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-Project Gutenberg's The Mystery of Choice, by Robert William Chambers

-

-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: The Mystery of Choice

-

-Author: Robert William Chambers

-

-Release Date: August 13, 2014 [EBook #46581]

-

-Language: English

-

-Character set encoding: UTF-8

-

-*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MYSTERY OF CHOICE ***

-

-

-

-

-Produced by Robert Cicconetti and the Online Distributed

-Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was

-produced from images generously made available by The

-Internet Archive/American Libraries.)

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:

-

-Italics have been transcribed using _underscores_, small capitals as ALL

-CAPITALS. Inconsistencies in hyphenation and spelling have not been

-corrected. Punctuation has been silently corrected. A list of other

-corrections can be found at the end of the document.

-

-

-

-

-THE MYSTERY OF CHOICE

-

-

-BY ROBERT W. CHAMBERS

-

-AUTHOR OF THE KING IN YELLOW, THE RED REPUBLIC, A KING AND A FEW DUKES,

-THE MAKER OF MOONS, ETC.

-

-

-NEW YORK D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 1897

-

-

-

-

-COPYRIGHT, 1897,

-BY ROBERT W. CHAMBERS.

-

-

-

-

-_DEDICATION._

-

-

- _There is a maid, demure as she is wise,

-  With all of April in her winsome eyes,

-  And to my tales she listens pensively,

-  With slender fingers clasped about her knee,

-  Watching the sparrows on the balcony._

-

-   _Shy eyes that, lifted up to me,

-    Free all my heart of vanity;

-    Clear eyes, that speak all silently,

-    Sweet as the silence of a nunnery--

-    Read, for I write my rede for you alone,

-    Here where the city's mighty monotone

-    Deepens the silence to a symphony--

-    Silence of Saints, and Seers, and Sorcery._

-

- _Arms and the Man! A noble theme, I ween!

-  Alas! I can not sing of these, Eileen--

-  Only of maids and men and meadow-grass,

-  Of sea and fields and woodlands, where I pass;

-  Nothing but these I know, Eileen, alas!_

-

-   _Clear eyes that, lifted up to me,

-    Free all my soul from vanity;

-    Gray eyes, that speak all wistfully--

-    Nothing but these I know, alas!_

-

-                                       _R. W. C._

-

- _April, 1896._

-

-

-

-

-INTRODUCTION.

-

-

- _I._

-

- _Where two fair paths, deep flowered

-                        And leaf-embowered,

-  Creep East and West across a World concealed,

-  Which shall he take who journeys far afield?_

-

- _II._

-

- _Canst thou then say, "I go,"

-                        Or "I forego"?

-  What turns thee East or West, as thistles blow?

-  Is fair more fair than fair--and dost thou know?_

-

- _III._

-

- _Turn to the West, unblessed

-                        And uncaressed;

-  Turn to the East, and, seated at the Feast

-  Thou shalt find Life, or Death from Life released._

-

- _IV._

-

- _And thou who lovest best

-                        A maid dark-tressed,

-  And passest others by with careless eye,

-  Canst thou tell why thou choosest? Tell, then; why?_

-

-  _V._

-

- _So when thy kiss is given

-                        Or half-forgiven,

-  Why should she tremble, with her face flame-hot,

-  Or laugh and whisper, "Love, I tremble not"?_

-

- _VI._

-

- _Or when thy hand may catch

-                        A half-drawn latch,

-  What draws thee from the door, to turn and pass

-  Through streets unknown, dim, still, and choked with grass?_

-

- _VII._

-

- _What! Canst thou not foresee

-                        The Mystery?

-  Heed! For a Voice commands thy every deed!

-  And it hath sounded. And thou needs must heed!_

-

-                                       _R. W. C._

-

- _1896._

-

-

-

-

-CONTENTS.

-

-

-                               PAGE

-

-  THE PURPLE EMPEROR              1

-

-  POMPE FUNÈBRE                  39

-

-  THE MESSENGER                  47

-

-  THE WHITE SHADOW              109

-

-  PASSEUR                       175

-

-  THE KEY TO GRIEF              185

-

-  A MATTER OF INTEREST          213

-

-  ENVOI                         283

-

-

-

-

-THE PURPLE EMPEROR.

-

-

-

-

-THE PURPLE EMPEROR.

-

-  Un souvenir heureux est peut-être, sur terre,

-    Plus vrai que le bonheur.

-

-                                        A. DE MUSSET.

-

-

-I.

-

-The Purple Emperor watched me in silence. I cast again, spinning out

-six feet more of waterproof silk, and, as the line hissed through the

-air far across the pool, I saw my three flies fall on the water like

-drifting thistledown. The Purple Emperor sneered.

-

-"You see," he said, "I am right. There is not a trout in Brittany that

-will rise to a tailed fly."

-

-"They do in America," I replied.

-

-"Zut! for America!" observed the Purple Emperor.

-

-"And trout take a tailed fly in England," I insisted sharply.

-

-"Now do I care what things or people do in England?" demanded the

-Purple Emperor.

-

-"You don't care for anything except yourself and your wriggling

-caterpillars," I said, more annoyed than I had yet been.

-

-The Purple Emperor sniffed. His broad, hairless, sunburnt features bore

-that obstinate expression which always irritated me. Perhaps the manner

-in which he wore his hat intensified the irritation, for the flapping

-brim rested on both ears, and the two little velvet ribbons which

-hung from the silver buckle in front wiggled and fluttered with every

-trivial breeze. His cunning eyes and sharp-pointed nose were out of all

-keeping with his fat red face. When he met my eye, he chuckled.

-

-"I know more about insects than any man in Morbihan--or Finistère

-either, for that matter," he said.

-

-"The Red Admiral knows as much as you do," I retorted.

-

-"He doesn't," replied the Purple Emperor angrily.

-

-"And his collection of butterflies is twice as large as yours," I

-added, moving down the stream to a spot directly opposite him.

-

-"It is, is it?" sneered the Purple Emperor. "Well, let me tell you,

-Monsieur Darrel, in all his collection he hasn't a specimen, a single

-specimen, of that magnificent butterfly, Apatura Iris, commonly known

-as the 'Purple Emperor.'"

-

-"Everybody in Brittany knows that," I said, casting across the

-sparkling water; "but just because you happen to be the only man who

-ever captured a 'Purple Emperor' in Morbihan, it doesn't follow that

-you are an authority on sea-trout flies. Why do you say that a Breton

-sea-trout won't touch a tailed fly?"

-

-"It's so," he replied.

-

-"Why? There are plenty of May-flies about the stream."

-

-"Let 'em fly!" snarled the Purple Emperor, "you won't see a trout touch

-'em."

-

-My arm was aching, but I grasped my split bamboo more firmly, and,

-half turning, waded out into the stream and began to whip the ripples

-at the head of the pool. A great green dragon-fly came drifting by on

-the summer breeze and hung a moment above the pool, glittering like an

-emerald.

-

-"There's a chance! Where is your butterfly net?" I called across the

-stream.

-

-"What for? That dragon-fly? I've got dozens--Anax Junius, Drury,

-characteristic, anal angle of posterior wings, in male, round; thorax

-marked with----"

-

-"That will do," I said fiercely. "Can't I point out an insect in

-the air without this burst of erudition? Can you tell me, in simple

-everyday French, what this little fly is--this one, flitting over the

-eel grass here beside me? See, it has fallen on the water."

-

-"Huh!" sneered the Purple Emperor, "that's a Linnobia annulus."

-

-"What's that?" I demanded.

-

-Before he could answer there came a heavy splash in the pool, and the

-fly disappeared.

-

-"He! he! he!" tittered the Purple Emperor. "Didn't I tell you the fish

-knew their business? That was a sea-trout. I hope you don't get him."

-

-He gathered up his butterfly net, collecting box, chloroform bottle,

-and cyanide jar. Then he rose, swung the box over his shoulder, stuffed

-the poison bottles into the pockets of his silver-buttoned velvet

-coat, and lighted his pipe. This latter operation was a demoralizing

-spectacle, for the Purple Emperor, like all Breton peasants, smoked one

-of those microscopical Breton pipes which requires ten minutes to find,

-ten minutes to fill, ten minutes to light, and ten seconds to finish.

-With true Breton stolidity he went through this solemn rite, blew three

-puffs of smoke into the air, scratched his pointed nose reflectively,

-and waddled away, calling back an ironical "Au revoir, and bad luck to

-all Yankees!"

-

-I watched him out of sight, thinking sadly of the young girl whose life

-he made a hell upon earth--Lys Trevec, his niece. She never admitted

-it, but we all knew what the black-and-blue marks meant on her soft,

-round arm, and it made me sick to see the look of fear come into her

-eyes when the Purple Emperor waddled into the café of the Groix Inn.

-

-It was commonly said that he half-starved her. This she denied. Marie

-Joseph and 'Fine Lelocard had seen him strike her the day after the

-Pardon of the Birds because she had liberated three bullfinches which

-he had limed the day before. I asked Lys if this were true, and she

-refused to speak to me for the rest of the week. There was nothing to

-do about it. If the Purple Emperor had not been avaricious, I should

-never have seen Lys at all, but he could not resist the thirty francs

-a week which I offered him; and Lys posed for me all day long, happy

-as a linnet in a pink thorn hedge. Nevertheless, the Purple Emperor

-hated me, and constantly threatened to send Lys back to her dreary

-flax-spinning. He was suspicious, too, and when he had gulped down

-the single glass of cider which proves fatal to the sobriety of most

-Bretons, he would pound the long, discoloured oaken table and roar

-curses on me, on Yves Terrec, and on the Red Admiral. We were the

-three objects in the world which he most hated: me, because I was a

-foreigner, and didn't care a rap for him and his butterflies; and the

-Red Admiral, because he was a rival entomologist.

-

-He had other reasons for hating Terrec.

-

-The Red Admiral, a little wizened wretch, with a badly adjusted

-glass eye and a passion for brandy, took his name from a butterfly

-which predominated in his collection. This butterfly, commonly known

-to amateurs as the "Red Admiral," and to entomologists as Vanessa

-Atalanta, had been the occasion of scandal among the entomologists of

-France and Brittany. For the Red Admiral had taken one of these common

-insects, dyed it a brilliant yellow by the aid of chemicals, and palmed

-it off on a credulous collector as a South African species, absolutely

-unique. The fifty francs which he gained by this rascality were,

-however, absorbed in a suit for damages brought by the outraged amateur

-a month later; and when he had sat in the Quimperlé jail for a month,

-he reappeared in the little village of St. Gildas soured, thirsty, and

-burning for revenge. Of course we named him the Red Admiral, and he

-accepted the name with suppressed fury.

-

-The Purple Emperor, on the other hand, had gained his imperial title

-legitimately, for it was an undisputed fact that the only specimen of

-that beautiful butterfly, Apatura Iris, or the Purple Emperor, as it

-is called by amateurs--the only specimen that had ever been taken in

-Finistère or in Morbihan--was captured and brought home alive by Joseph

-Marie Gloanec, ever afterward to be known as the Purple Emperor.

-

-When the capture of this rare butterfly became known the Red Admiral

-nearly went crazy. Every day for a week he trotted over to the Groix

-Inn, where the Purple Emperor lived with his niece, and brought his

-microscope to bear on the rare newly captured butterfly, in hopes of

-detecting a fraud. But this specimen was genuine, and he leered through

-his microscope in vain.

-

-"No chemicals there, Admiral," grinned the Purple Emperor; and the Red

-Admiral chattered with rage.

-

-To the scientific world of Brittany and France the capture of an

-Apatura Iris in Morbihan was of great importance. The Museum of Quimper

-offered to purchase the butterfly, but the Purple Emperor, though a

-hoarder of gold, was a monomaniac on butterflies, and he jeered at the

-Curator of the Museum. From all parts of Brittany and France letters

-of inquiry and congratulation poured in upon him. The French Academy

-of Sciences awarded him a prize, and the Paris Entomological Society

-made him an honorary member. Being a Breton peasant, and a more than

-commonly pig-headed one at that, these honours did not disturb his

-equanimity; but when the little hamlet of St. Gildas elected him mayor,

-and, as is the custom in Brittany under such circumstances, he left his

-thatched house to take up an official life in the little Groix Inn, his

-head became completely turned. To be mayor in a village of nearly one

-hundred and fifty people! It was an empire! So he became unbearable,

-drinking himself viciously drunk every night of his life, maltreating

-his niece, Lys Trevec, like the barbarous old wretch that he was, and

-driving the Red Admiral nearly frantic with his eternal harping on the

-capture of Apatura Iris. Of course he refused to tell where he had

-caught the butterfly. The Red Admiral stalked his footsteps, but in vain.

-

-"He! he! he!" nagged the Purple Emperor, cuddling his chin over a glass

-of cider; "I saw you sneaking about the St. Gildas spinny yesterday

-morning. So you think you can find another Apatura Iris by running

-after me? It won't do, Admiral, it won't do, d'ye see?"

-

-The Red Admiral turned yellow with mortification and envy, but the next

-day he actually took to his bed, for the Purple Emperor had brought

-home not a butterfly but a live chrysalis, which, if successfully

-hatched, would become a perfect specimen of the invaluable Apatura

-Iris. This was the last straw. The Red Admiral shut himself up in

-his little stone cottage, and for weeks now he had been invisible to

-everybody except 'Fine Lelocard who carried him a loaf of bread and a

-mullet or langouste every morning.

-

-The withdrawal of the Red Admiral from the society of St. Gildas

-excited first the derision and finally the suspicion of the Purple

-Emperor. What deviltry could he be hatching? Was he experimenting with

-chemicals again, or was he engaged in some deeper plot, the object

-of which was to discredit the Purple Emperor? Roux, the postman,

-who carried the mail on foot once a day from Bannalec, a distance of

-fifteen miles each way, had brought several suspicious letters, bearing

-English stamps, to the Red Admiral, and the next day the Admiral had

-been observed at his window grinning up into the sky and rubbing his

-hands together. A night or two after this apparition the postman left

-two packages at the Groix Inn for a moment while he ran across the way

-to drink a glass of cider with me. The Purple Emperor, who was roaming

-about the café, snooping into everything that did not concern him, came

-upon the packages and examined the postmarks and addresses. One of the

-packages was square and heavy, and felt like a book. The other was also

-square, but very light, and felt like a pasteboard box. They were both

-addressed to the Red Admiral, and they bore English stamps.

-

-When Roux, the postman, came back, the Purple Emperor tried to pump

-him, but the poor little postman knew nothing about the contents of the

-packages, and after he had taken them around the corner to the cottage

-of the Red Admiral the Purple Emperor ordered a glass of cider, and

-deliberately fuddled himself until Lys came in and tearfully supported

-him to his room. Here he became so abusive and brutal that Lys called

-to me, and I went and settled the trouble without wasting any words.

-This also the Purple Emperor remembered, and waited his chance to get

-even with me.

-

-That had happened a week ago, and until to-day he had not deigned to

-speak to me.

-

-Lys had posed for me all the week, and to-day being Saturday, and I

-lazy, we had decided to take a little relaxation, she to visit and

-gossip with her little black-eyed friend Yvette in the neighbouring

-hamlet of St. Julien, and I to try the appetites of the Breton trout

-with the contents of my American fly book.

-

-I had thrashed the stream very conscientiously for three hours, but not

-a trout had risen to my cast, and I was piqued. I had begun to believe

-that there were no trout in the St. Gildas stream, and would probably

-have given up had I not seen the sea trout snap the little fly which

-the Purple Emperor had named so scientifically. That set me thinking.

-Probably the Purple Emperor was right, for he certainly was an expert

-in everything that crawled and wriggled in Brittany. So I matched,

-from my American fly book, the fly that the sea trout had snapped up,

-and withdrawing the cast of three, knotted a new leader to the silk

-and slipped a fly on the loop. It was a queer fly. It was one of those

-unnameable experiments which fascinate anglers in sporting stores and

-which generally prove utterly useless. Moreover, it was a tailed fly,

-but of course I easily remedied that with a stroke of my penknife.

-Then I was all ready, and I stepped out into the hurrying rapids and

-cast straight as an arrow to the spot where the sea trout had risen.

-Lightly as a plume the fly settled on the bosom of the pool; then came

-a startling splash, a gleam of silver, and the line tightened from the

-vibrating rod-tip to the shrieking reel. Almost instantly I checked the

-fish, and as he floundered for a moment, making the water boil along

-his glittering sides, I sprang to the bank again, for I saw that the

-fish was a heavy one and I should probably be in for a long run down

-the stream. The five-ounce rod swept in a splendid circle, quivering

-under the strain. "Oh, for a gaff-hook!" I cried aloud, for I was now

-firmly convinced that I had a salmon to deal with, and no sea trout at

-all.

-

-Then as I stood, bringing every ounce to bear on the sulking fish, a

-lithe, slender girl came hurriedly along the opposite bank calling out

-to me by name.

-

-"Why, Lys!" I said, glancing up for a second, "I thought you were at

-St. Julien with Yvette."

