That John Faber's departure was a great disappointment to them -Harry guessed, though his vanity suffered by the admission. He knew now -that things must come to a head between Gabrielle and himself directly -he returned to London, and the very fact kept him in Brighton. It would -have been good to be alone but for his longing after Maryska. He missed -her every minute of the day--there was hardly an hour from dawn to dark -when her image did not arise before him and her black eyes look into his -own. - -Brighton had always interested him in the old time, but he found it -insupportably dull during this brief and almost penitential vacation. -His club, one of the "brainiest" in the country, as he used to boast -elsewhere, was filled by earnest men who could discuss nothing but the -passing of the frost and the danger which the country had escaped almost -miraculously. Standing upon the breezy front, where a warm south wind -rattled the windows of the old houses, it seemed impossible to believe -that a man might have picked ice from that very shore but a few short -weeks ago. Now Brighton was as ever a compound of stones and stucco; of -square lawns and of wide windows as methodical; of a tumbling sea, and -elderly gentlemen in weird waistcoats to gaze upon it. - -All these had plans for their country's salvation, and few of them did -not mention the name of John Faber at some time or other. Harry would -sit in the corner with the old priest, Father Healy, and listen -contemptuously to the talk of one who, as he said, had earned -immortality by cornering the wheat market and then giving away a few -sacks for the sake of making a splash! When the kindly old priest would -say, "Come, come! he has done very much more than that," the good -sportsman admitted that perhaps he had; but he would invariably round it -off by saying, "Well, he's gone now, anyway!" and would ask upon that: -"What are we going to do to help ourselves; that's what I want to know?" - -It opened fine possibilities of debate in which many joined. The -militant section had but one panacea: "We must prepare for war!" -Civilians, equally confident, harped upon a system of national -granaries, and asked what imbecility of the national intellect had -prevented us building them before? "Provisions against a siege," they -said. - -The priest was almost alone in desiring that a siege should be made -impossible. - -"Build granaries of goodwill, as John Faber has advised you," he said. -"Let the builders be your best intellects. There is no other surety!" - -Harry liked the doctrine, but had not the wit to support it with -success. He was constantly depressed, and even the cheery spirits in the -billiard-room could do little for him. The futility of his flight and -the cowardice of it became apparent as the days rolled by. Why had he -left London and what was he doing in this place? Was not Maryska alone, -and was she the one to be left safely to her own devices? He began to be -afraid for her, and to say that he must return. His courage shrank from -the ordeal, but his desire would face it. - -And that was the state of things when, without any warning at all, "the -little gipsy" came to Brighton, and, presenting herself immediately at -his rooms, declared with conviction her intention not to depart -therefrom without her lover. - - - - - CHAPTER IV - - SURRENDER AND AFTERWARDS - - - I - -She looked very tired; there were deep black lines beneath her eyes, and -her dress was muddy. Incidentally she told him that she had walked from -the station--a feminine coup to deceive possible adversaries, and one -greatly to her liking. - -Harry occupied a bedroom and a sitting-room in that Boulevard St. -Germain of Brighton, Oriental Terrace, opposite the club. The -sitting-room had a window, from where you could see the pier if your -neck were long enough; the bedroom was dark and gloomy, and suggestive -of the monastic habit. Neither apartment had any ornament to speak -of--the pictures wounded the gentlest critic; the chairs were -mid-Victorian and covered in leather. Yet when Maryska came, he would -have sworn that this was a house of Arcady. One wild question he put to -her: one loud word of remonstrance which brought the tears to her eyes. -Then she was in his arms, her heart beating like a frightened bird's, -all her nerves quivering when her lips sought his own. - -"Maryska, what have you done?" - -She snatched her hat from her tousled hair, and threw it on the shabby -sofa. Squatting upon the corner of the table, her luggage in her hand, -she tried to tell as well as laughter and tears would permit. - -"It was after breakfast--Gabrielle had gone down to the church to see -the organist. I ran out with all my money in my purse, and went round to -Holly Place. She would not tell me where you were until I frightened -her--_Dieu de mon âme_, what a woman she was! But I stamped my foot, and -I said the things he used to say, and then she wrote it down for me. At -the bottom of the wide hill I saw the _voiturier_, and called him. When -I said that it was to Brighton, he laughed--the _gamin_ that he was! But -I was angry once more and I got into the carriage, and I would not get -out again. That seemed to please him. He said that he would vote for -women, and he took me to the _gare_. I did not know that you must go by -the railway to Brighton, and he laughed when I asked him--but the -_facteur_ was there, and he said I was on time. So I came right -along--and _ecco_, I am here! Are you glad that is so, _bête sauvage_? -Are you not pleased that I have come to you?" - -He had not an idea what to say to her. The world seemed to be turned -upside down in an instant. There was no such town as Brighton in all the -kingdom. How the sun shone into that gloomy room! What diamonds of light -were everywhere! He had come suddenly to the palace of his dreams and -the mistress of it was here. And yet his talk must be a commonplace. The -whys and wherefores would not stand aside even in an hour pregnant of -such wonders. - -"Do you mean to say you bolted, Maryska--just biffed off without a word -to anyone? My hat! what will the Silvesters say? What shall we tell them -when we go back?" - -She swung a little bonnet by the strings and shrugged her shoulders -determinedly. - -"Do you suppose I am going back to that house? _Jamais de ma vie_--I am -here, and I shall stay. If you do not want me, please say so. I have -money and I shall do very well. It is there, and you can count it; the -American is my friend, and he has given me money always. So, you see, I -do not wish you to work for me; and when the money is all spent, I will -go out to the cafés and they will let me dance. Then we shall do very -well, you and I, Harry, but not in such an apartment as this. _Dio di mi -alma!