-

-"Yvette has gone to Bannalec. I went home and found an awful fight

-going on at the Groix Inn, and I was so frightened that I came to tell

-you."

-

-The fish dashed off at that moment, carrying all the line my reel held,

-and I was compelled to follow him at a jump. Lys, active and graceful

-as a young deer, in spite of her Pont-Aven sabots, followed along the

-opposite bank until the fish settled in a deep pool, shook the line

-savagely once or twice, and then relapsed into the sulks.

-

-"Fight at the Groix Inn?" I called across the water. "What fight?"

-

-"Not exactly fight," quavered Lys, "but the Red Admiral has come out

-of his house at last, and he and my uncle are drinking together and

-disputing about butterflies. I never saw my uncle so angry, and the Red

-Admiral is sneering and grinning. Oh, it is almost wicked to see such

-a face!"

-

-"But Lys," I said, scarcely able to repress a smile, "your uncle and

-the Red Admiral are always quarrelling and drinking."

-

-"I know--oh, dear me!--but this is different, Monsieur Darrel. The Red

-Admiral has grown old and fierce since he shut himself up three weeks

-ago, and--oh, dear! I never saw such a look in my uncle's eyes before.

-He seemed insane with fury. His eyes--I can't speak of it--and then

-Terrec came in."

-

-"Oh," I said more gravely, "that was unfortunate. What did the Red

-Admiral say to his son?"

-

-Lys sat down on a rock among the ferns, and gave me a mutinous glance

-from her blue eyes.

-

-Yves Terrec, loafer, poacher, and son of Louis Jean Terrec, otherwise

-the Red Admiral, had been kicked out by his father, and had also been

-forbidden the village by the Purple Emperor, in his majestic capacity

-of mayor. Twice the young ruffian had returned: once to rifle the

-bedroom of the Purple Emperor--an unsuccessful enterprise--and another

-time to rob his own father. He succeeded in the latter attempt, but was

-never caught, although he was frequently seen roving about the forests

-and moors with his gun. He openly menaced the Purple Emperor; vowed

-that he would marry Lys in spite of all the gendarmes in Quimperlé;

-and these same gendarmes he led many a long chase through brier-filled

-swamps and over miles of yellow gorse.

-

-What he did to the Purple Emperor--what he intended to do--disquieted

-me but little; but I worried over his threat concerning Lys. During

-the last three months this had bothered me a great deal; for when Lys

-came to St. Gildas from the convent the first thing she captured was my

-heart. For a long time I had refused to believe that any tie of blood

-linked this dainty blue-eyed creature with the Purple Emperor. Although

-she dressed in the velvet-laced bodice and blue petticoat of Finistère,

-and wore the bewitching white coiffe of St. Gildas, it seemed like a

-pretty masquerade. To me she was as sweet and as gently bred as many a

-maiden of the noble Faubourg who danced with her cousins at a Louis XV

-fête champêtre. So when Lys said that Yves Terrec had returned openly

-to St. Gildas, I felt that I had better be there also.

-

-"What did Terrec say, Lys?" I asked, watching the line vibrating above

-the placid pool.

-

-The wild rose colour crept into her cheeks. "Oh," she answered, with a

-little toss of her chin, "you know what he always says."

-

-"That he will carry you away?"

-

-"Yes."

-

-"In spite of the Purple Emperor, the Red Admiral, and the gendarmes?"

-

-"Yes."

-

-"And what do you say, Lys?"

-

-"I? Oh, nothing."

-

-"Then let me say it for you."

-

-Lys looked at her delicate pointed sabots, the sabots from Pont-Aven,

-made to order. They fitted her little foot. They were her only luxury.

-

-"Will you let me answer for you, Lys?" I asked.

-

-"You, Monsieur Darrel?"

-

-"Yes. Will you let me give him his answer?"

-

-"Mon Dieu, why should you concern yourself, Monsieur Darrel?"

-

-The fish lay very quiet, but the rod in my hand trembled.

-

-"Because I love you, Lys."

-

-The wild rose colour in her cheeks deepened; she gave a gentle gasp,

-then hid her curly head in her hands.

-

-"I love you, Lys."

-

-"Do you know what you say?" she stammered.

-

-"Yes, I love you."

-

-She raised her sweet face and looked at me across the pool.

-

-"I love you," she said, while the tears stood like stars in her eyes.

-"Shall I come over the brook to you?"

-

-

-II.

-

-That night Yves Terrec left the village of St. Gildas vowing vengeance

-against his father, who refused him shelter.

-

-I can see him now, standing in the road, his bare legs rising like

-pillars of bronze from his straw-stuffed sabots, his short velvet

-jacket torn and soiled by exposure and dissipation, and his eyes,

-fierce, roving, bloodshot--while the Red Admiral squeaked curses on

-him, and hobbled away into his little stone cottage.

-

-"I will not forget you!" cried Yves Terrec, and stretched out his hand

-toward his father with a terrible gesture. Then he whipped his gun to

-his cheek and took a short step forward, but I caught him by the throat

-before he could fire, and a second later we were rolling in the dust

-of the Bannalec road. I had to hit him a heavy blow behind the ear

-before he would let go, and then, rising and shaking myself, I dashed

-his muzzle-loading fowling piece to bits against a wall, and threw his

-knife into the river. The Purple Emperor was looking on with a queer

-light in his eyes. It was plain that he was sorry Terrec had not choked

-me to death.

-

-"He would have killed his father," I said, as I passed him, going

-toward the Groix Inn.

-

-"That's his business," snarled the Purple Emperor. There was a deadly

-light in his eyes. For a moment I thought he was going to attack me;

-but he was merely viciously drunk, so I shoved him out of my way and

-went to bed, tired and disgusted.

-

-The worst of it was I couldn't sleep, for I feared that the Purple

-Emperor might begin to abuse Lys. I lay restlessly tossing among the

-sheets until I could stay there no longer. I did not dress entirely;

-I merely slipped on a pair of chaussons and sabots, a pair of

-knickerbockers, a jersey, and a cap. Then, loosely tying a handkerchief

-about my throat, I went down the worm-eaten stairs and out into the

-moonlit road. There was a candle flaring in the Purple Emperor's

-window, but I could not see him.

-

-"He's probably dead drunk," I thought, and looked up at the window

-where, three years before, I had first seen Lys.

-

-"Asleep, thank Heaven!" I muttered, and wandered out along the road.

-Passing the small cottage of the Red Admiral, I saw that it was dark,

-but the door was open. I stepped inside the hedge to shut it, thinking,

-in case Yves Terrec should be roving about, his father would lose

-whatever he had left.

-

-Then, after fastening the door with a stone, I wandered on through the

-dazzling Breton moonlight. A nightingale was singing in a willow swamp

-below, and from the edge of the mere, among the tall swamp grasses,

-myriads of frogs chanted a bass chorus.

-

-When I returned, the eastern sky was beginning to lighten, and across

-the meadows on the cliffs, outlined against the paling horizon, I saw

-a seaweed gatherer going to his work among the curling breakers on the

-coast. His long rake was balanced on his shoulder, and the sea wind

-carried his song across the meadows to me:

-

-    St. Gildas!

-    St. Gildas!

-    Pray for us,

-    Shelter us,

-  Us who toil in the sea.

-

-Passing the shrine at the entrance of the village, I took off my cap

-and knelt in prayer to Our Lady of Faöuet; and if I neglected myself

-in that prayer, surely I believed Our Lady of Faöuet would be kinder to

-Lys. It is said that the shrine casts white shadows. I looked, but saw

-only the moonlight. Then very peacefully I went to bed again, and was

-only awakened by the clank of sabres and the trample of horses in the

-road below my window.

-

-"Good gracious!" I thought, "it must be eleven o'clock, for there are

-the gendarmes from Quimperlé."

-

-I looked at my watch; it was only half-past eight, and as the gendarmes

-made their rounds every Thursday at eleven, I wondered what had brought

-them out so early to St. Gildas.

-

-"Of course," I grumbled, rubbing my eyes, "they are after Terrec," and

-I jumped into my limited bath.

-

-Before I was completely dressed I heard a timid knock, and opening my

-door, razor in hand, stood astonished and silent. Lys, her blue eyes

-wide with terror, leaned on the threshold.

-

-"My darling!" I cried, "what on earth is the matter?" But she

-only clung to me, panting like a wounded sea gull. At last, when I

-drew her into the room and raised her face to mine, she spoke in a

-heart-breaking voice:

-

-"Oh, Dick! they are going to arrest you, but I will die before I

-believe one word of what they say. No, don't ask me," and she began to

-sob desperately.

-

-When I found that something really serious was the matter, I flung

-on my coat and cap, and, slipping one arm about her waist, went down

-the stairs and out into the road. Four gendarmes sat on their horses

-in front of the café door; beyond them, the entire population of St.

-Gildas gaped, ten deep.

-

-"Hello, Durand!" I said to the brigadier, "what the devil is this I

-hear about arresting me?"

-

-"It's true, mon ami," replied Durand with sepulchral sympathy. I looked

-him over from the tip of his spurred boots to his sulphur-yellow sabre

-belt, then upward, button by button, to his disconcerted face.

-

-"What for?" I said scornfully. "Don't try any cheap sleuth work on me!

-Speak up, man, what's the trouble?"

-

-The Purple Emperor, who sat in the doorway staring at me, started to

-speak, but thought better of it and got up and went into the house. The

-gendarmes rolled their eyes mysteriously and looked wise.

-

-"Come, Durand," I said impatiently, "what's the charge?"

-

-"Murder," he said in a faint voice.

-

-"What!" I cried incredulously. "Nonsense! Do I look like a murderer?

-Get off your horse, you stupid, and tell me who's murdered."

-

-Durand got down, looking very silly, and came up to me, offering his

-hand with a propitiatory grin.

-

-"It was the Purple Emperor who denounced you! See, they found your

-handkerchief at his door----"

-

-"Whose door, for Heaven's sake?" I cried.

-

-"Why, the Red Admiral's!"

-

-"The Red Admiral's? What has he done?"

-

-"Nothing--he's only been murdered."

-

-I could scarcely believe my senses, although they took me over to the

-little stone cottage and pointed out the blood-spattered room. But

-the horror of the thing was that the corpse of the murdered man had

-disappeared, and there only remained a nauseating lake of blood on

-the stone floor, in the centre of which lay a human hand. There was

-no doubt as to whom the hand belonged, for everybody who had ever seen

-the Red Admiral knew that the shrivelled bit of flesh which lay in the

-thickening blood was the hand of the Red Admiral. To me it looked like

-the severed claw of some gigantic bird.

-

-"Well," I said, "there's been murder committed. Why don't you do

-something?"

-

-"What?" asked Durand.

-

-"I don't know. Send for the Commissaire."

-

-"He's at Quimperlé. I telegraphed."

-

-"Then send for a doctor, and find out how long this blood has been

-coagulating."

-

-"The chemist from Quimperlé is here; he's a doctor."

-

-"What does he say?"

-

-"He says that he doesn't know."

-

-"And who are you going to arrest?" I inquired, turning away from the

-spectacle on the floor.

-

-"I don't know," said the brigadier solemnly; "you are denounced by the

-Purple Emperor, because he found your handkerchief at the door when he

-went out this morning."

-

-"Just like a pig-headed Breton!" I exclaimed, thoroughly angry. "Did he

-not mention Yves Terrec?"

-

-"No."

-

-"Of course not," I said. "He overlooked the fact that Terrec tried to

-shoot his father last night, and that I took away his gun. All that

-counts for nothing when he finds my handkerchief at the murdered man's

-door."

-

-"Come into the café," said Durand, much disturbed, "we can talk it

-over, there. Of course, Monsieur Darrel, I have never had the faintest

-idea that you were the murderer!"

-

-The four gendarmes and I walked across the road to the Groix Inn and

-entered the café. It was crowded with Bretons, smoking, drinking,

-and jabbering in half a dozen dialects, all equally unsatisfactory to

-a civilized ear; and I pushed through the crowd to where little Max

-Fortin, the chemist of Quimperlé, stood smoking a vile cigar.

-

-"This is a bad business," he said, shaking hands and offering me the

-mate to his cigar, which I politely declined.

-

-"Now, Monsieur Fortin," I said, "it appears that the Purple Emperor

-found my handkerchief near the murdered man's door this morning, and

-so he concludes"--here I glared at the Purple Emperor--"that I am the

-assassin. I will now ask him a question," and turning on him suddenly,

-I shouted, "What were you doing at the Red Admiral's door?"

-

-The Purple Emperor started and turned pale, and I pointed at him

-triumphantly.

-

-"See what a sudden question will do. Look how embarrassed he is,

-and yet I do not charge him with murder; and I tell you, gentlemen,

-that man there knows as well as I do who was the murderer of the Red

-Admiral!"

-

-"I don't!" bawled the Purple Emperor.

-

-"You do," I said. "It was Yves Terrec."

-

-"I don't believe it," he said obstinately, dropping his voice.

-

-"Of course not, being pig-headed."

-

-"I am not pig-headed," he roared again, "but I am mayor of St. Gildas,

-and I do not believe that Yves Terrec killed his father."

-

-"You saw him try to kill him last night?"

-

-The mayor grunted.

-

-"And you saw what I did."

-

-He grunted again.

-

-"And," I went on, "you heard Yves Terrec threaten to kill his father.

-You heard him curse the Red Admiral and swear to kill him. Now the

-father is murdered and his body is gone."

-

-"And your handkerchief?" sneered the Purple Emperor.

-

-"I dropped it, of course."

-

-"And the seaweed gatherer who saw you last night lurking about the Red

-Admiral's cottage," grinned the Purple Emperor.

-

-I was startled at the man's malice.

-

-"That will do," I said. "It is perfectly true that I was walking on the

-Bannalec road last night, and that I stopped to close the Red Admiral's

-door, which was ajar, although his light was not burning. After that

-I went up the road to the Dinez Woods, and then walked over by St.

-Julien, whence I saw the seaweed gatherer on the cliffs. He was near

-enough for me to hear what he sang. What of that?"

-

-"What did you do then?"

-

-"Then I stopped at the shrine and said a prayer, and then I went to

-bed and slept until Brigadier Durand's gendarmes awoke me with their

-clatter."

-

-"Now, Monsieur Darrel," said the Purple Emperor, lifting a fat finger

-and shooting a wicked glance at me, "Now, Monsieur Darrel, which did

-you wear last night on your midnight stroll--sabots or shoes?"

-

-I thought a moment. "Shoes--no, sabots. I just slipped on my chaussons

-and went out in my sabots."

-

-"Which was it, shoes or sabots?" snarled the Purple Emperor.

-

-"Sabots, you fool."

-

-"Are these your sabots?" he asked, lifting up a wooden shoe with my

-initials cut on the instep.

-

-"Yes," I replied.

-

-"Then how did this blood come on the other one?" he shouted, and

-held up a sabot, the mate to the first, on which a drop of blood had

-spattered.

-

-"I haven't the least idea," I said calmly; but my heart was beating

-very fast and I was furiously angry.

-

-"You blockhead!" I said, controlling my rage, "I'll make you pay for

-this when they catch Yves Terrec and convict him. Brigadier Durand, do

-your duty if you think I am under suspicion. Arrest me, but grant me

-one favour. Put me in the Red Admiral's cottage, and I'll see whether

-I can't find some clew that you have overlooked. Of course, I won't

-disturb anything until the Commissaire arrives. Bah! You all make me

-very ill."

-

-"He's hardened," observed the Purple Emperor, wagging his head.

-

-"What motive had I to kill the Red Admiral?" I asked them all

-scornfully. And they all cried:

-

-"None! Yves Terrec is the man!"

-

-Passing out of the door I swung around and shook my finger at the

-Purple Emperor.

-

-"Oh, I'll make you dance for this, my friend," I said; and I followed

-Brigadier Durand across the street to the cottage of the murdered man.

-

-

-III.

-

-They took me at my word and placed a gendarme with a bared sabre at the

-gateway by the hedge.

-

-"Give me your parole," said poor Durand, "and I will let you go

-where you wish." But I refused, and began prowling about the cottage

-looking for clews. I found lots of things that some people would have

-considered most important, such as ashes from the Red Admiral's pipe,

-footprints in a dusty vegetable bin, bottles smelling of Pouldu cider,

-and dust--oh, lots of dust!--but I was not an expert, only a stupid,

-everyday amateur; so I defaced the footprints with my thick shooting

-boots, and I declined to examine the pipe ashes through a microscope,

-although the Red Admiral's microscope stood on the table close at hand.

-

-At last I found what I had been looking for, some long wisps of straw,

-curiously depressed and flattened in the middle, and I was certain

-I had found the evidence that would settle Yves Terrec for the rest

-of his life. It was plain as the nose on your face. The straws were

-sabot straws, flattened where the foot had pressed them, and sticking

-straight out where they projected beyond the sabot. Now nobody in

-St. Gildas used straw in sabots except a fisherman who lived near St.

-Julien, and the straw in his sabots was ordinary yellow wheat straw!

-This straw, or rather these straws, were from the stalks of the red

-wheat which only grows inland, and which, everybody in St. Gildas

-knew, Yves Terrec wore in his sabots. I was perfectly satisfied; and

-when, three hours later, a hoarse shouting from the Bannalec Road

-brought me to the window, I was not surprised to see Yves Terrec,

-bloody, dishevelled, hatless, with his strong arms bound behind him,

-walking with bent head between two mounted gendarmes. The crowd around

-him swelled every minute, crying: "Parricide! parricide! Death to the

-murderer!" As he passed my window I saw great clots of mud on his dusty

-sabots, from the heels of which projected wisps of red wheat straw.

-Then I walked back into the Red Admiral's study, determined to find

-what the microscope would show on the wheat straws. I examined each

-one very carefully, and then, my eyes aching, I rested my chin on my

-hand and leaned back in the chair. I had not been as fortunate as some

-detectives, for there was no evidence that the straws had ever been

-used in a sabot at all. Furthermore, directly across the hallway stood

-a carved Breton chest, and now I noticed for the first time that, from

-beneath the closed lid, dozens of similar red wheat straws projected,

-bent exactly as mine were bent by the weight of the lid.

-

-I yawned in disgust. It was apparent that I was not cut out for a

-detective, and I bitterly pondered over the difference between clews in

-real life and clews in a detective story. After a while I rose, walked

-over to the chest and opened the lid. The interior was wadded with

-the red wheat straws, and on this wadding lay two curious glass jars,

-two or three small vials, several empty bottles labelled chloroform, a

-collecting jar of cyanide of potassium, and a book. In a farther corner

-of the chest were some letters bearing English stamps, and also the

-torn coverings of two parcels, all from England, and all directed to

-the Red Admiral under his proper name of "Sieur Louis Jean Terrec, St.

-Gildas, par Moëlan, Finistère."

-

-All these traps I carried over to the desk, shut the lid of the chest,

-and sat down to read the letters. They were written in commercial

-French, evidently by an Englishman.

-

-Freely translated, the contents of the first letter were as follows:

-

-                                        "LONDON, _June 12, 1894_.

-

-     "DEAR MONSIEUR (_sic_): Your kind favour of the 19th inst.

-     received and contents noted. The latest work on the

-     Lepidoptera of England is Blowzer's How to catch British

-     Butterflies, with notes and tables, and an introduction by

-     Sir Thomas Sniffer. The price of this work (in one volume,

-     calf) is £5 or 125 francs of French money. A post-office

-     order will receive our prompt attention. We beg to remain,

-

-                               "Yours, etc.,

-                                      "FRADLEY & TOOMER,

-                               "470 Regent Square, London, S. W."

-

-The next letter was even less interesting. It merely stated that the

-money had been received and the book would be forwarded. The third

-engaged my attention, and I shall quote it, the translation being a

-free one:

-

-     "DEAR SIR: Your letter of the 1st of July was duly received,

-     and we at once referred it to Mr. Fradley himself. Mr. Fradley

-     being much interested in your question, sent your letter to

-     Professor Schweineri, of the Berlin Entomological Society,

-     whose note Blowzer refers to on page 630, in his How to catch

-     British Butterflies. We have just received an answer from

-     Professor Schweineri, which we translate into French--(see

-     inclosed slip). Professor Schweineri begs to present to you

-     two jars of cythyl, prepared under his own supervision. We

-     forward the same to you. Trusting that you will find

-     everything satisfactory, we remain,

-

-                                        "Yours sincerely,

-                                              "FRADLEY & TOOMER."

-

-The inclosed slip read as follows:

-

-     "Messrs. FRADLEY & TOOMER,

-

-     "GENTLEMEN: Cythaline, a complex hydrocarbon, was first used

-     by Professor Schnoot, of Antwerp, a year ago. I discovered

-     an analogous formula about the same time and named it cythyl.

-     I have used it with great success everywhere. It is as

-     certain as a magnet. I beg to present you three small jars,

-     and would be pleased to have you forward two of them to your

-     correspondent in St. Gildas with my compliments. Blowzer's

-     quotation of me, on page 630 of his glorious work, How to

-     catch British Butterflies, is correct.

-

-                               "Yours, etc.,

-                                      "HEINRICH SCHWEINERI,

-                                        P.H.D., D.D., D.S., M.S."

-

-When I had finished this letter I folded it up and put it into my

-pocket with the others. Then I opened Blowzer's valuable work, How to

-catch British Butterflies, and turned to page 630.

-

-Now, although the Red Admiral could only have acquired the book very

-recently, and although all the other pages were perfectly clean, this

-particular page was thumbed black, and heavy pencil marks inclosed a

-paragraph at the bottom of the page. This is the paragraph:

-

-     "Professor Schweineri says: 'Of the two old methods used by

-     collectors for the capture of the swift-winged, high-flying

-     Apatura Iris, or Purple Emperor, the first, which was using a

-     long-handled net, proved successful once in a thousand times;

-     and the second, the placing of bait upon the ground, such as

-     decayed meat, dead cats, rats, etc., was not only disagreeable,

-     even for an enthusiastic collector, but also very uncertain.

-     Once in five hundred times would the splendid butterfly leave

-     the tops of his favourite oak trees to circle about the fetid

-     bait offered. I have found cythyl a perfectly sure bait to

-     draw this beautiful butterfly to the ground, where it can be

-     easily captured. An ounce of cythyl placed in a yellow saucer

-     under an oak tree, will draw to it every Apatura Iris within

-     a radius of twenty miles. So, if any collector who possesses

-     a little cythyl, even though it be in a sealed bottle in his

-     pocket--if such a collector does not find a single Apatura

-     Iris fluttering close about him within an hour, let him be

-     satisfied that the Apatura Iris does not inhabit his country.'"

-

-When I had finished reading this note I sat for a long while thinking

-hard. Then I examined the two jars. They were labelled "_Cythyl_." One

-was full, the other _nearly full_. "The rest must be on the corpse

-of the Red Admiral," I thought, "no matter if it is in a corked

-bottle----"

-

-I took all the things back to the chest, laid them carefully on the

-straw, and closed the lid. The gendarme sentinel at the gate saluted me

-respectfully as I crossed over to the Groix Inn. The Inn was surrounded

-by an excited crowd, and the hallway was choked with gendarmes and

-peasants. On every side they greeted me cordially, announcing that the

-real murderer was caught; but I pushed by them without a word and ran

-upstairs to find Lys. She opened her door when I knocked and threw both

-arms about my neck. I took her to my breast and kissed her. After a

-moment I asked her if she would obey me no matter what I commanded, and

-she said she would, with a proud humility that touched me.

-

-"Then go at once to Yvette in St. Julien," I said. "Ask her to harness

-the dog-cart and drive you to the convent in Quimperlé. Wait for me

-there. Will you do this without questioning me, my darling?"

-

-She raised her face to mine. "Kiss me," she said innocently; the next

-moment she had vanished.

-

-I walked deliberately into the Purple Emperor's room and peered into

-the gauze-covered box which had held the chrysalis of Apatura Iris. It

-was as I expected. The chrysalis was empty and transparent, and a great

-crack ran down the middle of its back, but, on the netting inside the

-box, a magnificent butterfly slowly waved its burnished purple wings;

-for the chrysalis had given up its silent tenant, the butterfly symbol

-of immortality. Then a great fear fell upon me. I know now that it was

-the fear of the Black Priest, but neither then nor for years after did

-I know that the Black Priest had ever lived on earth. As I bent over

-the box I heard a confused murmur outside the house which ended in

-a furious shout of "Parricide!" and I heard the gendarmes ride away

-behind a wagon which rattled sharply on the flinty highway. I went

-to the window. In the wagon sat Yves Terrec, bound and wild-eyed, two

-gendarmes at either side of him, and all around the wagon rode mounted

-gendarmes whose bared sabres scarcely kept the crowd away.

-

-"Parricide!" they howled. "Let him die!"

-

-I stepped back and opened the gauze-covered box. Very gently but firmly

-I took the splendid butterfly by its closed fore wings and lifted it

-unharmed between my thumb and forefinger. Then, holding it concealed

-behind my back, I went down into the café.

-

-Of all the crowd that had filled it, shouting for the death of Yves

-Terrec, only three persons remained seated in front of the huge empty

-fireplace. They were the Brigadier Durand, Max Fortin, the chemist

-of Quimperlé, and the Purple Emperor. The latter looked abashed when

-I entered, but I paid no attention to him and walked straight to the

-chemist.

-

-"Monsieur Fortin," I said, "do you know much about hydrocarbons?"

-

-"They are my specialty," he said astonished.

-

-"Have you ever heard of such a thing as cythyl?"

-

-"Schweineri's cythyl? Oh, yes! We use it in perfumery."

-

-"Good!" I said. "Has it an odour?"

-

-"No--and, yes. One is always aware of its presence, but really nobody

-can affirm it has an odour. It is curious," he continued, looking at

-me, "it is very curious you should have asked me that, for all day I

-have been imagining I detected the presence of cythyl."

-

-"Do you imagine so now?" I asked.

-

-"Yes, more than ever."

-

-I sprang to the front door and tossed out the butterfly. The splendid

-creature beat the air for a moment, flitted uncertainly hither

-and thither, and then, to my astonishment, sailed majestically

-back into the café and alighted on the hearthstone. For a moment

-I was nonplussed, but when my eyes rested on the Purple Emperor I

-comprehended in a flash.

-

-"Lift that hearthstone!" I cried to the Brigadier Durand; "pry it up

-with your scabbard!"

-

-The Purple Emperor suddenly fell forward in his chair, his face ghastly

-white, his jaw loose with terror.

-

-"What is cythyl?" I shouted, seizing him by the arm; but he plunged

-heavily from his chair, face downward on the floor, and at the same

-moment a cry from the chemist made me turn. There stood the Brigadier

-Durand, one hand supporting the hearthstone, one hand raised in horror.

-There stood Max Fortin, the chemist, rigid with excitement, and below,

-in the hollow bed where the hearthstone had rested, lay a crushed mass

-of bleeding human flesh, from the midst of which stared a cheap glass

-eye. I seized the Purple Emperor and dragged him to his feet.

-

-"Look!" I cried; "look at your old friend, the Red Admiral!" but he

-only smiled in a vacant way, and rolled his head muttering; "Bait for

-butterflies! Cythyl! Oh, no, no, no! You can't do it, Admiral, d'ye

-see. I alone own the Purple Emperor! I alone am the Purple Emperor!"

-

-And the same carriage that bore me to Quimperlé to claim my bride,

-carried him to Quimper, gagged and bound, a foaming, howling lunatic.

-

-       *       *       *       *       *

-

-This, then, is the story of the Purple Emperor. I might tell you a

-pleasanter story if I chose; but concerning the fish that I had hold

-of, whether it was a salmon, a grilse, or a sea trout, I may not say,

-because I have promised Lys, and she has promised me, that no power on

-earth shall wring from our lips the mortifying confession that the fish

-escaped.

-

-

-

-

-POMPE FUNÈBRE.

-

-

-            A wind-swept sky,

-  The waste of moorland stretching to the west;

-  The sea, low moaning in a strange unrest--

-            A seagull's cry.

-

-            Washed by the tide,

-  The rocks lie sullen in the waning light;

-  The foam breaks in long strips of hungry white,

-            Dissatisfied.

-

-                                        BATEMAN.

-

-

-

-

-POMPE FUNÈBRE.

-

-  In the days when the keepers of the house shall tremble.

-

-

-When I first saw the sexton he was standing motionless behind a stone.

-Presently he moved on again, pausing at times, and turning right and

-left with that nervous, jerky motion that always chills me.

-

-His path lay across the blighted moss and withered leaves scattered

-in moist layers along the bank of the little brown stream, and I,

-wondering what his errand might be, followed, passing silently over the

-rotting forest mould. Once or twice he heard me, for I saw him stop

-short, a blot of black and orange in the sombre woods; but he always

-started on again, hurrying at times as though the dead might grow

-impatient.

-

-For the sexton that I followed through the November forest was one

-of those small creatures that God has sent to bury little things that

-die alone in the world. Undertaker, sexton, mute, and gravedigger in

-one, this thing, robed in black and orange, buries all things that die

-unheeded by the world. And so they call it--this little beetle in black

-and orange--the "sexton."

-

-How he hurried! I looked up into the gray sky where ashen branches,

-interlaced, swayed in unfelt winds, and I heard the dry leaves rattle

-in the tree tops, and the thud of acorns on the mould. A sombre bird

-peered at me from a heap of brush, then ran pattering over the leaves.

-

-The sexton had reached a bit of broken ground, and was scuffling over

-sticks and gulleys toward a brown tuft of withered grass above. I dared

-not help him; besides, I could not bring myself to touch him, he was so

-horribly absorbed in his errand.

-

-I halted for a moment. The eagerness of this live creature to find his

-dead and handle it; the odour of death and decay in this little forest

-world, where I had waited for spring when Lys moved among the flowering

-gorse, singing like a throstle in the wind--all this troubled me, and

-I lagged behind.

-

-The sexton scrambled over the dead grass, raising his seared eyes at

-every wave of wind. The wind brought sadness with it, the scent of

-lifeless trees, the vague rustle of gorse buds, yellow and dry as paper

-flowers.

-

-Along the stream, rotting water plants, scorched and frost-blighted,

-lay massed above the mud. I saw their pallid stems swaying like worms

-in the listless current.

-

-The sexton had reached a mouldering stump, and now he seemed undecided.

-I sat down on a fallen tree, moist and bleached, that crumbled under

-my touch, leaving a stale odour in the air. Overhead a crow rose

-heavily and flapped out into the moorland; the wind rattled the stark

-blackthorns; a single drop of rain touched my cheek. I looked into the

-stream for some sign of life; there was nothing, except a shapeless

-creature that might have been a blindworm, lying belly upward on the

-mud bottom. I touched it with a stick. It was stiff and dead.

-

-The wind among the sham paperlike gorse buds filled the woods with a

-silken rustle. I put out my hand and touched a yellow blossom; it felt

-like an immortelle on a funeral pillow.

-

-The sexton had moved on again; something, perhaps a musty spider's web,

-had stuck to one leg, and he dragged it as he laboured on through the

-wood. Some little field mouse torn by weasel or kestrel, some crushed

-mole, some tiny dead pile of fur or feather, lay not far off, stricken

-by God or man or brother creature. And the sexton knew it--how, God

-knows! But he knew it, and hurried on to his tryst with the dead.

-

-His path now lay along the edge of a tidal inlet from the Groix River.

-I looked down at the gray water through the leafless branches, and I

-saw a small snake, head raised, swim from a submerged clot of weeds

-into the shadow of a rock. There was a curlew, too, somewhere in the

-black swamp, whose dreary, persistent call cursed the silence.

-

-I wondered when the sexton would fly; for he could fly if he chose; it

-is only when the dead are near, very near, that he creeps. The soiled

-mess of cobweb still stuck to him, and his progress was impeded by

-it. Once I saw a small brown and white spider, striped like a zebra,

-running swiftly in his tracks, but the sexton turned and raised his

-two clubbed forelegs in a horrid imploring attitude that still had

-something of menace under it. The spider backed away and sidled under

-a stone.

-

-When anything that is dying--sick and close to death--falls upon the

-face of the earth, something moves in the blue above, floating like

-a moat; then another, then others. These specks that grow out of the

-fathomless azure vault are jewelled flies. They come to wait for Death.

-

-The sexton also arranges rendezvous with Death, but never waits; Death

-must arrive the first.

-

-When the heavy clover is ablaze with painted wings, when bees hum and

-blunder among the white-thorn, or pass by like swift singing bullets,

-the sexton snaps open his black and orange wings and hums across the

-clover with the bees. Death in a scented garden, the tokens of the

-plague on a fair young breast, the gray flag of fear in the face of

-one who reels into the arms of Destruction, the sexton scrambling in

-the lap of spring, folding his sleek wings, unfolding them to ape the

-buzz of bees, passing over sweet clover tops to the putrid flesh that

-summons him--these things must be and will be to the end.

-

-The sexton was running now--running fast, trailing the cobweb over

-twigs and mud. The edge of the wood was near, for I could see the

-winter wheat, like green scenery in a theatre, stretching for miles

-across the cliffs, crude as painted grass. And as I crept through

-the brittle forest fringe, I saw a figure lying face downward in the

-wheat--a girl's slender form, limp, motionless.

-

-The sexton darted under her breast.

-

-Then I threw myself down beside her, crying, "Lys! Lys!" And as I

-cried, the icy rain burst out across the moors, and the trees dashed

-their stark limbs together till the whole spectral forest tossed and

-danced, and the wind roared among the cliffs.

-

-And through the Dance of Death Lys trembled in my arms, and sobbed and

-clung to me, murmuring that the Purple Emperor was dead; but the wind

-tore the words from her white lips, and flung them out across the sea,

-where the winter lightning lashed the stark heights of Groix.

-

-Then the fear of death was stilled in my soul, and I raised her from

-the ground, holding her close.

-

-And I saw the sexton, just beyond us, hurry across the ground and seek

-shelter under a little dead skylark, stiff-winged, muddy, lying alone

-in the rain.