_ was there ever so dreadful a lodging? And you have lived here -three whole days as the woman told me! Three days in such a -house--_madre mia_, what a life! But now we shall go away to the hotel -until the money is spent. Say that we shall go, and make me happy, for -you know that I could not live here. Will you not say it, Harry--please, -at once?" - -She put her arms about his neck again and kissed him, while her round -eyes looked deeply into his own. He was her lover, and all her creed, -learned in the nomad's church, taught her that she was sacred to him and -he to her. Upon his side was the swift realisation that he must play the -game. He would take her back to London immediately. There was no -alternative. - -"I'd say anything I could to please you, Maryska, but don't you see that -we must think of what other people will say? Why, we're not even -engaged, little Gipsy, and if we went to a hotel together, all the -idiots we know would shout at us. I can't have that for your sake. If we -were married, it would be different. Let's go to London at once, and -tell the Silvesters what we mean to do. Now, don't you see, it's the -very best thing we can do?" - -She did not see, but sat there, a rueful picture, with fifty golden -sovereigns on the table beside her and all her worldly possessions in a -little unopened parcel. A terrible fear of the return to the gloomy -house in Hampstead consumed her. Her eyes filled with tears. - -"I will never go back," she said coldly; "if you do not want me, Harry, -I will go where no one shall ever see me again. If you love me, why -cannot you marry me? I am ready to go to the priest this instant. _He_ -said it was all d----d palaver, but I do not refuse to go because of -that. Take me now, and I will be your little gipsy wife. Do you not wish -it, Harry?" - -Of course he wished it, and yet what should he say to her? Being a mere -man and knowing something of such a nature as this, her threat had a -meaning he did not dare to ignore. What if she refused to go to London -with him? Would people blame him? He heard already the horrible malice -of those who would declare that he had decoyed her from her home. The -world, so far as it concerned him, would say that he was a scoundrel; -his whole life had taught him to care for such censure when the greater -issues were at stake. Oh! she had put him in a pretty fix; and yet he -loved her and had discovered that he could not leave her though ten -thousand railed upon him. - -"Don't you understand, Gipsy," he protested in despair, "these things -cannot be done just like that? I'm going to marry you, and no one alive -shall stop me. But I can't do it in five minutes. We shall have to get a -licence and swear we've lived in Brighton heaven knows how long. Then -there's the church people to see--and, of course, the Silvesters must -know. It would be shabby to keep them in the dark. My dearest, why do -you cry? Don't you see I can't make it different just because I love -you? Won't you understand?" - -She looked up at him through her tears. - -"You do love me, Harry?" - -"More than anything on earth, little Gipsy. So help me God! it's true. I -couldn't leave you now if I wanted to. Put your arms round my neck and -tell me you believe it. There, just like that--and don't say another -word about going away, or I don't know what will happen to you." - -He pulled her on to his knees and held her close to him. She had twenty -schemes in her head, but the one she liked best was the suggestion that -her fifty pounds would bribe the priest to an immediate ceremony. For -herself, the thing was of little account. _He_ had taught her that it -did not matter as long as a man loved a woman, and beyond that was a -knowledge of the world almost terrible in its savage conceptions of -right and wrong. - -"In my country," she said naïvely, "we go away to the hills when we are -in love, and no one thinks we have done wrong. I have seen dreadful -things, Harry; I saw them at Ranovica when 'the boss' went there with my -father. Oh! do not think I am the simple baby that you English like -their wives to be. The world was very unkind to him and to me. -Sometimes, for many days together we have slept at the hotel of the -Belle Étoile, and he would sell our clothes for bread. Once, at -Perpignan, we were put in prison, and I did not see him for a week. It -was there he met a fellow-countryman who bought us from the judge and -took us to Scutari. His relations were great people, but he would never -ask anything of them, he was too proud. Some day, when you and I are -rich, we will go to Bukharest and tell them who we are. Perhaps we will -walk all the way, as he and I did from Dijon to Nîmes, when the money -was gone. Dear heart! what a walk it was, and all the acacias were -blooming and the scent of the hay in the fields and the white farms at -night--and, yes, the old abbé who was so gentle and good. He called me -'little daughter'--it was near Valence, and I know that if you and I had -gone to him, he would have married us. Perhaps, if you cannot bribe the -priest here, we will take the steamer and go now. Oh, how good it will -be in the warm hay when the sun shines! And we could get money at the -cafés and perhaps in Bukharest; it would be true what he told me, and -his friends would be a little kind. Will you not take me, Harry? Shall -we not go to the sun together, away from this dreadful country? Oh, how -happy I would be! How my life would be changed if you would go. Dearest, -will you not do it when Maryska asks you?" - -She pressed her hot cheek upon his hand and held his hands as though she -never would release them. If her confessions startled him, he perceived -in them an acquaintanceship with life and its realities far surpassing -his own. He had led a humdrum existence enough apart from his cricket; -but here was one who could lift the veil of romance as no story-book had -done. The word pictures of the joyous life moved him strangely by their -suggestions of a freedom which was