-

-       *       *       *       *       *

-

-In the storm, above us, a bird hovered singing through the rain. It

-passed us twice, still singing, and as it passed again we saw the

-shadow it cast upon the world was whiter than snow.

-

-

-

-

-THE MESSENGER.

-

-

-  Little gray messenger,

-  Robed like painted Death,

-  Your robe is dust.

-  Whom do you seek

-  Among lilies and closed buds

-      At dusk?

-

-  Among lilies and closed buds

-      At dusk,

-  Whom do you seek,

-  Little gray messenger,

-  Robed in the awful panoply

-  Of painted Death?

-

-                                        R. W. C.

-

-

-

-

-THE MESSENGER.

-

-                All-wise,

-  Hast thou seen all there is to see with thy two eyes?

-    Dost thou know all there is to know, and so,

-                Omniscient,

-  Darest thou still to say thy brother lies?

-

-                                        R. W. C.

-

-"The bullet entered here," said Max Fortin, and he placed his middle

-finger over a smooth hole exactly in the centre of the forehead.

-

-I sat down upon a mound of dry seaweed and unslung my fowling piece.

-

-The little chemist cautiously felt the edges of the shot-hole, first

-with his middle finger, then with his thumb.

-

-"Let me see the skull again," said I.

-

-Max Fortin picked it up from the sod.

-

-"It's like all the others," he observed. I nodded, without offering to

-take it from him. After a moment he thoughtfully replaced it upon the

-grass at my feet.

-

-"It's like all the others," he repeated, wiping his glasses on his

-handkerchief. "I thought you might care to see one of the skulls, so

-I brought this over from the gravel pit. The men from Bannalec are

-digging yet. They ought to stop."

-

-"How many skulls are there altogether?" I inquired.

-

-"They found thirty-eight skulls; there are thirty-nine noted in the

-list. They lie piled up in the gravel pit on the edge of Le Bihan's

-wheat field. The men are at work yet. Le Bihan is going to stop them."

-

-"Let's go over," said I; and I picked up my gun and started across the

-cliffs, Fortin on one side, Môme on the other.

-

-"Who has the list?" I asked, lighting my pipe. "You say there is a

-list?"

-

-"The list was found rolled up in a brass cylinder," said the little

-chemist. He added: "You should not smoke here. You know that if a

-single spark drifted into the wheat----"

-

-"Ah, but I have a cover to my pipe," said I, smiling.

-

-Fortin watched me as I closed the pepper-box arrangement over the

-glowing bowl of the pipe. Then he continued:

-

-"The list was made out on thick yellow paper; the brass tube has

-preserved it. It is as fresh to-day as it was in 1760. You shall see

-it."

-

-"Is that the date?"

-

-"The list is dated 'April, 1760.' The Brigadier Durand has it. It is

-not written in French."

-

-"Not written in French!" I exclaimed.

-

-"No," replied Fortin solemnly, "it is written in Breton."

-

-"But," I protested, "the Breton language was never written or printed

-in 1760."

-

-"Except by priests," said the chemist.

-

-"I have heard of but one priest who ever wrote the Breton language," I

-began.

-

-Fortin stole a glance at my face.

-

-"You mean--the Black Priest?" he asked.

-

-I nodded.

-

-Fortin opened his mouth to speak again, hesitated, and finally shut his

-teeth obstinately over the wheat stem that he was chewing.

-

-"And the Black Priest?" I suggested encouragingly. But I knew it was

-useless; for it is easier to move the stars from their courses than

-to make an obstinate Breton talk. We walked on for a minute or two in

-silence.

-

-"Where is the Brigadier Durand?" I asked, motioning Môme to come out of

-the wheat, which he was trampling as though it were heather. As I spoke

-we came in sight of the farther edge of the wheat field and the dark,

-wet mass of cliffs beyond.

-

-"Durand is down there--you can see him; he stands just behind the Mayor

-of St. Gildas."

-

-"I see," said I; and we struck straight down, following a sun-baked

-cattle path across the heather.

-

-When we reached the edge of the wheat field, Le Bihan, the Mayor of St.

-Gildas, called to me, and I tucked my gun under my arm and skirted the

-wheat to where he stood.

-

-"Thirty-eight skulls," he said in his thin, high-pitched voice; "there

-is but one more, and I am opposed to further search. I suppose Fortin

-told you?"

-

-I shook hands with him, and returned the salute of the Brigadier Durand.

-

-"I am opposed to further search," repeated Le Bihan, nervously picking

-at the mass of silver buttons which covered the front of his velvet and

-broadcloth jacket like a breastplate of scale armour.

-

-Durand pursed up his lips, twisted his tremendous mustache, and hooked

-his thumbs in his sabre belt.

-

-"As for me," he said, "I am in favour of further search."

-

-"Further search for what--for the thirty-ninth skull?" I asked.

-

-Le Bihan nodded. Durand frowned at the sunlit sea, rocking like a bowl

-of molten gold from the cliffs to the horizon. I followed his eyes. On

-the dark glistening cliffs, silhouetted against the glare of the sea,

-sat a cormorant, black, motionless, its horrible head raised toward

-heaven.

-

-"Where is that list, Durand?" I asked.

-

-The gendarme rummaged in his despatch pouch and produced a brass

-cylinder about a foot long. Very gravely he unscrewed the head and

-dumped out a scroll of thick yellow paper closely covered with writing

-on both sides. At a nod from Le Bihan he handed me the scroll. But I

-could make nothing of the coarse writing, now faded to a dull brown.

-

-"Come, come, Le Bihan," I said impatiently, "translate it, won't you?

-You and Max Fortin make a lot of mystery out of nothing, it seems."

-

-Le Bihan went to the edge of the pit where the three Bannalec men were

-digging, gave an order or two in Breton, and turned to me.

-

-As I came to the edge of the pit the Bannalec men were removing

-a square piece of sail-cloth from what appeared to be a pile of

-cobblestones.

-

-"Look!" said Le Bihan shrilly. I looked. The pile below was a heap of

-skulls. After a moment I clambered down the gravel sides of the pit and

-walked over to the men of Bannalec. They saluted me gravely, leaning on

-their picks and shovels, and wiping their sweating faces with sunburned

-hands.

-

-"How many?" said I in Breton.

-

-"Thirty-eight," they replied.

-

-I glanced around. Beyond the heap of skulls lay two piles of human

-bones. Beside these was a mound of broken, rusted bits of iron and

-steel. Looking closer, I saw that this mound was composed of rusty

-bayonets, sabre blades, scythe blades, with here and there a tarnished

-buckle attached to a bit of leather hard as iron.

-

-I picked up a couple of buttons and a belt plate. The buttons bore the

-royal arms of England; the belt plate was emblazoned with the English

-arms, and also with the number "27."

-

-"I have heard my grandfather speak of the terrible English regiment,

-the 27th Foot, which landed and stormed the fort up there," said one of

-the Bannalec men.

-

-"Oh!" said I; "then these are the bones of English soldiers?"

-

-"Yes," said the men of Bannalec.

-

-Le Bihan was calling to me from the edge of the pit above, and I handed

-the belt plate and buttons to the men and climbed the side of the

-excavation.

-

-"Well," said I, trying to prevent Môme from leaping up and licking my

-face as I emerged from the pit, "I suppose you know what these bones

-are. What are you going to do with them?"

-

-"There was a man," said Le Bihan angrily, "an Englishman, who passed

-here in a dog-cart on his way to Quimper about an hour ago, and what do

-you suppose he wished to do?"

-

-"Buy the relics?" I asked, smiling.

-

-"Exactly--the pig!" piped the mayor of St. Gildas. "Jean Marie Tregunc,

-who found the bones, was standing there where Max Fortin stands, and do

-you know what he answered? He spat upon the ground, and said: 'Pig of

-an Englishman, do you take me for a desecrator of graves?'"

-

-I knew Tregunc, a sober, blue-eyed Breton, who lived from one year's

-end to the other without being able to afford a single bit of meat for

-a meal.

-

-"How much did the Englishman offer Tregunc?" I asked.

-

-"Two hundred francs for the skulls alone."

-

-I thought of the relic hunters and the relic buyers on the battlefields

-of our civil war.

-

-"Seventeen hundred and sixty is long ago," I said.

-

-"Respect for the dead can never die," said Fortin.

-

-"And the English soldiers came here to kill your fathers and burn your

-homes," I continued.

-

-"They were murderers and thieves, but--they are dead," said Tregunc,

-coming up from the beach below, his long sea rake balanced on his

-dripping jersey.

-

-"How much do you earn every year, Jean Marie?" I asked, turning to

-shake hands with him.

-

-"Two hundred and twenty francs, monsieur."

-

-"Forty-five dollars a year," I said. "Bah! you are worth more, Jean.

-Will you take care of my garden for me? My wife wished me to ask you.

-I think it would be worth one hundred francs a month to you and to me.

-Come on, Le Bihan--come along, Fortin--and you, Durand. I want somebody

-to translate that list into French for me."

-

-Tregunc stood gazing at me, his blue eyes dilated.

-

-"You may begin at once," I said, smiling, "if the salary suits you?"

-

-"It suits," said Tregunc, fumbling for his pipe in a silly way that

-annoyed Le Bihan.

-

-"Then go and begin your work," cried the mayor impatiently; and

-Tregunc started across the moors toward St. Gildas, taking off his

-velvet-ribboned cap to me and gripping his sea rake very hard.

-

-"You offer him more than my salary," said the mayor, after a moment's

-contemplation of his silver buttons.

-

-"Pooh!" said I, "what do you do for your salary except play dominoes

-with Max Fortin at the Groix Inn?"

-

-Le Bihan turned red, but Durand rattled his sabre and winked at Max

-Fortin, and I slipped my arm through the arm of the sulky magistrate,

-laughing.

-

-"There's a shady spot under the cliff," I said; "come on, Le Bihan, and

-read me what is in the scroll."

-

-In a few moments we reached the shadow of the cliff, and I threw myself

-upon the turf, chin on hand, to listen.

-

-The gendarme, Durand, also sat down, twisting his mustache into

-needlelike points. Fortin leaned against the cliff, polishing his

-glasses and examining us with vague, near-sighted eyes; and Le Bihan,

-the mayor, planted himself in our midst, rolling up the scroll and

-tucking it under his arm.

-

-"First of all," he began in a shrill voice, "I am going to light my

-pipe, and while lighting it I shall tell you what I have heard about

-the attack on the fort yonder. My father told me; his father told him."

-

-He jerked his head in the direction of the ruined fort, a small, square

-stone structure on the sea cliff, now nothing but crumbling walls. Then

-he slowly produced a tobacco pouch, a bit of flint and tinder, and a

-long-stemmed pipe fitted with a microscopical bowl of baked clay. To

-fill such a pipe requires ten minutes' close attention. To smoke it to

-a finish takes but four puffs. It is very Breton, this Breton pipe. It

-is the crystallization of everything Breton.

-

-"Go on," said I, lighting a cigarette.

-

-"The fort," said the mayor, "was built by Louis XIV, and was dismantled

-twice by the English. Louis XV restored it in 1739. In 1760 it was

-carried by assault by the English. They came across from the island

-of Groix--three shiploads--and they stormed the fort and sacked St.

-Julien yonder, and they started to burn St. Gildas--you can see the

-marks of their bullets on my house yet; but the men of Bannalec and the

-men of Lorient fell upon them with pike and scythe and blunderbuss,

-and those who did not run away lie there below in the gravel pit

-now--thirty-eight of them."

-

-"And the thirty-ninth skull?" I asked, finishing my cigarette.

-

-The mayor had succeeded in filling his pipe, and now he began to put

-his tobacco pouch away.

-

-"The thirty-ninth skull," he mumbled, holding the pipestem between his

-defective teeth--"the thirty-ninth skull is no business of mine. I have

-told the Bannalec men to cease digging."

-

-"But what is--whose is the missing skull?" I persisted curiously.

-

-The mayor was busy trying to strike a spark to his tinder. Presently he

-set it aglow, applied it to his pipe, took the prescribed four puffs,

-knocked the ashes out of the bowl, and gravely replaced the pipe in his

-pocket.

-

-"The missing skull?" he asked.

-

-"Yes," said I impatiently.

-

-The mayor slowly unrolled the scroll and began to read, translating

-from the Breton into French. And this is what he read:

-

-                                     "ON THE CLIFFS OF ST. GILDAS,

-

-                                            "_April 13, 1760_.

-

-     "On this day, by order of the Count of Soisic, general in

-     chief of the Breton forces now lying in Kerselec Forest, the

-     bodies of thirty-eight English soldiers of the 27th, 50th,

-     and 72d regiments of Foot were buried in this spot, together

-     with their arms and equipments."

-

-The mayor paused and glanced at me reflectively.

-

-"Go on, Le Bihan," I said.

-

-"With them," continued the mayor, turning the scroll and reading on the

-other side, "was buried the body of that vile traitor who betrayed the

-fort to the English. The manner of his death was as follows: By order

-of the most noble Count of Soisic, the traitor was first branded upon

-the forehead with the brand of an arrowhead. The iron burned through

-the flesh, and was pressed heavily so that the brand should even burn

-into the bone of the skull. The traitor was then led out and bidden to

-kneel. He admitted having guided the English from the island of Groix.

-Although a priest and a Frenchman, he had violated his priestly office

-to aid him in discovering the password to the fort. This password he

-extorted during confession from a young Breton girl who was in the

-habit of rowing across from the island of Groix to visit her husband

-in the fort. When the fort fell, this young girl, crazed by the death

-of her husband, sought the Count of Soisic and told how the priest had

-forced her to confess to him all she knew about the fort. The priest

-was arrested at St. Gildas as he was about to cross the river to

-Lorient. When arrested he cursed the girl, Marie Trevec----"

-

-"What!" I exclaimed, "Marie Trevec!"

-

-"Marie Trevec," repeated Le Bihan; "the priest cursed Marie Trevec, and

-all her family and descendants. He was shot as he knelt, having a mask

-of leather over his face, because the Bretons who composed the squad of

-execution refused to fire at a priest unless his face was concealed.

-The priest was l'Abbé Sorgue, commonly known as the Black Priest on

-account of his dark face and swarthy eyebrows. He was buried with a

-stake through his heart."

-

-Le Bihan paused, hesitated, looked at me, and handed the manuscript

-back to Durand. The gendarme took it and slipped it into the brass

-cylinder.

-

-"So," said I, "the thirty-ninth skull is the skull of the Black Priest."

-

-"Yes," said Fortin. "I hope they won't find it."

-

-"I have forbidden them to proceed," said the mayor querulously. "You

-heard me, Max Fortin."

-

-I rose and picked up my gun. Môme came and pushed his head into my hand.

-

-"That's a fine dog," observed Durand, also rising.

-

-"Why don't you wish to find his skull?" I asked Le Bihan. "It would be

-curious to see whether the arrow brand really burned into the bone."

-

-"There is something in that scroll that I didn't read to you," said the

-mayor grimly. "Do you wish to know what it is?"

-

-"Of course," I replied in surprise.

-

-"Give me the scroll again, Durand," he said; then he read from

-the bottom: "I, l'Abbé Sorgue, forced to write the above by my

-executioners, have written it in my own blood; and with it I leave my

-curse. My curse on St. Gildas, on Marie Trevec, and on her descendants.

-I will come back to St. Gildas when my remains are disturbed. Woe to

-that Englishman whom my branded skull shall touch!"

-

-"What rot!" I said. "Do you believe it was really written in his own

-blood?"

-

-"I am going to test it," said Fortin, "at the request of Monsieur le

-Maire. I am not anxious for the job, however."

-

-"See," said Le Bihan, holding out the scroll to me, "it is signed,

-'l'Abbé Sorgue.'"

-

-I glanced curiously over the paper.

-

-"It must be the Black Priest," I said. "He was the only man who wrote

-in the Breton language. This is a wonderfully interesting discovery,

-for now, at last, the mystery of the Black Priest's disappearance is

-cleared up. You will, of course, send this scroll to Paris, Le Bihan?"

-

-"No," said the mayor obstinately, "it shall be buried in the pit below

-where the rest of the Black Priest lies."

-

-I looked at him and recognised that argument would be useless. But

-still I said, "It will be a loss to history, Monsieur Le Bihan."

-

-"All the worse for history, then," said the enlightened Mayor of St.

-Gildas.

-

-We had sauntered back to the gravel pit while speaking. The men of

-Bannalec were carrying the bones of the English soldiers toward the

-St. Gildas cemetery, on the cliffs to the east, where already a knot of

-white-coiffed women stood in attitudes of prayer; and I saw the sombre

-robe of a priest among the crosses of the little graveyard.

-

-"They were thieves and assassins; they are dead now," muttered Max

-Fortin.

-

-"Respect the dead," repeated the Mayor of St. Gildas, looking after the

-Bannalec men.

-

-"It was written in that scroll that Marie Trevec, of Groix Island, was

-cursed by the priest--she and her descendants," I said, touching Le

-Bihan on the arm. "There was a Marie Trevec who married an Yves Trevec

-of St. Gildas----"

-

-"It is the same," said Le Bihan, looking at me obliquely.

-

-"Oh!" said I; "then they were ancestors of my wife."

-

-"Do you fear the curse?" asked Le Bihan.

-

-"What?" I laughed.

-

-"There was the case of the Purple Emperor," said Max Fortin timidly.

-

-Startled for a moment, I faced him, then shrugged my shoulders and

-kicked at a smooth bit of rock which lay near the edge of the pit,

-almost embedded in gravel.

-

-"Do you suppose the Purple Emperor drank himself crazy because he was

-descended from Marie Trevec?" I asked contemptuously.

-

-"Of course not," said Max Fortin hastily.

-

-"Of course not," piped the mayor. "I only---- Hello! what's that you're

-kicking?"

-

-"What?" said I, glancing down, at the same time involuntarily giving

-another kick. The smooth bit of rock dislodged itself and rolled out of

-the loosened gravel at my feet.

-

-"The thirty-ninth skull!" I exclaimed. "By jingo, its the noddle of the

-Black Priest! See! there is the arrowhead branded on the front!"

-

-The mayor stepped back. Max Fortin also retreated. There was a pause,

-during which I looked at them, and they looked anywhere but at me.

-

-"I don't like it," said the mayor at last, in a husky, high voice. "I

-don't like it! The scroll says he will come back to St. Gildas when his

-remains are disturbed. I--I don't like it, Monsieur Darrel----"

-

-"Bosh!" said I; "the poor wicked devil is where he can't get out. For

-Heaven's sake, Le Bihan, what is this stuff you are talking in the year

-of grace 1896?"

-

-The mayor gave me a look.

-

-"And he says 'Englishman.' You are an Englishman, Monsieur Darrel," he

-announced.

-

-"You know better. You know I'm an American."

-

-"It's all the same," said the Mayor of St. Gildas, obstinately.

-

-"No, it isn't!" I answered, much exasperated, and deliberately pushed

-the skull till it rolled into the bottom of the gravel pit below.

-

-"Cover it up," said I; "bury the scroll with it too, if you insist, but

-I think you ought to send it to Paris. Don't look so gloomy, Fortin,

-unless you believe in were-wolves and ghosts. Hey! what the--what

-the devil's the matter with you, anyway? What are you staring at, Le

-Bihan?"

-

-"Come, come," muttered the mayor in a low, tremulous voice, "it's time

-we got out of this. Did you see? Did you see, Fortin?"

-

-"I saw," whispered Max Fortin, pallid with fright.

-

-The two men were almost running across the sunny pasture now, and I

-hastened after them, demanding to know what was the matter.

-

-"Matter!" chattered the mayor, gasping with exasperation and terror.

-"The skull is rolling uphill again!" and he burst into a terrified

-gallop. Max Fortin followed close behind.

-

-I watched them stampeding across the pasture, then turned toward the

-gravel pit, mystified, incredulous. The skull was lying on the edge

-of the pit, exactly where it had been before I pushed it over the

-edge. For a second I stared at it; a singular chilly feeling crept up

-my spinal column, and I turned and walked away, sweat starting from

-the root of every hair on my head. Before I had gone twenty paces the

-absurdity of the whole thing struck me. I halted, hot with shame and

-annoyance, and retraced my steps.

-

-There lay the skull.

-

-"I rolled a stone down instead of the skull," I muttered to myself.

-Then with the butt of my gun I pushed the skull over the edge of the

-pit and watched it roll to the bottom; and as it struck the bottom

-of the pit, Môme, my dog, suddenly whipped his tail between his legs,

-whimpered, and made off across the moor.

-

-"Môme!" I shouted, angry and astonished; but the dog only fled the

-faster, and I ceased calling from sheer surprise.

-

-"What the mischief is the matter with that dog!" I thought. He had

-never before played me such a trick.

-

-Mechanically I glanced into the pit, but I could not see the skull. I

-looked down. The skull lay at my feet again, touching them.

-

-"Good heavens!" I stammered, and struck at it blindly with my gunstock.

-The ghastly thing flew into the air, whirling over and over, and rolled

-again down the sides of the pit to the bottom. Breathlessly I stared at

-it, then, confused and scarcely comprehending, I stepped back from the

-pit, still facing it, one, ten, twenty paces, my eyes almost starting

-from my head, as though I expected to see the thing roll up from the

-bottom of the pit under my very gaze. At last I turned my back to the

-pit and strode out across the gorse-covered moorland toward my home. As

-I reached the road that winds from St. Gildas to St. Julien I gave one

-hasty glance at the pit over my shoulder. The sun shone hot on the sod

-about the excavation. There was something white and bare and round on

-the turf at the edge of the pit. It might have been a stone; there were

-plenty of them lying about.

-

-

-II.

-

-When I entered my garden I saw Môme sprawling on the stone doorstep. He

-eyed me sideways and flopped his tail.

-

-"Are you not mortified, you idiot dog?" I said, looking about the upper

-windows for Lys.

-

-Môme rolled over on his back and raised one deprecating forepaw, as

-though to ward off calamity.

-

-"Don't act as though I was in the habit of beating you to death," I

-said, disgusted. I had never in my life raised whip to the brute. "But

-you are a fool dog," I continued. "No, you needn't come to be babied

-and wept over; Lys can do that, if she insists, but I am ashamed of

-you, and you can go to the devil."

-

-Môme slunk off into the house, and I followed, mounting directly to my

-wife's boudoir. It was empty.

-

-"Where has she gone?" I said, looking hard at Môme, who had followed

-me. "Oh! I see you don't know. Don't pretend you do. Come off that

-lounge! Do you think Lys wants tan-coloured hairs all over her lounge?"

-

-I rang the bell for Catherine and 'Fine, but they didn't know where

-"madame" had gone; so I went into my room, bathed, exchanged my

-somewhat grimy shooting clothes for a suit of warm, soft knickerbockers,

-and, after lingering some extra moments over my toilet--for I was

-particular, now that I had married Lys--I went down to the garden and

-took a chair out under the fig-trees.

-

-"Where can she be?" I wondered. Môme came sneaking out to be comforted,

-and I forgave him for Lys's sake, whereupon he frisked.

-

-"You bounding cur," said I, "now what on earth started you off across

-the moor? If you do it again I'll push you along with a charge of dust

-shot."

-

-As yet I had scarcely dared think about the ghastly hallucination of

-which I had been a victim, but now I faced it squarely, flushing a

-little with mortification at the thought of my hasty retreat from the

-gravel pit.

-

-"To think," I said aloud, "that those old woman's tales of Max Fortin

-and Le Bihan should have actually made me see what didn't exist at all!

-I lost my nerve like a schoolboy in a dark bedroom." For I knew now

-that I had mistaken a round stone for a skull each time, and had pushed

-a couple of big pebbles into the pit instead of the skull itself.

-

-"By jingo!" said I, "I'm nervous; my liver must be in a devil of a

-condition if I see such things when I'm awake! Lys will know what to

-give me."

-

-I felt mortified and irritated and sulky, and thought disgustedly of Le

-Bihan and Max Fortin.

-

-But after a while I ceased speculating, dismissed the mayor, the

-chemist, and the skull from my mind, and smoked pensively, watching the

-sun low dipping in the western ocean. As the twilight fell for a moment

-over ocean and moorland, a wistful, restless happiness filled my heart,

-the happiness that all men know--all men who have loved.

-

-Slowly the purple mist crept out over the sea; the cliffs darkened; the

-forest was shrouded.

-

-Suddenly the sky above burned with the afterglow, and the world was

-alight again.

-

-Cloud after cloud caught the rose dye; the cliffs were tinted with

-it; moor and pasture, heather and forest burned and pulsated with the

-gentle flush. I saw the gulls turning and tossing above the sand bar,

-their snowy wings tipped with pink; I saw the sea swallows sheering

-the surface of the still river, stained to its placid depths with warm

-reflections of the clouds. The twitter of drowsy hedge birds broke out

-in the stillness; a salmon rolled its shining side above tide-water.

-

-The interminable monotone of the ocean intensified the silence. I

-sat motionless, holding my breath as one who listens to the first low

-rumour of an organ. All at once the pure whistle of a nightingale cut

-the silence, and the first moonbeam silvered the wastes of mist-hung

-waters.

-

-I raised my head.

-

-Lys stood before me in the garden.

-

-When we had kissed each other, we linked arms and moved up and down

-the gravel walks, watching the moonbeams sparkle on the sand bar as

-the tide ebbed and ebbed. The broad beds of white pinks about us were

-atremble with hovering white moths; the October roses hung all abloom,

-perfuming the salt wind.

-

-"Sweetheart," I said, "where is Yvonne? Has she promised to spend

-Christmas with us?"

-

-"Yes, Dick; she drove me down from Plougat this afternoon. She sent her

-love to you. I am not jealous. What did you shoot?"

-

-"A hare and four partridges. They are in the gun room. I told Catherine

-not to touch them until you had seen them."

-

-Now I suppose I knew that Lys could not be particularly enthusiastic

-over game or guns; but she pretended she was, and always scornfully

-denied that it was for my sake and not for the pure love of sport. So

-she dragged me off to inspect the rather meagre game bag, and she paid

-me pretty compliments and gave a little cry of delight and pity as I

-lifted the enormous hare out of the sack by his ears.

-

-"He'll eat no more of our lettuce," I said, attempting to justify the

-assassination.

-

-"Unhappy little bunny--and what a beauty! O Dick, you are a splendid

-shot, are you not?"

-

-I evaded the question and hauled out a partridge.

-

-"Poor little dead things!" said Lys in a whisper; "it seems a

-pity--doesn't it, Dick? But then you are so clever----"

-

-"We'll have them broiled," I said guardedly; "tell Catherine."

-

-Catherine came in to take away the game, and presently 'Fine Lelocard,

-Lys's maid, announced dinner, and Lys tripped away to her boudoir.

-

-I stood an instant contemplating her blissfully, thinking, "My boy,

-you're the happiest fellow in the world--you're in love with your

-wife!"

-

-I walked into the dining room, beamed at the plates, walked out again;

-met Tregunc in the hallway, beamed on him; glanced into the kitchen,

-beamed at Catherine, and went up stairs, still beaming.

-

-Before I could knock at Lys's door it opened, and Lys came hastily out.

-When she saw me she gave a little cry of relief, and nestled close to

-my breast.

-

-"There is something peering in at my window," she said.

-

-"What!" I cried angrily.

-

-"A man, I think, disguised as a priest, and he has a mask on. He must

-have climbed up by the bay tree."

-

-I was down the stairs and out of doors in no time. The moonlit garden

-was absolutely deserted. Tregunc came up, and together we searched the

-hedge and shrubbery around the house and out to the road.

-

-"Jean Marie," said I at length, "loose my bulldog--he knows you--and

-take your supper on the porch where you can watch. My wife says the

-fellow is disguised as a priest, and wears a mask."

-

-Tregunc showed his white teeth in a smile. "He will not care to venture

-in here again, I think, Monsieur Darrel."

-

-I went back and found Lys seated quietly at the table.

-

-"The soup is ready, dear," she said. "Don't worry; it was only some

-foolish lout from Bannalec. No one in St. Gildas or St. Julien would do

-such a thing."

-

-I was too much exasperated to reply at first, but Lys treated it as a

-stupid joke, and after a while I began to look at it in that light.

-

-Lys told me about Yvonne, and reminded me of my promise to have Herbert

-Stuart down to meet her.

-

-"You wicked diplomat!" I protested. "Herbert is in Paris, and hard at

-work for the Salon."

-

-"Don't you think he might spare a week to flirt with the prettiest girl

-in Finistère?" inquired Lys innocently.

-

-"Prettiest girl! Not much!" I said.

-

-"Who is, then?" urged Lys.

-

-I laughed a trifle sheepishly.

-

-"I suppose you mean me, Dick," said Lys, colouring up.

-

-"Now I bore you, don't I?"

-

-"Bore me? Ah, no, Dick."

-

-After coffee and cigarettes were served I spoke about Tregunc, and Lys

-approved.

-

-"Poor Jean! he will be glad, won't he? What a dear fellow you are!"

-

-"Nonsense," said I; "we need a gardener; you said so yourself, Lys."

-

-But Lys leaned over and kissed me, and then bent down and hugged Môme,

-who whistled through his nose in sentimental appreciation.

-

-"I am a very happy woman," said Lys.

-

-"Môme was a very bad dog to-day," I observed.

-

-"Poor Môme!" said Lys, smiling.

-

-When dinner was over and Môme lay snoring before the blaze--for the

-October nights are often chilly in Finistère--Lys curled up in the

-chimney corner with her embroidery, and gave me a swift glance from

-under her drooping lashes.

-

-"You look like a schoolgirl, Lys," I said teasingly. "I don't believe

-you are sixteen yet."

-

-She pushed back her heavy burnished hair thoughtfully. Her wrist was as

-white as surf foam.

-

-"Have we been married four years? I don't believe it," I said.

-

-She gave me another swift glance and touched the embroidery on her

-knee, smiling faintly.

-

-"I see," said I, also smiling at the embroidered garment. "Do you think

-it will fit?"

-

-"Fit?" repeated Lys. Then she laughed.

-

-"And," I persisted, "are you perfectly sure that you--er--we shall need

-it?"

-

-"Perfectly," said Lys. A delicate colour touched her cheeks and neck.

-She held up the little garment, all fluffy with misty lace and wrought

-with quaint embroidery.

-

-"It is very gorgeous," said I; "don't use your eyes too much, dearest.

-May I smoke a pipe?"

-

-"Of course," she said, selecting a skein of pale blue silk.

-

-For a while I sat and smoked in silence, watching her slender fingers

-among the tinted silks and thread of gold.

-

-Presently she spoke: "What did you say your crest is, Dick?"

-

-"My crest? Oh, something or other rampant on a something or other----"

-

-"Dick!"

-

-"Dearest?"

-

-"Don't be flippant."

-

-"But I really forget. It's an ordinary crest; everybody in New York has

-them. No family should be without 'em."

-

-"You are disagreeable, Dick. Send Josephine upstairs for my album."

-

-"Are you going to put that crest on the--the--whatever it is?"

-

-"I am; and my own crest, too."

-

-I thought of the Purple Emperor and wondered a little.

-

-"You didn't know I had one, did you?" she smiled.

-

-"What is it?" I replied evasively.

-

-"You shall see. Ring for Josephine."

-

-I rang, and, when 'Fine appeared, Lys gave her some orders in a low

-voice, and Josephine trotted away, bobbing her white-coiffed head with

-a "Bien, madame!"

-

-After a few minutes she returned, bearing a tattered, musty volume,

-from which the gold and blue had mostly disappeared.

-

-I took the book in my hands and examined the ancient emblazoned covers.

-

-"Lilies!" I exclaimed.

-

-"Fleur-de-lis," said my wife demurely.

-

-"Oh!" said I, astonished, and opened the book.

-

-"You have never before seen this book?" asked Lys, with a touch of

-malice in her eyes.

-

-"You know I haven't. Hello! what's this? Oho! So there should be a

-_de_ before Trevec? Lys de Trevec? Then why in the world did the Purple

-Emperor----"

-

-"Dick!" cried Lys.

-

-"All right," said I. "Shall I read about the Sieur de Trevec who

-rode to Saladin's tent alone to seek for medicine for St. Louis? or

-shall I read about--what is it? Oh, here it is, all down in black and

-white--about the Marquis de Trevec who drowned himself before Alva's

-eyes rather than surrender the banner of the fleur-de-lis to Spain?

-It's all written here. But, dear, how about that soldier named Trevec

-who was killed in the old fort on the cliff yonder?"

-

-"He dropped the _de_, and the Trevecs since then have been

-Republicans," said Lys--"all except me."

-

-"That's quite right," said I; "it is time that we Republicans should

-agree upon some feudal system. My dear, I drink to the king!" and I

-raised my wine-glass and looked at Lys.

-

-"To the king," said Lys, flushing. She smoothed out the tiny garment

-on her knees; she touched the glass with her lips; her eyes were very

-sweet. I drained the glass to the king.

-

-After a silence I said: "I will tell the king stories. His Majesty

-shall be amused."

-

-"His Majesty," repeated Lys softly.

-

-"Or hers," I laughed. "Who knows?"

-

-"Who knows?" murmured Lys, with a gentle sigh.

-

-"I know some stories about Jack the Giant-Killer," I announced. "Do

-you, Lys?"

-

-"I? No, not about a giant-killer, but I know all about the were-wolf,

-and Jeanne-la-Flamme, and the Man in Purple Tatters, and--O dear me! I

-know lots more."

-

-"You are very wise," said I. "I shall teach his Majesty English."

-

-"And I Breton," cried Lys jealously.

-

-"I shall bring playthings to the king," said I--"big green lizards from

-the gorse, little gray mullets to swim in glass globes, baby rabbits

-from the forest of Kerselec----"

-

-"And I," said Lys, "will bring the first primrose, the first branch of

-aubepine, the first jonquil, to the king--my king."

-

-"Our king," said I; and there was peace in Finistère.