all-embracing; of a garden of love -whereon the sun would ever shine! And from that, it was like him to -tumble suddenly to realities and to remember the loaves and the fishes. -She must be very hungry, he thought. What course more obvious than to -take her to the hotel, and to give her some food? - -"By Jove! I forgot all about it," he cried, lifting her on to her feet, -and so snatching at her hat. "We'll go to the Metropole and have some -grub, Gipsy! Aren't you hungry, little wild cat? Don't you think you -could eat me? Come along, then. It will be time to talk about all this -afterwards. We can wire the Silvesters as we go; let 'em do what they -like, Gipsy. I shan't part with you now; never again, I swear." - -She shook her head, and was but half satisfied. The kindly minister of -the gospel stood to her for an ogre who would make light of the Belle -Étoile, but much of that ancient office beginning with "Dearly beloved," -and ending with the ecclesiastical blessing. - - - II - -Gordon Silvester was a man who had lived forty-five years of his life -without excitements, and had then been plunged into them headlong. - -It was a great thing for a man, whose only diversion hitherto had been -the weekly disputations with the deacons or the quarterly disagreement -with the organist, to find himself suddenly upon public platforms, cheek -by jowl with the great men of the world, who pleaded for the supreme -blessing which could come upon humanity, the blessing of peace. The -notoriety had fallen to the plodding minister after many years, and -henceforth he had been up to his eyes in the papers, the pamphlets and -other paraphernalia of the pacific propaganda. The _réclame_ of it all -delighted him. He became almost a hustler, and was at war with every -whisper which deplored the ancient habit and the paths of ease. - -There were many worries, to be sure. Bishops would send mere archdeacons -to his meetings. His letters to the Press were shockingly mutilated. He -had the suspicion that certain worldly millionaires merely considered -him a pawn in the game, and were quite unwilling to admit that Hampstead -was the hub of the universe. Upon this, came the gradual conviction that -his daughter, Gabrielle, was the real agent of much of the fame that he -won, and that his meetings were a success or a failure in just such a -measure as she chose to make them. If this had been the case before the -great tribulation, he found the position even more intolerable when the -danger was past. All England spoke now of fact and not of theory. The -demand for brains to save the nation from another panic was universal. -Men said that arbitration had become as much a necessity as vaccination. -You could not starve thirty-seven millions because the frontier of a -swamp must be delimited or a possible mine in a bog be possessed! The -phantoms of the living death had hovered over the country during the -terrible weeks and the lesson had been learned. But for that -master-mind--the mind of the great American, whom destiny had sent in -the critical hour--the end of all things had come! It was supererogatory -now to preach mere platitudes from ancient platforms. - -So Silvester fell a little to the background and suffered an unmerited -obscurity. The common ills of the domestic life cropped up again, and -must be doctored. He had to pay rents, rates and taxes, and to remember -that Gabrielle was about to marry a boy whose income, at the best, could -not be more than five hundred a year. And she might have done so well! -Some recollection of his old time ambition upon the steamer filled him -with vain regrets now that John Faber had left England. The compensation -was a cheque for £5,000, to be employed to Maryska's benefit until she -should set out for New York. Meanwhile she was to remain at Hampstead to -learn all that Silvester could teach her of the social amenities and the -elemental faith. An unstable patronage, to be sure, but very -characteristic of that restless brain. Silvester paid the cheque into -his bank, and declared he would do his best. Three days afterward he -knew that he could do nothing at all. - - - III - -Harry sent the telegram from the General Post Office at Brighton at -half-past two exactly. It was laconic, and evaded the issue somewhat -cleverly. - -"Maryska is at the Metropole Hotel at Brighton with me. All well. Return -as soon as possible." - -He had written it when fortified by the child's black eyes, and some -excellent Rudesheim she had insisted upon drinking. It was all up -between Gabrielle and him--it had been all up long ago, and well enough -for both of them that it should be. She would marry the American and -spend his money like one o'clock! Harry was sure of this, though he had -some qualms when he remembered that Faber had sailed from Southampton -and intimated very plainly that the date of his return was distant. - -It was wonderful how frankly he and Maryska discussed this very matter. -The daughter of Louis de Paleologue knew little of the sacrament of -marriage but a great deal of the sociology of the studio. Her doctrine -recognised the passion and the pathos of love, but the bonds it inspired -were personal, and had little to do with the priest. If a man did not -love a woman, he left her and sought another. There were neither scenes -nor scruples. Sometimes the woman would rage fearfully for a day, but -her anger soon passed and calm fell. In this case she did not think -there would be any anger, and she was right. There was merely -humiliation. - -Verily a heavy blow fell upon that little house in Hampstead when the -telegram came. It was so like Gordon Silvester with his large faith in -human nature, and his habit of making a fetish of a public school -education; so like him to believe it all mere high spirits and to -declare that the pair of them would be home to dinner. Gabrielle knew -the truth from that moment. The ship that drifted upon the ocean of a -"boy and girl" infatuation had come to harbour. She would not hide it -either from her father or herself, whatever the cost to her pride. - -"I expected nothing less!" she said to Silvester, when he ran into her -boudoir with the telegram and tried to make a jest of it. "It was in the -child's blood. We cannot be responsible." - -Silvester threw himself into an arm-chair, and began to swing a leg as -was his habit. - -"Responsible for what? Don't you see