-

-I lay back, idly turning the leaves of the curious old volume.

-

-"I am looking," said I, "for the crest."

-

-"The crest, dear? It is a priest's head with an arrow-shaped mark on

-the forehead, on a field----"

-

-I sat up and stared at my wife.

-

-"Dick, whatever is the matter?" she smiled. "The story is there in that

-book. Do you care to read it? No? Shall I tell it to you? Well, then:

-It happened in the third crusade. There was a monk whom men called the

-Black Priest. He turned apostate, and sold himself to the enemies of

-Christ. A Sieur de Trevec burst into the Saracen camp, at the head of

-only one hundred lances, and carried the Black Priest away out of the

-very midst of their army."

-

-"So that is how you come by the crest," I said quietly; but I thought

-of the branded skull in the gravel pit, and wondered.

-

-"Yes," said Lys. "The Sieur de Trevec cut the Black Priest's head off,

-but first he branded him with an arrow mark on the forehead. The book

-says it was a pious action, and the Sieur de Trevec got great merit by

-it. But I think it was cruel, the branding," she sighed.

-

-"Did you ever hear of any other Black Priest?"

-

-"Yes. There was one in the last century, here in St. Gildas. He cast a

-white shadow in the sun. He wrote in the Breton language. Chronicles,

-too, I believe. I never saw them. His name was the same as that of

-the old chronicler, and of the other priest, Jacques Sorgue. Some said

-he was a lineal descendant of the traitor. Of course the first Black

-Priest was bad enough for anything. But if he did have a child, it need

-not have been the ancestor of the last Jacques Sorgue. They say this

-one was a holy man. They say he was so good he was not allowed to die,

-but was caught up to heaven one day," added Lys, with believing eyes.

-

-I smiled.

-

-"But he disappeared," persisted Lys.

-

-"I'm afraid his journey was in another direction," I said jestingly,

-and thoughtlessly told her the story of the morning. I had utterly

-forgotten the masked man at her window, but before I finished I

-remembered him fast enough, and realized what I had done as I saw her

-face whiten.

-

-"Lys," I urged tenderly, "that was only some clumsy clown's trick. You

-said so yourself. You are not superstitious, my dear?"

-

-Her eyes were on mine. She slowly drew the little gold cross from her

-bosom and kissed it. But her lips trembled as they pressed the symbol

-of faith.

-

-

-III.

-

-About nine o'clock the next morning I walked into the Groix Inn and sat

-down at the long discoloured oaken table, nodding good-day to Marianne

-Bruyère, who in turn bobbed her white coiffe at me.

-

-"My clever Bannalec maid," said I, "what is good for a stirrup-cup at

-the Groix Inn?"

-

-"Schist?" she inquired in Breton.

-

-"With a dash of red wine, then," I replied.

-

-She brought the delicious Quimperlé cider, and I poured a little

-Bordeaux into it. Marianne watched me with laughing black eyes.

-

-"What makes your cheeks so red, Marianne?" I asked. "Has Jean Marie

-been here?"

-

-"We are to be married, Monsieur Darrel," she laughed.

-

-"Ah! Since when has Jean Marie Tregunc lost his head?"

-

-"His head? Oh, Monsieur Darrel--his heart, you mean!"

-

-"So I do," said I. "Jean Marie is a practical fellow."

-

-"It is all due to your kindness----" began the girl, but I raised my

-hand and held up the glass.

-

-"It's due to himself. To your happiness, Marianne;" and I took a hearty

-draught of the schist. "Now," said I, "tell me where I can find Le

-Bihan and Max Fortin."

-

-"Monsieur Le Bihan and Monsieur Fortin are above in the broad room. I

-believe they are examining the Red Admiral's effects."

-

-"To send them to Paris? Oh, I know. May I go up, Marianne?"

-

-"And God go with you," smiled the girl.

-

-When I knocked at the door of the broad room above little Max Fortin

-opened it. Dust covered his spectacles and nose; his hat, with the tiny

-velvet ribbons fluttering, was all awry.

-

-"Come in, Monsieur Darrel," he said; "the mayor and I are packing up

-the effects of the Purple Emperor and of the poor Red Admiral."

-

-"The collections?" I asked, entering the room. "You must be very

-careful in packing those butterfly cases; the slightest jar might break

-wings and antennæ, you know."

-

-Le Bihan shook hands with me and pointed to the great pile of boxes.

-

-"They're all cork lined," he said, "but Fortin and I are putting felt

-around each box. The Entomological Society of Paris pays the freight."

-

-The combined collections of the Red Admiral and the Purple Emperor made

-a magnificent display.

-

-I lifted and inspected case after case set with gorgeous butterflies

-and moths, each specimen carefully labelled with the name in Latin.

-There were cases filled with crimson tiger moths all aflame with

-colour; cases devoted to the common yellow butterflies; symphonies in

-orange and pale yellow; cases of soft gray and dun-coloured sphinx

-moths; and cases of garish nettle-bred butterflies of the numerous

-family of _Vanessa_.

-

-All alone in a great case by itself was pinned the purple emperor, the

-Apatura Iris, that fatal specimen that had given the Purple Emperor his

-name and quietus.

-

-I remembered the butterfly, and stood looking at it with bent eyebrows.

-

-Le Bihan glanced up from the floor where he was nailing down the lid of

-a box full of cases.

-

-"It is settled, then," said he, "that madame, your wife, gives the

-Purple Emperor's entire collection to the city of Paris?"

-

-I nodded.

-

-"Without accepting anything for it?"

-

-"It is a gift," I said.

-

-"Including the purple emperor there in the case? That butterfly is

-worth a great deal of money," persisted Le Bihan.

-

-"You don't suppose that we would wish to sell that specimen, do you?"

-I answered a trifle sharply.

-

-"If I were you I should destroy it," said the mayor in his high-pitched

-voice.

-

-"That would be nonsense," said I--"like your burying the brass cylinder

-and scroll yesterday."

-

-"It was not nonsense," said Le Bihan doggedly, "and I should prefer not

-to discuss the subject of the scroll."

-

-I looked at Max Fortin, who immediately avoided my eyes.

-

-"You are a pair of superstitious old women," said I, digging my hands

-into my pockets; "you swallow every nursery tale that is invented."

-

-"What of it?" said Le Bihan sulkily; "there's more truth than lies in

-most of 'em."

-

-"Oh!" I sneered, "does the Mayor of St. Gildas and St. Julien believe

-in the Loup-garou?"

-

-"No, not in the Loup-garou."

-

-"In what, then--Jeanne-la-Flamme?"

-

-"That," said Le Bihan with conviction, "is history."

-

-"The devil it is!" said I; "and perhaps, monsieur the mayor, your faith

-in giants is unimpaired?"

-

-"There were giants--everybody knows it," growled Max Fortin.

-

-"And you a chemist!" I observed scornfully.

-

-"Listen, Monsieur Darrel," squeaked Le Bihan; "you know yourself that

-the Purple Emperor was a scientific man. Now suppose I should tell

-you that he always refused to include in his collection a Death's

-Messenger?"

-

-"A what?" I exclaimed.

-

-"You know what I mean--that moth that flies by night; some call it the

-Death's Head, but in St. Gildas we call it 'Death's Messenger.'"

-

-"Oh!" said I, "you mean that big sphinx moth that is commonly known as

-the 'death's-head moth.' Why the mischief should the people here call

-it death's messenger?"

-

-"For hundreds of years it has been known as death's messenger in

-St. Gildas," said Max Fortin. "Even Froissart speaks of it in his

-commentaries on Jacques Sorgue's Chronicles. The book is in your

-library."

-

-"Sorgue? And who was Jacques Sorgue? I never read his book."

-

-"Jacques Sorgue was the son of some unfrocked priest--I forget. It was

-during the crusades."

-

-"Good Heavens!" I burst out, "I've been hearing of nothing but crusades

-and priests and death and sorcery ever since I kicked that skull into

-the gravel pit, and I am tired of it, I tell you frankly. One would

-think we lived in the dark ages. Do you know what year of our Lord it

-is, Le Bihan?"

-

-"Eighteen hundred and ninety-six," replied the mayor.

-

-"And yet you two hulking men are afraid of a death's-head moth."

-

-"I don't care to have one fly into the window," said Max Fortin; "it

-means evil to the house and the people in it."

-

-"God alone knows why he marked one of his creatures with a yellow

-death's head on the back," observed Le Bihan piously, "but I take it

-that he meant it as a warning; and I propose to profit by it," he added

-triumphantly.

-

-"See here, Le Bihan," I said; "by a stretch of imagination one can make

-out a skull on the thorax of a certain big sphinx moth. What of it?"

-

-"It is a bad thing to touch," said the mayor, wagging his head.

-

-"It squeaks when handled," added Max Fortin.

-

-"Some creatures squeak all the time," I observed, looking hard at Le

-Bihan.

-

-"Pigs," added the mayor.

-

-"Yes, and asses," I replied. "Listen, Le Bihan: do you mean to tell me

-that you saw that skull roll uphill yesterday?"

-

-The mayor shut his mouth tightly and picked up his hammer.

-

-"Don't be obstinate," I said; "I asked you a question."

-

-"And I refuse to answer," snapped Le Bihan. "Fortin saw what I saw; let

-him talk about it."

-

-I looked searchingly at the little chemist.

-

-"I don't say that I saw it actually roll up out of the pit, all by

-itself," said Fortin with a shiver, "but--but then, how did it come up

-out of the pit, if it didn't roll up all by itself?"

-

-"It didn't come up at all; that was a yellow cobblestone that you

-mistook for the skull again," I replied. "You were nervous, Max."

-

-"A--a very curious cobblestone, Monsieur Darrel," said Fortin.

-

-"I also was a victim to the same hallucination," I continued, "and I

-regret to say that I took the trouble to roll two innocent cobblestones

-into the gravel pit, imagining each time that it was the skull I was

-rolling."

-

-"It was," observed Le Bihan with a morose shrug.

-

-"It just shows," said I, ignoring the mayor's remark, "how easy it is

-to fix up a train of coincidences so that the result seems to savour

-of the supernatural. Now, last night my wife imagined that she saw a

-priest in a mask peer in at her window----"

-

-Fortin and Le Bihan scrambled hastily from their knees, dropping hammer

-and nails.

-

-"W-h-a-t--what's that?" demanded the mayor.

-

-I repeated what I had said. Max Fortin turned livid.

-

-"My God!" muttered Le Bihan, "the Black Priest is in St. Gildas!"

-

-"D-don't you--you know the old prophecy?" stammered Fortin; "Froissart

-quotes it from Jacques Sorgue:

-

-  'When the Black Priest rises from the dead,

-  St. Gildas folk shall shriek in bed;

-  When the Black Priest rises from his grave,

-  May the good God St. Gildas save!'"

-

-"Aristide Le Bihan," I said angrily, "and you, Max Fortin, I've got

-enough of this nonsense! Some foolish lout from Bannalec has been in

-St. Gildas playing tricks to frighten old fools like you. If you have

-nothing better to talk about than nursery legends I'll wait until you

-come to your senses. Good-morning." And I walked out, more disturbed

-than I cared to acknowledge to myself.

-

-The day had become misty and overcast. Heavy, wet clouds hung in the

-east. I heard the surf thundering against the cliffs, and the gray

-gulls squealed as they tossed and turned high in the sky. The tide

-was creeping across the river sands, higher, higher, and I saw the

-seaweed floating on the beach, and the _lançons_ springing from the

-foam, silvery thread-like flashes in the gloom. Curlew were flying up

-the river in twos and threes; the timid sea swallows skimmed across the

-moors toward some quiet, lonely pool, safe from the coming tempest. In

-every hedge field birds were gathering, huddling together, twittering

-restlessly.

-

-When I reached the cliffs I sat down, resting my chin on my clenched

-hands. Already a vast curtain of rain, sweeping across the ocean miles

-away, hid the island of Groix. To the east, behind the white semaphore

-on the hills, black clouds crowded up over the horizon. After a little

-the thunder boomed, dull, distant, and slender skeins of lightning

-unravelled across the crest of the coming storm. Under the cliff at my

-feet the surf rushed foaming over the shore, and the _lançons_ jumped

-and skipped and quivered until they seemed to be but the reflections of

-the meshed lightning.

-

-I turned to the east. It was raining over Groix, it was raining at

-Sainte Barbe, it was raining now at the semaphore. High in the storm

-whirl a few gulls pitched; a nearer cloud trailed veils of rain in its

-wake; the sky was spattered with lightning; the thunder boomed.

-

-As I rose to go, a cold raindrop fell upon the back of my hand, and

-another, and yet another on my face. I gave a last glance at the sea,

-where the waves were bursting into strange white shapes that seemed to

-fling out menacing arms toward me. Then something moved on the cliff,

-something black as the black rock it clutched--a filthy cormorant,

-craning its hideous head at the sky.

-

-Slowly I plodded homeward across the sombre moorland, where the

-gorse stems glimmered with a dull metallic green, and the heather,

-no longer violet and purple, hung drenched and dun-coloured among

-the dreary rocks. The wet turf creaked under my heavy boots, the

-black-thorn scraped and grated against knee and elbow. Over all lay

-a strange light, pallid, ghastly, where the sea spray whirled across

-the landscape and drove into my face until it grew numb with the cold.

-In broad bands, rank after rank, billow on billow, the rain burst out

-across the endless moors, and yet there was no wind to drive it at such

-a pace.

-

-Lys stood at the door as I turned into the garden, motioning me to

-hasten; and then for the first time I became conscious that I was

-soaked to the skin.

-

-"How ever in the world did you come to stay out when such a storm

-threatened?" she said. "Oh, you are dripping! Go quickly and change; I

-have laid your warm underwear on the bed, Dick."

-

-I kissed my wife, and went upstairs to change my dripping clothes for

-something more comfortable.

-

-When I returned to the morning room there was a driftwood fire on the

-hearth, and Lys sat in the chimney corner embroidering.

-

-"Catherine tells me that the fishing fleet from Lorient is out. Do you

-think they are in danger, dear?" asked Lys, raising her blue eyes to

-mine as I entered.

-

-"There is no wind, and there will be no sea," said I, looking out of

-the window. Far across the moor I could see the black cliffs looming in

-the mist.

-

-"How it rains!" murmured Lys; "come to the fire, Dick."

-

-I threw myself on the fur rug, my hands in my pockets, my head on Lys's

-knees.

-

-"Tell me a story," I said. "I feel like a boy of ten."

-

-Lys raised a finger to her scarlet lips. I always waited for her to do

-that.

-

-"Will you be very still, then?" she said.

-

-"Still as death."

-

-"Death," echoed a voice, very softly.

-

-"Did you speak, Lys?" I asked, turning so that I could see her face.

-

-"No; did you, Dick?"

-

-"Who said 'death'?" I asked, startled.

-

-"Death," echoed a voice, softly.

-

-I sprang up and looked about. Lys rose too, her needles and embroidery

-falling to the floor. She seemed about to faint, leaning heavily on me,

-and I led her to the window and opened it a little way to give her air.

-As I did so the chain lightning split the zenith, the thunder crashed,

-and a sheet of rain swept into the room, driving with it something that

-fluttered--something that flapped, and squeaked, and beat upon the rug

-with soft, moist wings.

-

-We bent over it together, Lys clinging to me, and we saw that it was a

-death's-head moth drenched with rain.

-

-The dark day passed slowly as we sat beside the fire, hand in hand,

-her head against my breast, speaking of sorrow and mystery and death.

-For Lys believed that there were things on earth that none might

-understand, things that must be nameless forever and ever, until God

-rolls up the scroll of life and all is ended. We spoke of hope and fear

-and faith, and the mystery of the saints; we spoke of the beginning and

-the end, of the shadow of sin, of omens, and of love. The moth still

-lay on the floor, quivering its sombre wings in the warmth of the fire,

-the skull and ribs clearly etched upon its neck and body.

-

-"If it is a messenger of death to this house," I said, "why should we

-fear, Lys?"

-

-"Death should be welcome to those who love God," murmured Lys, and she

-drew the cross from her breast and kissed it.

-

-"The moth might die if I threw it out into the storm," I said after a

-silence.

-

-"Let it remain," sighed Lys.

-

-Late that night my wife lay sleeping, and I sat beside her bed and read

-in the Chronicle of Jacques Sorgue. I shaded the candle, but Lys grew

-restless, and finally I took the book down into the morning room, where

-the ashes of the fire rustled and whitened on the hearth.

-

-The death's-head moth lay on the rug before the fire where I had left

-it. At first I thought it was dead, but, when I looked closer I saw

-a lambent fire in its amber eyes. The straight white shadow it cast

-across the floor wavered as the candle flickered.

-

-The pages of the Chronicle of Jacques Sorgue were damp and sticky; the

-illuminated gold and blue initials left flakes of azure and gilt where

-my hand brushed them.

-

-"It is not paper at all; it is thin parchment," I said to myself;

-and I held the discoloured page close to the candle flame and read,

-translating laboriously:

-

-"I, Jacques Sorgue, saw all these things. And I saw the Black Mass

-celebrated in the chapel of St. Gildas-on-the-Cliff. And it was said by

-the Abbé Sorgue, my kinsman: for which deadly sin the apostate priest

-was seized by the most noble Marquis of Plougastel and by him condemned

-to be burned with hot irons, until his seared soul quit its body and

-fly to its master the devil. But when the Black Priest lay in the crypt

-of Plougastel, his master Satan came at night and set him free, and

-carried him across land and sea to Mahmoud, which is Soldan or Saladin.

-And I, Jacques Sorgue, travelling afterward by sea, beheld with my own

-eyes my kinsman, the Black Priest of St. Gildas, borne along in the

-air upon a vast black wing, which was the wing of his master Satan. And

-this was seen also by two men of the crew."

-

-I turned the page. The wings of the moth on the floor began to quiver.

-I read on and on, my eyes blurring under the shifting candle flame.

-I read of battles and of saints, and I learned how the great Soldan

-made his pact with Satan, and then I came to the Sieur de Trevec, and

-read how he seized the Black Priest in the midst of Saladin's tents

-and carried him away and cut off his head, first branding him on the

-forehead. "And before he suffered," said the Chronicle, "he cursed the

-Sieur de Trevec and his descendants, and he said he would surely return

-to St. Gildas. 'For the violence you do to me, I will do violence to

-you. For the evil I suffer at your hands, I will work evil on you and

-your descendants. Woe to your children, Sieur de Trevec!'" There was

-a whirr, a beating of strong wings, and my candle flashed up as in a

-sudden breeze. A humming filled the room; the great moth darted hither

-and thither, beating, buzzing, on ceiling and wall. I flung down my

-book and stepped forward. Now it lay fluttering upon the window sill,

-and for a moment I had it under my hand, but the thing squeaked and

-I shrank back. Then suddenly it darted across the candle flame; the

-light flared and went out, and at the same moment a shadow moved in

-the darkness outside. I raised my eyes to the window. A masked face was

-peering in at me.

-

-Quick as thought I whipped out my revolver and fired every cartridge,

-but the face advanced beyond the window, the glass melting away before

-it like mist, and through the smoke of my revolver I saw something

-creep swiftly into the room. Then I tried to cry out, but the thing was

-at my throat, and I fell backward among the ashes of the hearth.

-

-       *       *       *       *       *

-

-When my eyes unclosed I was lying on the hearth, my head among the cold

-ashes. Slowly I got on my knees, rose painfully, and groped my way

-to a chair. On the floor lay my revolver, shining in the pale light

-of early morning. My mind clearing by degrees, I looked, shuddering,

-at the window. The glass was unbroken. I stooped stiffly, picked up

-my revolver and opened the cylinder. Every cartridge had been fired.

-Mechanically I closed the cylinder and placed the revolver in my

-pocket. The book, the Chronicles of Jacques Sorgue, lay on the table

-beside me, and as I started to close it I glanced at the page. It was

-all splashed with rain, and the lettering had run, so that the page was

-merely a confused blur of gold and red and black. As I stumbled toward

-the door I cast a fearful glance over my shoulder. The death's-head

-moth crawled shivering on the rug.

-

-

-IV.

-

-The sun was about three hours high. I must have slept, for I was

-aroused by the sudden gallop of horses under our window. People were

-shouting and calling in the road. I sprang up and opened the sash.

-Le Bihan was there, an image of helplessness, and Max Fortin stood

-beside him, polishing his glasses. Some gendarmes had just arrived

-from Quimperlé, and I could hear them around the corner of the house,

-stamping, and rattling their sabres and carbines, as they led their

-horses into my stable.

-

-Lys sat up, murmuring half-sleepy, half-anxious questions.

-

-"I don't know," I answered. "I am going out to see what it means."

-

-"It is like the day they came to arrest you," Lys said, giving me a

-troubled look. But I kissed her, and laughed at her until she smiled

-too. Then I flung on coat and cap and hurried down the stairs.

-

-The first person I saw standing in the road was the Brigadier Durand.

-

-"Hello!" said I, "have you come to arrest me again? What the devil is

-all this fuss about, anyway?"

-

-"We were telegraphed for an hour ago," said Durand briskly, "and for a

-sufficient reason, I think. Look there, Monsieur Darrel!"

-

-He pointed to the ground almost under my feet.

-

-"Good heavens!" I cried, "where did that puddle of blood come from?"

-

-"That's what I want to know, Monsieur Darrel. Max Fortin found it at

-daybreak. See, it's splashed all over the grass, too. A trail of it

-leads into your garden, across the flower beds to your very window, the

-one that opens from the morning room. There is another trail leading

-from this spot across the road to the cliffs, then to the gravel pit,

-and thence across the moor to the forest of Kerselec. We are going to

-mount in a minute and search the bosquets. Will you join us? Bon Dieu!

-but the fellow bled like an ox. Max Fortin says it's human blood, or I

-should not have believed it."

-

-The little chemist of Quimperlé came up at that moment, rubbing his

-glasses with a coloured handkerchief.

-

-"Yes, it is human blood," he said, "but one thing puzzles me: the

-corpuscles are yellow. I never saw any human blood before with yellow

-corpuscles. But your English Doctor Thompson asserts that he has----"

-

-"Well, it's human blood, anyway--isn't it?" insisted Durand,

-impatiently.

-

-"Ye-es," admitted Max Fortin.

-

-"Then it's my business to trail it," said the big gendarme, and he

-called his men and gave the order to mount.

-

-"Did you hear anything last night?" asked Durand of me.

-

-"I heard the rain. I wonder the rain did not wash away these traces."

-

-"They must have come after the rain ceased. See this thick splash, how

-it lies over and weighs down the wet grass blades. Pah!"

-

-It was a heavy, evil-looking clot, and I stepped back from it, my

-throat closing in disgust.

-

-"My theory," said the brigadier, "is this: Some of those Biribi

-fishermen, probably the Icelanders, got an extra glass of cognac into

-their hides and quarrelled on the road. Some of them were slashed, and

-staggered to your house. But there is only one trail, and yet--and yet,

-how could all that blood come from only one person? Well, the wounded

-man, let us say, staggered first to your house and then back here, and

-he wandered off, drunk and dying, God knows where. That's my theory."

-

-"A very good one," said I calmly. "And you are going to trail him?"

-

-"Yes."

-

-"When?"

-

-"At once. Will you come?"

-

-"Not now. I'll gallop over by-and-bye. You are going to the edge of the

-Kerselec forest?"

-

-"Yes; you will hear us calling. Are you coming, Max Fortin? And you, Le

-Bihan? Good; take the dog-cart."

-

-The big gendarme tramped around the corner to the stable and presently

-returned mounted on a strong gray horse; his sabre shone on his saddle;

-his pale yellow and white facings were spotless. The little crowd of

-white-coiffed women with their children fell back, as Durand touched

-spurs and clattered away followed by his two troopers. Soon after Le

-Bihan and Max Fortin also departed in the mayor's dingy dog-cart.

-

-"Are you coming?" piped Le Bihan shrilly.

-

-"In a quarter of an hour," I replied, and went back to the house.

-

-When I opened the door of the morning room the death's-head moth was

-beating its strong wings against the window. For a second I hesitated,

-then walked over and opened the sash. The creature fluttered out,

-whirred over the flower beds a moment, then darted across the moorland

-toward the sea. I called the servants together and questioned them.

-Josephine, Catherine, Jean Marie Tregunc, not one of them had heard

-the slightest disturbance during the night. Then I told Jean Marie to

-saddle my horse, and while I was speaking Lys came down.

-

-"Dearest," I began, going to her.

-

-"You must tell me everything you know, Dick," she interrupted, looking

-me earnestly in the face.

-

-"But there is nothing to tell--only a drunken brawl, and some one

-wounded."

-

-"And you are going to ride--where, Dick?"

-

-"Well, over to the edge of Kerselec forest. Durand and the mayor, and

-Max Fortin, have gone on, following a--a trail."

-

-"What trail?"

-

-"Some blood."

-

-"Where did they find it?"

-

-"Out in the road there." Lys crossed herself.

-

-"Does it come near our house?"

-

-"Yes."

-

-"How near?"

-

-"It comes up to the morning-room window," said I, giving in.

-

-Her hand on my arm grew heavy. "I dreamed last night----"

-

-"So did I----" but I thought of the empty cartridges in my revolver,

-and stopped.

-

-"I dreamed that you were in great danger, and I could not move hand or

-foot to save you; but you had your revolver, and I called out to you to

-fire----"

-

-"I did fire!" I cried excitedly.

-

-"You--you fired?"

-

-I took her in my arms. "My darling," I said, "something strange has

-happened--something that I can not understand as yet. But, of course,

-there is an explanation. Last night I thought I fired at the Black

-Priest."

-

-"Ah!" gasped Lys.

-

-"Is that what you dreamed?"

-

-"Yes, yes, that was it! I begged you to fire----"

-

-"And I did."

-

-Her heart was beating against my breast. I held her close in silence.

-

-"Dick," she said at length, "perhaps you killed the--the thing."

-

-"If it was human I did not miss," I answered grimly. "And it was

-human," I went on, pulling myself together, ashamed of having so nearly

-gone to pieces. "Of course it was human! The whole affair is plain

-enough. Not a drunken brawl, as Durand thinks; it was a drunken lout's

-practical joke, for which he has suffered. I suppose I must have filled

-him pretty full of bullets, and he has crawled away to die in Kerselec

-forest. It's a terrible affair; I'm sorry I fired so hastily; but that

-idiot Le Bihan and Max Fortin have been working on my nerves till I am

-as hysterical as a schoolgirl," I ended angrily.

-

-"You fired--but the window glass was not shattered," said Lys in a low

-voice.

-

-"Well, the window was open, then. And as for the--the rest--I've got

-nervous indigestion, and a doctor will settle the Black Priest for me,

-Lys."

-

-I glanced out of the window at Tregunc waiting with my horse at the

-gate.

-

-"Dearest, I think I had better go to join Durand and the others."

-

-"I will go too."

-

-"Oh, no!"

-

-"Yes, Dick."

-

-"Don't, Lys."

-

-"I shall suffer every moment you are away."

-

-"The ride is too fatiguing, and we can't tell what unpleasant sight

-you may come upon. Lys, you don't really think there is anything

-supernatural in this affair?"

-

-"Dick," she answered gently, "I am a Bretonne." With both arms around

-my neck, my wife said, "Death is the gift of God. I do not fear it when

-we are together. But alone--oh, my husband, I should fear a God who

-could take you away from me!"

-

-We kissed each other soberly, simply, like two children. Then Lys

-hurried away to change her gown, and I paced up and down the garden

-waiting for her.

-

-She came, drawing on her slender gauntlets. I swung her into the

-saddle, gave a hasty order to Jean Marie, and mounted.

-

-Now, to quail under thoughts of terror on a morning like this, with Lys

-in the saddle beside me, no matter what had happened or might happen,

-was impossible. Moreover, Môme came sneaking after us. I asked Tregunc

-to catch him, for I was afraid he might be brained by our horses' hoofs

-if he followed, but the wily puppy dodged and bolted after Lys, who

-was trotting along the high-road. "Never mind," I thought; "if he's hit

-he'll live, for he has no brains to lose."

-

-Lys was waiting for me in the road beside the Shrine of Our Lady of St.

-Gildas when I joined her. She crossed herself, I doffed my cap, then we

-shook out our bridles and galloped toward the forest of Kerselec.

-

-We said very little as we rode. I always loved to watch Lys in the

-saddle. Her exquisite figure and lovely face were the incarnation of

-youth and grace; her curling hair glistened like threaded gold.

-

-Out of the corner of my eye I saw the spoiled puppy Môme come bounding

-cheerfully alongside, oblivious of our horses' heels. Our road swung

-close to the cliffs. A filthy cormorant rose from the black rocks and

-flapped heavily across our path. Lys's horse reared, but she pulled him

-down, and pointed at the bird with her riding crop.

-

-"I see," said I; "it seems to be going our way. Curious to see a

-cormorant in a forest, isn't it?"

-

-"It is a bad sign," said Lys. "You know the Morbihan proverb: 'When

-the cormorant turns from the sea, Death laughs in the forest, and wise

-woodsmen build boats.'"

-

-"I wish," said I sincerely, "that there were fewer proverbs in

-Brittany."

-

-We were in sight of the forest now; across the gorse I could see

-the sparkle of gendarmes' trappings, and the glitter of Le Bihan's

-silver-buttoned jacket. The hedge was low and we took it without

-difficulty, and trotted across the moor to where Le Bihan and Durand

-stood gesticulating.

-

-They bowed ceremoniously to Lys as we rode up.

-

-"The trail is horrible--it is a river," said the mayor in his squeaky

-voice. "Monsieur Darrel, I think perhaps madame would scarcely care to

-come any nearer."

-

-Lys drew bridle and looked at me.

-

-"It is horrible!" said Durand, walking up beside me; "it looks as

-though a bleeding regiment had passed this way. The trail winds and

-winds about there in the thickets; we lose it at times, but we always

-find it again. I can't understand how one man--no, nor twenty--could

-bleed like that!"

-

-A halloo, answered by another, sounded from the depths of the forest.

-

-"It's my men; they are following the trail," muttered the brigadier.

-"God alone knows what is at the end!"

-

-"Shall we gallop back, Lys?" I asked.

-

-"No; let us ride along the western edge of the woods and dismount. The

-sun is so hot now, and I should like to rest for a moment," she said.

-

-"The western forest is clear of anything disagreeable," said Durand.

-

-"Very well," I answered; "call me, Le Bihan, if you find anything."

-

-Lys wheeled her mare, and I followed across the springy heather, Môme

-trotting cheerfully in the rear.

-

-We entered the sunny woods about a quarter of a kilometre from where

-we left Durand. I took Lys from her horse, flung both bridles over a

-limb, and, giving my wife my arm, aided her to a flat mossy rock which

-overhung a shallow brook gurgling among the beech trees. Lys sat down

-and drew off her gauntlets. Môme pushed his head into her lap, received

-an undeserved caress, and came doubtfully toward me. I was weak enough

-to condone his offence, but I made him lie down at my feet, greatly to

-his disgust.

-

-I rested my head on Lys's knees, looking up at the sky through the

-crossed branches of the trees.

-

-"I suppose I have killed him," I said. "It shocks me terribly, Lys."

-

-"You could not have known, dear. He may have been a robber,

-and--if--not---- Did--have you ever fired your revolver since that day

-four years ago, when the Red Admiral's son tried to kill you? But I

-know you have not."

-

-"No," said I, wondering. "It's a fact, I have not. Why?"

-

-"And don't you remember that I asked you to let me load it for you the

-day when Yves went off, swearing to kill you and his father?"

-

-"Yes, I do remember. Well?"

-

-"Well, I--I took the cartridges first to St. Gildas chapel and dipped

-them in holy water. You must not laugh, Dick," said Lys gently, laying

-her cool hands on my lips.

-

-"Laugh, my darling!"

-

-Overhead the October sky was pale amethyst, and the sunlight burned

-like orange flame through the yellow leaves of beech and oak. Gnats

-and midges danced and wavered overhead; a spider dropped from a twig

-halfway to the ground and hung suspended on the end of his gossamer

-thread.

-

-"Are you sleepy, dear?" asked Lys, bending over me.

-

-"I am--a little; I scarcely slept two hours last night," I answered.

-

-"You may sleep, if you wish," said Lys, and touched my eyes caressingly.

-

-"Is my head heavy on your knees?"

-

-"No, Dick."

-

-I was already in a half doze; still I heard the brook babbling under

-the beeches and the humming of forest flies overhead. Presently even

-these were stilled.

-

-The next thing I knew I was sitting bolt upright, my ears ringing with

-a scream, and I saw Lys cowering beside me, covering her white face

-with both hands.

-

-As I sprang to my feet she cried again and clung to my knees. I saw my

-dog rush growling into a thicket, then I heard him whimper, and he came

-backing out, whining, ears flat, tail down. I stooped and disengaged

-Lys's hand.

-

-"Don't go, Dick!" she cried. "O God, it's the Black Priest!"

-

-In a moment I had leaped across the brook and pushed my way into the

-thicket. It was empty. I stared about me; I scanned every tree trunk,

-every bush. Suddenly I saw him. He was seated on a fallen log, his head

-resting in his hands, his rusty black robe gathered around him. For

-a moment my hair stirred under my cap; sweat started on forehead and

-cheek-bone; then I recovered my reason, and understood that the man was

-human and was probably wounded to death. Ay, to death; for there, at my

-feet, lay the wet trail of blood, over leaves and stones, down into the

-little hollow, across to the figure in black resting silently under the

-trees.

-

-I saw that he could not escape even if he had the strength, for before

-him, almost at his very feet, lay a deep, shining swamp.

-

-As I stepped forward my foot broke a twig. At the sound the figure

-started a little, then its head fell forward again. Its face was

-masked. Walking up to the man, I bade him tell where he was wounded.

-Durand and the others broke through the thicket at the same moment and

-hurried to my side.