it's a childish freak? Of course, -they ought not to have done it. I must cut down all this liberty now -that Faber has gone. She's to give me an account of her day, and no -going out at all unless you or I know. Really, it's too bad of Harry!" - -Gabrielle went to the window, still holding the telegram in her hand. -Her lips quivered, but she spoke apparently without emotion. - -"At least, he will behave honourably," she said. "I have no fear upon -that point. He will marry her at once, father; he cannot do less." - -Silvester laid back his head upon the cushion and surveyed a ceiling not -ill-painted by a one-time zealous amateur. - -"Marriage is a great institution, my dear; I don't find it a fitting -subject for jest." - -"Oh, my God!" she said, wheeling about and facing him so suddenly that -he sat bolt upright. "Don't you see what it means? Has it not been going -on under our very eyes? And you talk of a 'boy and girl' escapade! I -tell you they are madly in love. She sees no one else when he is -there--he cannot take his eyes off her. Why, they are married already -for all I know--or you care," she added with almost savage emphasis. - -The outburst frightened a man by no means blessed with much pluck where -women were concerned. Silvester turned as white as a sheet. It was as -though a pit had been opened at his feet, and he had looked in to see -enormities. - -"You don't mean to tell me--God forbid!" he gasped. "You don't mean to -tell me that this is sin, Gabrielle? You don't think that, surely?" - -"I don't know what to think," she said in despair. "It is our business -to act at once. You must go to Brighton. What will Mr. Faber say if you -don't? Telegraph to Southampton in case the yacht has not sailed. Have -we no responsibilities? Oh! don't you see? It's madness, madness! And -it's our fault. Both of us are to blame. We have just gone our own ways -and left them to themselves. What else could have come of it when they -were lovers?" - -He stood before her utterly abashed. - -"My dearest girl," he said, "I will go to Brighton at once." - -And then he said: - -"But it's of you I should be thinking. God bless you, Gabrielle!" - - - IV - -He left by the half-past four o'clock train from Victoria, and did not -return that night. When he was gone, Gabrielle shut herself up in her -own room, and asked herself what new thing had come into her life. - -A turn of fortune had cast her down from the heights to the old abyss of -the suburban monotonies; and now it had put this affront upon her. She -perceived already what sport the teacup brigade would make of it, and -how her pride must suffer just because of the very littleness of her -surroundings. All Hampstead would point the finger at her, and there -would be kind friends in abundance to offer their sympathies. Thus had -her destiny punished the brief hours of an infatuation for which her -youth had been responsible. As others, she had known a day when she had -desired the love of man and had desired it passionately. Thus had she -come to be the betrothed of one who had never loved her, and for this -she must repay. - -She had thrown aside much, to be sure, to fall upon such a penalty. John -Faber would have made her his wife could she have escaped the meshes of -a net she herself had tied. He would have lifted her above all these -sordid creeds of a puny society to the heights of freedom and of -opportunity. She believed that she could have risen with him and upheld -a position his money would have won for them. She saw herself the -mistress of a splendid house; heard her name in high places; believed -that she was born to rule and not to serve. And opportunity had passed -her by for this. The man who would have ennobled her had sailed for -America, and she did not believe he would return. In any case, she did -not dare to think of him now. As she had sown, so must she reap. - -Something of an intolerable despair afflicted her now, and drove her to -silent tears. The stillness of the house, the measured chiming of the -church bells, the monotonous fall of footsteps upon the pavement, how -they all suggested the round of the insufferable days she must live! It -had been so different a month ago, when her name had been honoured and -her activities abundant. How full her life had been then, when many had -honoured her, and she had gone proudly in and out among the people. Such -an opportunity could not recur; and she reflected that it had been made -for her by one who had been willing that she should wear the laurel his -brains had won. He was on the Atlantic now, and all must seem but an -episode in his story. - -Here, perchance, she did herself less than justice; for her aims had -been noble and her faith quite honest. She had desired the supreme gift -of peace upon earth, and much that she had done was the fruit of an -enthusiasm which had brought this very shame upon her. She would not -think of it now nor remember her sacrifice. Enough to say that the night -of her hopes had come down, and that the day would never dawn again. - -So the long hours passed wearily. At eight o'clock there came a telegram -from her father in vague terms, but such as she had expected: - -"Am doing all possible. Everything will be well. Shall not return yet. -Writing." - -She crumpled the paper in her hand and fell to wondering what the -message meant. Had Silvester discovered such an escapade as his faith -discerned or something of which he would not speak? She knew not what to -think, but remembered her last words to him, that he should telegraph to -John Faber in case the yacht had not sailed. - -In case it had not sailed! - -Her face flushed and her heart beat faster when she repeated the words. - -And yet, God knows, it could matter little to her whether the _Savannah_ -was still in Southampton Water or had passed the Lizard Light upon its -way to the great Atlantic. - - - V - -The lunch at the Metropole was altogether different from any lunch Harry -had eaten in all his life. It was as though something had transformed -Brighton in a twinkling, making of its commonplaces a paradise, and -melting its shadows in a rain of gold. Never had he realised what a town -it was: how bright, how inspiring, and how typical of a joyous life. And -this is to say that a pride of possession had come upon him so that he -walked proudly by Maryska's side--he who had known hundreds of pretty -girls, and had flirted with many of them. Now the recklessness of a -young passion took charge of the situation, and would not be denied. The -tears had passed from the child's face, and the sun shone down upon -them. - -"We shall go to Paris to-night," she said triumphantly, "and afterwards -to Italy. _Bien entendu_, you do not wish to tease me any more, Harry. -It is all over, is it not--this gloomy England and all the sad people? I -shall never see them any more, shall I?" - -He laughed loudly, so that many in the room turned their heads to look -at him. - -"But, Maryska," he rejoined, "we're not married yet, my dear. How can I -take you to Italy when we are not married?" - -She thought upon this, her pretty head poised upon her hand. For herself -that would have been no obstacle at all, for had not _he_ said that -marriage was something which the priests did to keep the wolf from the -door? Harry, however, must be considered, and for his sake she would -think about it. - -"You shall pay the priest and he will marry us," she said at length. -"Show him the money and he will not turn us away. It is not necessary to -show him too much at the commencement. Afterwards you can put more upon -the table, and he will see it. That is what my father did when his -friend, the Abbé of Dijon, wished that I should be confirmed. He wanted -to paint a picture in the church there, and he said that it did not -matter a damn one way or the other. So, you see, it can be done, Harry; -and what you can do in Dijon, you can do in England. Go to the priest -and learn if I am not wise." - -"Oh!" he cried, laughing as he raised his glass, "you are the last word -in originals, and that's sure! Don't you know that there are twenty -things to be done before people can be married in England? It's almost -easier to get hanged. No priest would marry us unless he had a license, -Maryska. I suppose I can get a special in two or three days, but we -shall want all that. Meanwhile, had you not really better go back to -Hampstead?" - -Her spirits fell. The rose-bud of a mouth drooped pathetically. She did -not believe a word of it, and was driven to the thought that he -renounced her after all! Thus she came upon the borderland of a scene -even in the dining-room of the great hotel, while he shrank in despair -from the task of persuading her. - -"I will never go back to Hampstead; I will throw myself into the sea -first!" - -"Don't talk rot, Maryska. You know I want to do the best I can for you." - -"Is it the best to send me away when I love you?" - -"I'm not sending you away; I'm only keeping you out of the reach of -silly tongues." - -"What do I care for them? What does it all matter if we love?" - -"It won't matter for more than two or three days. After that, we'll go -to Italy." - -"Then I shall stay in Brighton by your side until the permit arrives. I -will never go to Hampstead again, so help me God!" - -"Oh, but you mustn't swear! Let's talk about it after lunch, dearest -girl. I want just to look at you and see you happy. Do you know you're -frightfully pretty, Maryska?" - -She flushed with pleasure upon that. Many a man had called her pretty in -the old days; but she shrank from their words then, knowing well what -they meant. - -"_He_ used to say that it would be so, if ever I loved a man. I have -been so lonely since he died, and that has made my face sad. Now it is -different. I do not mean to be sad any more. I shall go to Italy, and we -will laugh in the sun together. Cannot it be to-day, Harry? Here is the -sea, and there are the ships. Let us take one and sail away! We can -think of the priest in France, where there are many who will be glad of -our money. Will you not please me, _sauvage bête_? Then take me upon the -ship immediately." - -He could not answer it. The problem became more embarrassing every hour, -and when lunch was done, and they were out on the parade together, it -began to seem beyond his wit altogether. Not for a kingdom would he have -brought tears to those bright eyes again. How prettily she babbled at -his side; how quick, how clever, how beautiful she was! A pride of -possession prevailed above all prudence, and drove him far from -considered resolutions. He was content to go, hand in hand with her--God -knew whither! - -In the end, it all came back to the priest. Let them see the priest! He -knew but one priest in Brighton, and that was the excellent Father -Healy, with whom he had fraternised at his club. Divine inspiration. Let -them call upon him. - - - VI - -Father Maurice Healy lived up at the back of the town in an old -windmill, skilfully transformed and built about so that it had become a -veritable bungalow, with more than one pleasant room and a little chapel -which his lady friends declared was too divine for words. He had been -smoking his afternoon cigar, when the amazing pair burst in upon him, -and never in all his life had he laid down good tobacco to listen to a -tale so wonderful! - -"Ye'll have to wait," he said dryly. "I've no power to marry ye at all -as the State understands the term. Ye'll get a special licence, and then -come to me. 'Tis wise advice, my dear, that ye should go back to your -friends in London until things can be put straight. Make up your mind to -that. I'm no better off in securing you to legal marriage than any man -ye may stop in the street. Mr. Lassett knows that well, and he'll have -told ye as much." - -Harry nodded his head in unison with the words as though this was just -the counsel he had expected. Maryska, thinking that she knew priests -well, clasped her precious bag firmly in both her little hands and -looked the enemy squarely in the face. - -"We will pay you money," she said with much dignity. "I have ten pounds -here, and you shall have it. What you say does not matter to us at all. -We are not frightened of the judges, Harry and I. If you marry us -to-day, we shall go away to Italy, and the gendarmes will not find us. -He has said that I must go back to Hampstead, but I will never do so. I -will kill myself if you do not marry us. Harry knows that it is true, -and that is why we have come here. Perhaps, if you married us, he has -some money and will add it to mine. There are other priests, but we do -not wish to go to them. Oh, sir, will you not do it for those who love? -Will you not make us happy? It is nothing to me this ceremony, but to -him it is so much. And I have the money here; I will show it to you if -you wish." - -She began to fumble with the bag while the good father and Harry -regarded her with an amazement beyond all words. Never had Maurice Healy -heard such an address or seen so pretty a bargainer in that little room. -And the horror of it all--her ignorance, her childish faith, her frank -confession! He was as clay in her hands already--and she, a heathen. - -"But, my dear young lady, 'tis far from understanding ye are," he gasped -at length; "not a penny of your money would I be touching anyway. Don't -you see I can't marry ye because the law will not let me? 'Tis not me, -but the Parliament that has the making of it. Ye must take your money to -them." - -Maryska looked at him almost with pity. Harry's appeal to her might as -well have been addressed to the stucco walls of the bungalow. - -"I do not believe you," she said; "you have a little church there, and -you can say the words. The money will buy you many things that this poor -house is in need of. Please to marry us at once, and then we can go and -be happy. Oh, sir, if you knew what it was to love! But priests do not -know that; they have no hearts. You will let us sail to Italy without -your blessing, and will remember it afterwards. Is it kind of you to do -that when you think that you serve God?" - -"But, my child, I will give ye my blessing freely; 'tis to marry you I -am unable." - -"We do not care for that; nothing matters to us but our love. We go to -Italy to forget this dark country and its people. If you will not do as -we wish, we shall ask no other. Is it for religion to refuse us, father, -when we have come here as the Church would wish us to do?" - -"God be good to me!" he cried in despair, "but I don't know what to say -to you, and that's the truth. I'll see your husband, my dear, and have a -talk to him. Will you come into the dining-room while I have a word with -ye, Mr. Lassett? 'Tis beyond all argument and reason--God knows it is." - -She did not demur, and they went away, leaving her before a superb -crucifix, which seemed to speak of the country for which she sighed. The -argument between the good father and the equally good sportsman was both -long and at times explosive. "Nothing easier," said the priest, "than to -take her back to London and be married in three days' time." "Nothing -more impossible to do any such thing," urged Master Harry, who thought -that he knew the patient. She would never go to London, and if she were -left alone in an hotel at Brighton, he would not answer for her. Had she -been an Englishwoman, the whole situation would have been impossible. -But she was just a waif and stray from the wilds of Bohemia, and her -creed had been learned under the kindly stars. Would Father Healy take -charge of her until a licence could be got? The father said "No," most -emphatically; he would have no woman in the house. What, then, did he -suggest? - -Of course, they were both very frightened of her, and they spoke in low -tones as though she might burst in and accuse them. Impossible to face -that little fury and declare, "There is nothing to be done." When Harry -suggested that common humanity would marry them and trust to the licence -afterwards, Father Healy asked, "Would ye have me in prison?" None the -less, both plainly perceived now that it must be done. A licence could -be obtained immediately, and the civil marriage celebrated at the office -of the registrar. The good father, vague about the law, followed Harry -back to the room with a protest on his lips. It was none of his -doing--and yet he did it after all. And Harry must swear solemnly, and -she must follow with her pledged word, not to leave Brighton until the -affair was made legal. Oh, the change in her when she knew the truth! - -So they got the priest's blessing before the little altar in the -oratory, and when the brief ceremony was over, they went away together, -back to his rooms. But they were no longer gloomy rooms, for now the two -saw nothing but each other's eyes, and little it mattered to them that -the oleographs were mid-Victorian and that the mahogany chairs matched -them. Maryska had found the heart of a new world, and she dwelt there -for just two hours in good content until there came a knock upon the -door, and Gordon Silvester, tired, pale, and wonderfully earnest, -entered softly into their paradise and began to speak of men and cities. - -"I have telegraphed to Mr. Faber," he said. "He must know immediately." - -Maryska laughed in his face. - -"He is on the sea," she said. "You will have to send the telegram which -flies." - - - - - CHAPTER V - - TWO SHIPS UPON THE SEA - - - I - -Faber had expected such a telegram; but he had not thought that it would -be so longed delayed. - -He told Gabrielle once upon a time that she was drifting upon a tide -which would carry her to unhappy seas; but he himself had been doing the -same thing since his work in England was finished. This was a man who -had learned to love a woman, but was a very novice, none the less, in -all the arts of love. - -Had it been a business affair, with what zeal would he not have plunged -into it? Being far from that, a situation in which the whole soul of the -man was at stake, he did as the woman had done--drifted upon the tide of -circumstance, and was content to wait. - -Be sure that he had read the secret of Harry Lassett's passion for -Maryska almost at the beginning. Because of it, he left her in the -little house at Hampstead, and would have sailed to New York without -her. If Harry had the courage, he would cut the knot, and the treasure -ship would float upon a kindly stream to the harbour already prepared. -But would he have the courage? One excuse and another kept Faber at -Southampton, but the news did not come. The order to weigh anchor had -been given, and recalled a dozen times in as many days. The yacht would -have been in the Solent that very night, but for Gabrielle's -instructions to her father. "Telegraph Mr. Faber," she had said. He -received the message while he was writing to Sir Jules Achon in the -little cabin which served him for library, and there being no train to -serve his purpose, the fastest motor-car in Southampton was on the road -to Brighton within the hour. - -It was half-past eleven when he reached Oriental Terrace, and five -minutes later when he burst in upon a dismal company. Having taken -possession of "the assets of respectability," Gordon Silvester had -refused to budge an inch; and having exhausted his homilies upon -"honour," "the married state," and the "scandal of the whole -proceeding," had fallen to a sullen silence. Harry and Maryska, no less -obstinate, declared their intention of remaining in Brighton until a -registrar had married them, and then of leaving for Paris immediately. -An appeal to the girl to consider her obligations toward John Faber met -with the characteristic answer that she recognised none. She was sorry -for this a little later on when Faber himself appeared just like a fairy -godfather to a scowling Cinderella. His coming gratified her vanity; his -dominant will never failed to subdue her. She remembered the hours they -had spent together upon the road to Ranovica and all they had meant to -her. - -"Why, little girl, and what has been going on here, now--and Mr. -Lassett, too? I guess I'm on time for the party anyway. Will someone -just tell me what it's all about before we begin? Don't move, Mr. -Silvester. I'd have you all be comfortable and I'll light a cigar if -Miss Maryska doesn't mind. Now, will no one tell me the story?" - -Maryska ran to him just like a child to a father. He was plump in an -arm-chair with her by his side before a man could have counted ten, and -she lit his cigar with a little hand which trembled while it held the -match. - -"Harry and I are married!" she said, "you must not be very cross; _he_ -would not have been. We went to the priest this afternoon--then that man -came, and will not go away! Will you send him away, please? We do not -want him here." - -Even Silvester laughed at this; all the conventions went into the -melting-pot at the bidding of the child. It would have been impossible -for Melpomene herself to have resisted her. The minister puffed hard at -his pipe, and forgot her ingratitude. John Faber stroked her hair, and -said to himself that her love had changed her wonderfully. - -"Why, my dear, that's not very kind to your good friend nor to me!" he -said gently enough. "Don't you think you might have told us something -about it all? Perhaps we should have been able to help you if you had -come to us. Was it right to keep us all in the dark like this?" - -Of course, Harry blurted out that it was all his fault, and that she was -not to blame. There were three speaking at once presently, and all the -while Faber had Maryska's arms about his neck. They had not meant to do -it all--circumstances drove them; they thought that he had gone away. To -which was added the truly feminine dictum that they could not help -loving each other, and were not to blame. When Silvester obtained a -grasp of the situation, and declared that she must have known she was -doing wrong, Maryska responded that she did not care a d----n; which -finished the worthy pastor, and sent him in high dudgeon back to his -hotel. It was nearly midnight, and he feared that he would be locked -out! - -When he was gone, Faber took Harry aside and had a long talk with him. -This was a very different affair, and set every nerve in the young man's -body tingling. To begin with, there was the charge upon the honour of -the man. Why had he not had it out with Gabrielle? A man who cannot talk -straight to a woman, whatever the circumstances, is worth very little in -the world. Then, what did he propose to do? To keep house and wife and -children upon his paltry three hundred a year? What selfishness was -that; what a confession of idleness and vain folly! He, Faber, would let -Maryska remain with no man who would not work himself for her, and bring -ambition to his task. Harry should have twelve months to justify -himself! If he needed capital, it was there--but he must prove his -worth. "Show me," said Faber, "that you earn five hundred pounds -honestly at the end of twelve months, and I will make it five thousand!" -Failing that, he swore very solemnly that he would have Maryska back -with him at Charleston, and defy the consequences. "She'll be glad to -come," he said; "she's just the kind to discover whether a man has grit -in him or no--and God help you, if you haven't." - -To the little wife, his farewell was in a kindlier mood altogether. She -must know that she had a friend in him always; send for him whenever she -was in trouble. He would try to cross the Atlantic to see her sometimes; -the years were speeding, and he did not mean to work as hard as he had -done. He would have her always in his thoughts, his fellow traveller -upon the drear road of death. The present that he gave her brought the -hot blush to her cheeks. Oh, the days of joy it would buy in the south, -where the sun would shine upon her life. She kissed him again and again. -"_He_ will know that you have made me happy," she said. - -He saw her last through the uncurtained window, showing her treasure to -Harry. The boy drew her close and kissed her. They were alone at last. - -But John Faber returned immediately to Southampton, through a sleeping -country for which his genius had done much in the days of tribulation. - - - II - -Sir Jules Achon's yacht was in dock when Faber awoke late next day, and -he learned with some surprise that it had reached the Solent yesterday, -and was anchored a little while in Portsmouth harbour, until, indeed, -Rupert Trevelle went aboard with news of the _Savannah_. Then Sir Jules -sailed for Southampton immediately, and so the master minds met at last, -each with his own story of the tremendous days. Faber thought the -baronet a little worn by his labours; but his zeal was unchanged, and he -still looked toward that goal of life where the peace of the world -should be won. The Tsar, he said, was still unwilling to come in; but he -had obtained much encouragement at the minor courts, especially those of -the south-east of Europe. For England herself, he had little hope in the -matter. The old imagination had failed his countrymen. The petty issues, -not the greater, were discussed in the market place. - -"This should be a story of three kings," he said, "and they must -recreate the world. In your country, you have built an altar to humanity -which never can be cast down. We learn slowly in Europe, for we are -blinded by the glitter of ancient arms. In more material things, the -shopkeeping instinct is the foe of progress. When I can throw down the -commercial barriers, I can cast out war. The field is mighty, but the -labourers are few. If I were not already in my sixty-fourth year, I -would hope to see the noblest day in the story of man. As it is, I can -but sow and leave those who come after me to reap." - -Faber said that none of them could hope to do more. - -"We are up against the animal instinct, and that is as old as Eden. You -know my view. If peace is to be won for humanity, it will be by the -brains and the money of those who lead humanity. This country has had a -terrible fight, and everyone is crying out for this or that to be done. -I shouldn't wonder if it all ended in nothing being done. Men talk the -old platitudes the while they read their newspapers and ask what Germany -or Spain has the intention of doing. I don't blame the war party, for it -is its business to make war. God knows, I've seen enough of that to last -me a lifetime, and when I go back to New York, it will be to live on the -hill-top. But others will carry on my business, and it will have to be -carried on. The day when any European nation disarmed for reasons of -sentimentality would be the last day of its freedom. We must deal with -facts as they are; we cannot run ahead of the great company of men, for -assuredly we shall fall if we do." - -Sir Jules was in accord with all this. He spoke fervently of what the -big men were doing. Andrew Carnegie and Taft and Bryce at Washington. An -atmosphere was being created, but he feared its artificiality. Commerce -was the key, he repeated; remove the commercial bias and the day was -won. For Faber's promise to become one of the presidents of the -Federation League, he was very grateful. "You have done much for this -country," he said; "your name will mean a great deal to me." - -They fell afterwards to talking of their more domestic affairs. Sir -Jules said that his daughter Eva had gone to Winchester to lunch with a -friend, but he expected her to dinner. The same hesitation which had led -Faber to defer his departure upon so many recent occasions, now prompted -his acceptance of the suggestion that he should join the party, and he -went over to the _Savannah_ immediately to dress. - -"I'll weigh to-morrow anyway," was his word at parting. "My skipper -doesn't like these waters in the dark, and I've got to consider him. -Eight o'clock, I think you said, Sir Jules? You'll be alone, of course?" - -"My daughter and I; it will be a pleasure to both of us." - - - III - -The night fell warm and murky with a soft and southerly breeze. - -All the lanterns of the ships in Southampton Water shone clear and -steady as Faber paced the quarter-deck of the _Savannah_ until it should -be time to keep his appointment. - -A month ago how different the scene had been--the frost everywhere; the -frightened people; the menace of a peril from which the bravest shrank. -Now this had become a scene of England's maritime habit--a scene wherein -the great steamers moved majestically, their sirens hooting, their crews -to be welcomed home or bidden God-speed, as the occasion demanded. In -the background were the red and green lamps of the railway, the busy -streets of the town, the coming and going of citizens whose day's work -was done. As a tempest drifting, the storm had passed. The ramparts -beloved of the nation had made of this again an island kingdom. - -John Faber dwelt upon such thoughts for an instant, but anon they turned -to a woman. Would he leave England and seek no more to reason with -Gabrielle Silvester? Would he be justified in going to her in an hour of -some humiliation? He had no young man's impetuosity, no virile passion -of love which would break all barriers rudely. A real and generous -sentiment toward her, the belief that she was for him the one woman in -all the world had become a habit of his life. She would be the ornament -of any man's home. Her dignity, her wit, her womanliness--in what -precious jewels would he not set them if she had but come to him? And -all this might have been if Harry Lassett had had the courage to tell -her the truth and the little witch of Ragusa had been as other women. -Now, all had been put to the hazard. It might be that all was lost. - -The boat came alongside at last, and he went aboard. It was very silent -all about him, and when he heard a woman's laugh, coming from the deck -of a ship, he wondered that it should seem to speak to him across the -waters. The _Savannah_ herself lay warped to the quay of the dock, but -they put a ladder down for him, and he climbed it slowly. A steward said -that Miss Achon was in the boudoir, and he went there--to see neither -Sir Jules nor his daughter, but another figure and one whose wide eyes -expressed all the hope and the fear of that tremendous encounter. - -"But," cried Gabrielle, "Eva told me that you had sailed." - -"Ah!" he said, refusing to release her hand, "she's not the first of -your sex who always tells the truth." - - - THE END - - - - - NEW BOOKS - AND NEW EDITIONS - - - =THE GAMBLERS= - A dramatic story of American Life. 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Illustrated. $2.00. - - - =DEVOTA= - By AUGUSTA EVANS WILSON. Illustrated. (Third large printing.) - $1.50. - - - - - Transcriber Notes: - -Passages in italics were indicated by _underscores_. - -Passages in bold were indicated by =equal signs=. - -Small caps were replaced with ALL CAPS. - -Throughout the document, the oe ligature was replaced with "oe". - -Throughout the dialogues, there were words used to mimic accents of the -speakers. Those words were retained as-is. - -Errors in punctuation and inconsistent hyphenation were not corrected -unless otherwise noted. - -On page 42, a quotation mark was added after "harmony and peace,". - -On page 96, a double quotation mark was added before the single -quotation mark in "'Don't". - -On page 98, a single quotation mark after "go?" was replaced with a -double quotation mark. - -On page 134, "could no nothing" was replaced with "could know nothing". - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Swords Reluctant, by Max Pemberton - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SWORDS RELUCTANT *** - -***** This file should be named 42763-8.txt or 42763-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/2/7/6/42763/ - -Produced by David Edwards, Ernest Schaal, and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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