-

-"Who are you who hide a masked face in a priest's robe?" said the

-gendarme loudly.

-

-There was no answer.

-

-"See--see the stiff blood all over his robe!" muttered Le Bihan to

-Fortin.

-

-"He will not speak," said I.

-

-"He may be too badly wounded," whispered Le Bihan.

-

-"I saw him raise his head," I said; "my wife saw him creep up here."

-

-Durand stepped forward and touched the figure.

-

-"Speak!" he said.

-

-"Speak!" quavered Fortin.

-

-Durand waited a moment, then with a sudden upward movement he stripped

-off the mask and threw back the man's head. We were looking into the

-eye sockets of a skull. Durand stood rigid; the mayor shrieked. The

-skeleton burst out from its rotting robes and collapsed on the ground

-before us. From between the staring ribs and the grinning teeth spurted

-a torrent of black blood, showering the shrinking grasses; then the

-thing shuddered, and fell over into the black ooze of the bog. Little

-bubbles of iridescent air appeared from the mud; the bones were slowly

-engulfed, and, as the last fragments sank out of sight, up from the

-depths and along the bank crept a creature, shiny, shivering, quivering

-its wings.

-

-It was a death's-head moth.

-

-       *       *       *       *       *

-

-I wish I had time to tell you how Lys outgrew superstitions--for she

-never knew the truth about the affair, and she never will know, since

-she has promised not to read this book. I wish I might tell you about

-the king and his coronation, and how the coronation robe fitted. I wish

-that I were able to write how Yvonne and Herbert Stuart rode to a boar

-hunt in Quimperlé, and how the hounds raced the quarry right through

-the town, overturning three gendarmes, the notary, and an old woman.

-But I am becoming garrulous, and Lys is calling me to come and hear the

-king say that he is sleepy. And his Highness shall not be kept waiting.

-

-       *       *       *       *       *

-

-  THE KING'S CRADLE SONG.

-

-      Seal with a seal of gold

-      The scroll of a life unrolled;

-    Swathe him deep in his purple stole;

-    Ashes of diamonds, crystalled coal,

-      Drops of gold in each scented fold.

-

-    Crimson wings of the Little Death,

-    Stir his hair with your silken breath;

-    Flaming wings of sins to be,

-    Splendid pinions of prophecy,

-      Smother his eyes with hues and dyes,

-  While the white moon spins and the winds arise,

-      And the stars drip through the skies.

-

-      Wave, O wings of the Little Death!

-      Seal his sight and stifle his breath,

-    Cover his breast with the gemmed shroud pressed;

-    From north to north, from west to west,

-      Wave, O wings of the Little Death!

-  Till the white moon reels in the cracking skies,

-      And the ghosts of God arise.

-

-

-

-

-THE WHITE SHADOW.

-

-

-  We are no other than a moving row

-  Of magic shadow-shapes, that come and go

-    Round with this sun-illumined lantern, held

-  In midnight by the master of the show.

-

-  A moment's halt--a momentary taste

-  Of being from the well amid the waste--

-    And lo! the phantom caravan has reached

-  The nothing it set out from. Oh, make haste!

-

-  Ah, Love! could you and I with him conspire

-  To grasp this sorry scheme of things entire,

-    Would not we shatter it to bits--and then

-  Remould it nearer to the heart's desire!

-

-                                        FITZGERALD.

-

-

-

-

-THE WHITE SHADOW.

-

-  Listen, then, love, and with your white hand clear

-  Your forehead from its cloudy hair.

-

-

-I.

-

-"Three great hulking cousins," said she, closing her gray eyes

-disdainfully.

-

-We accepted the rebuke in astonished silence. Presently she opened her

-eyes, and seemed surprised to see us there yet.

-

-"O," she said, "if you think I am going to stay here until you make up

-your minds----"

-

-"I've made up mine," said Donald. "We will go to the links. You may

-come."

-

-"I shall not," she announced. "Walter, what do you propose?"

-

-Walter looked at his cartridge belt and then at the little

-breech-loader standing in a corner of the arbour.

-

-"Oh, I know," she said, "but I won't! I won't! I won't!"

-

-The uncles and aunts on the piazza turned to look at us; her mother

-arose from a steamer-chair and came across the lawn.

-

-"Won't what, Sweetheart?" she asked, placing both hands on her

-daughter's shoulders.

-

-"Mamma, Walter wants me to shoot, and Don wants me to play golf, and

-I--won't!"

-

-"She doesn't know what she wants," said I.

-

-"Don't I?" she said, flushing with displeasure.

-

-"Her mother might suggest something," hazarded Donald. We looked at our

-aunt.

-

-"Sweetheart is spoiled," said that lady decisively. "If you children

-don't go away at once and have a good time, I shall find employment for

-her."

-

-"Algebra?" I asked maliciously.

-

-"How dare you!" cried Sweetheart, sitting up. "Oh, isn't he mean! isn't

-he ignoble!--and I've done my algebra; haven't I, mamma?"

-

-"But your French?" I began.

-

-Donald laughed, and so did Walter. As for Sweetheart, she arose in all

-the dignity of sixteen years, closed her eyes with superb insolence,

-and, clasping her mother's waist with one round white arm, marched out

-of the arbour.

-

-"We tease her too much," said Donald.

-

-"She's growing up fast; we ought not to call her 'Sweetheart' when she

-puts her hair up," added Walter.

-

-"She's going to put it up in October, when she goes back to school,"

-said Donald. "Jack, she will hate you if you keep reminding her of her

-algebra and French."

-

-"Then I'll stop," said I, suddenly conscious what an awful thing it

-would be if she hated me.

-

-Donald's two pointers came frisking across the lawn from the kennels,

-and Donald picked up his gun.

-

-"Here we go again," said I. "Donny's going to the coverts after grouse,

-Walter's going up on the hill with his dust-shot and arsenic, and I'm

-going across the fields after butterflies. Why the deuce can't we all

-go together, just for once?"

-

-"And take Sweetheart? She would like it if we all went together," said

-Walter; "she is tired of seeing Jack net butterflies."

-

-"Collecting birds and shooting grouse are two different things," began

-Donald. "You spoil my dogs by shooting your confounded owls and humming

-birds."

-

-"Oh, your precious dogs!" I cried. "Shut up, Donny, and give Sweetheart

-a good day's tramp. It's a pity if three cousins can't pool their

-pleasures for once."

-

-Donald nodded uncertainly.

-

-"Come on," said Walter, "we'll find Sweetheart. Jack, you get your

-butterfly togs and come back here."

-

-I nodded, and watched my two cousins sauntering across the lawn--big,

-clean-cut fellows, resembling each other enough to be brothers instead

-of cousins.

-

-We all resembled each other more or less, Donald, Walter, and I. As for

-Sweetheart, she looked like none of us.

-

-It was all very well for her mother to call her Sweetheart, and for

-her aunts to echo it in chorus, but the time was coming when we saw we

-should have to stop. A girl of sixteen with such a name is ridiculous,

-and Sweetheart was nearly seventeen; and her hair was "going up" and

-her gowns were "coming down" in October.

-

-Her own name was pretty enough. I don't know that I ought to tell it,

-but I will: it was the same as her mother's. We called her Sweetheart

-sometimes, sometimes "The Aspen Beauty." Donald had given her that name

-from a butterfly in my collection, the Vanessa Pandora, commonly known

-as the Aspen beauty, from its never having been captured in America

-except in our village of Aspen.

-

-Here, in the north of New York State, we four cousins spent our summers

-in the family house. There was not much to do in Aspen. We used the

-links, we galloped over the sandy roads, we also trotted our several

-hobbies, Donald, Walter, and I. Sweetheart had no hobby; to make up for

-this, however, she owned a magnificent team of bêtes-noires--Algebra

-and French.

-

-As for me, my butterfly collection languished. I had specimens of

-nearly every butterfly in New York State, and I rather longed for new

-states to conquer. Anyway, there were plenty of Aspen beauties--I mean

-the butterflies--flying about the roads and balm-of-Gilead trees, and

-perhaps that is why I lingered there long enough to collect hundreds of

-duplicates for exchange. And perhaps it wasn't.

-

-I thought of these things as I sat in the sun-flecked arbour, watching

-the yellow elm leaves flutter down from the branches. I thought, too,

-of Sweetheart, and wondered how she would look with her hair up. And

-while I sat there smoking, watching the yellow leaves drifting across

-the lawn, a sharp explosion startled me and I raised my head.

-

-Sweetheart was standing on the lawn, gazing dreamily at the smoking

-débris of a large firecracker.

-

-"What's that for?" I asked.

-

-"It proclaims my independence," said Sweetheart--"my independence

-forever. Hereafter my cousins will ask to accompany me on my walks;

-they need no longer charitably permit me to accompany them. Are you

-three boys going to ride your hobbies?"

-

-"We are," I said.

-

-"Then good-bye. I am going to walk."

-

-"Can't we come too?" I asked, laughing.

-

-"Oh," she said graciously, "if you put it in that way I could not

-refuse."

-

-"May we bring our guns?" asked Donald from the piazza.

-

-"May I bring my net?" I added, half amused, half annoyed.

-

-She made a gesture, indifferent, condescending.

-

-"Dear me!" murmured the aunts in chorus from the piazza as we trooped

-after the Aspen beauty, "Sweetheart is growing very fast."

-

-I smiled vaguely at Sweetheart. I was wondering how she would look in

-long frocks and coiled hair.

-

-

-II.

-

-In the fall of the year the meadows of Aspen glimmer in the sunlight

-like crumpled sheets of beaten gold; for Aspen is the land of

-golden-rod, of yellow earth and gilded fern.

-

-There the crisp oaks rustle, every leaf a blot of yellow; there the

-burnished pines sound, sound, tremble, and resound, like gilt-stringed

-harps aquiver in the wind.

-

-Sweet fern, sun-dried, bronzed, fills all the hills with incense, vague

-and delicate as the white down drifting from the frothy milkweed.

-

-And where the meadow brook prattled, limpid, filtered with sunlight,

-Sweetheart stood knee-deep in fragrant mint, watching the aimless

-minnows swimming in circles. On a distant hill, dark against the blue,

-Donald moved with his dogs, and I saw the sun-glint on his gun, and I

-heard the distant "Hi--on! Hi--on!" long after he disappeared below the

-brown hill's brow.

-

-Walter, too, had gone, leaving us there by the brook together,

-Sweetheart and I; and I saw the crows flapping and circling far over

-the woods, and I heard the soft report of his dust-shot shells among

-the trees.

-

-"The ruling passion, Sweetheart," I said. "Donny chases the phantom of

-pleasure with his dogs. The phantom flies from Walter, and he follows

-with his dust-shot."

-

-"Then," said Sweetheart, "follow your phantom also; there are

-butterflies everywhere." She raised both arms and turned from the

-brook. "Everywhere flying I see butterflies--phantoms of pleasure; and,

-Jack, you do not follow with your net."

-

-"No," said I, "the world to-day is too fair to--slay in. I even doubt

-that the happiness of empires hinges on the discovery of a new species

-of anything. Do I bore you?"

-

-"A little," said Sweetheart, touching the powdered gold of the blossoms

-about her. She laid the tip of her third finger on her lips and then

-on the golden-rod. "I shall not pick it; the world is too fair to-day,"

-she said. "What are you going to do, Jack?"

-

-"I could doze," I said. "Could you?"

-

-"Yes--if you told me stories."

-

-I contemplated her in silence for a moment. After a while she sat down

-under an oak and clasped her hands.

-

-"I am growing so old," she sighed, "I no longer take pleasure

-in childish things--Donald's dogs, Walter's humming birds, your

-butterflies. Jack?"

-

-"What?"

-

-"Sit down on the grass."

-

-"What for?"

-

-"Because I ask you."

-

-I sat down.

-

-Presently she said: "I am as tall as mamma. Why should I study algebra?"

-

-"Because," I answered evasively.

-

-"Your answer is as rude as though I were twenty, instead of sixteen,"

-said Sweetheart. "If you treat me as a child from this moment, I shall

-hate you."

-

-"Me--Sweetheart?"

-

-"And that name!--it is good for children and kittens."

-

-I looked at her seriously. "It is good for women, too--when it is

-time," I said. "I prophesy that one day you will hear it again. As for

-me, I shall not call you by that name if you dislike it."

-

-"I am a woman--now," she said.

-

-"Oh! at sixteen."

-

-"To-morrow I am to be seventeen."

-

-Presently, looking off at the blue hills, I said: "For a long time

-I have recognised that that subtle, indefinable attitude--we call

-it deference--due from men to women is due from us to you. Donny and

-Walter are slower to accept this. You know what you have been to us

-as a child; we can't bear to lose you--to meet you in another way--to

-reckon with you as we reckon with a woman. But it is true: our little

-Sweetheart has vanished, and--_you_ are here!"

-

-The oak leaves began to rustle in the hill winds; the crows cawed from

-the woods.

-

-"Oui c'est moi," she said at length.

-

-"I shall never call you Sweetheart again," I said, smiling.

-

-"Who knows?" she laughed, and leaned over to pick a blade of wild

-wheat. She coloured faintly a moment later, and said: "I didn't mean

-that, Jack."

-

-And so Sweetheart took her first step across that threshold of mystery,

-the Temple of Idols. And of the gilded idols within the temple, one

-shall turn to living flesh at the sound of a voice. And lo! where

-a child had entered, a woman returned with the key to the Temple of

-Gilded Idols.

-

-"Jack," said Sweetheart, "you are wrong. No day is too fair to kill in.

-I shall pick my arms full--full of flowers."

-

-Over the yellow fields, red with the stalks of the buckwheat, crowned

-with a glimmering cloud of the dusty gold of the golden-rod, Sweetheart

-passed, pensive, sedate, awed by the burden of sixteen years.

-

-I followed.

-

-Over the curling fern and wind-stirred grasses the silken milkweed

-seeds sailed, sailed, and the great red-brown butterflies drifted

-above, ruddy as autumn leaves aglow in the sun.

-

-"On the sand-cliff there are marigolds," said Sweetheart.

-

-I looked at the mass of wild flowers in her arms; her white polished

-skin reflected the blaze of colour, warming like ivory under their

-glow.

-

-"Marigolds," I repeated; "we will get some."

-

-"The sand slides on the face of the cliff; you must be careful," she

-said.

-

-"And I may see one of those rare cliff butterflies. I haven't any good

-examples."

-

-I fancy she was not listening; the crows were clamouring above the

-beech woods; the hill winds filled our ears with a sound like the sound

-of the sea on shoals. Her gray eyes, touched with the sky's deep blue

-and the blue of the misty hills, looked out across the miles of woods

-and fields, and saw a world; not a world old, scarred, rock-ribbed, and

-salt with tears, but a new world, youthful, ripe, sunny, hazy with the

-splendour of wonders hidden behind the horizon--a world jewelled with

-gems, spanned by rose-mist rainbows--a world of sixteen years.

-

-"We are already at the cliff's edge," I said.

-

-She stepped to the edge and looked over. I drew her back. The sand

-started among the rocks, running, running with a sound like silver

-water.

-

-"Then you shall not go either," she said. "I do not care for marigolds."

-

-But I was already on the edge, stooping for a blossom. The next instant

-I fell.

-

-There was a whistle of sand, a flurry and a rush of wind, a blur of

-rock, fern, dead grasses--a cry!

-

-For I remember as I fell, falling I called, "Sweetheart!" and again

-"Sweetheart!" Then my body struck the rocks below.

-

-

-III.

-

-Of all the seconds that tick the whole year through, of all the seconds

-that have slipped onward marking the beat of time since time was

-loosed, there is one, one brief moment, steeped in magic and heavy with

-oblivion, that sometimes lingers in the soul of man, annihilating space

-and time. If, at the feet of God, a year is a second passed unnoted,

-this magic second, afloat on the tide of time, moves on and on till,

-caught in the vortex of some life's whirl, it sinks into the soul of a

-being near to death.

-

-And in that soul the magic second glows and lingers, stretching into

-minutes, hours, days--aye, days and days, till, if the magic hold, the

-calm years crowd on one by one; and yet it all is but a second--that

-magic moment that comes on the tide of time--that came to me and was

-caught up in my life's whirl as I fell, dropping there between sky and

-earth.

-

-And so that magic moment grew to minutes, to hours; and when my body,

-whirling, pitching, struck and lay flung out on the earth, the magic

-second grew until the crystal days fell from my life, as beads, one by

-one, fall from the rosaries that saints tell kneeling.

-

-Those days of a life that I have lived, those years that linger still

-aglow in the sun behind me, dim yet splendid as dust-dimmed jewels,

-they also have ended, not in vague night, but in the sunburst of

-another second--such a second as ticks from my watch as I write, quick,

-sharp, joyous, irrevocable! So, of that magic second, or day, or year,

-I shall tell--I, as I was, standing beside my body flung there across

-the earth.

-

-I looked at my body, lying in a heap, then turned to the sand cliff

-smiling.

-

-"Sweetheart!" I called.

-

-But she was already at my side.

-

-We walked on through fragrant pastures, watching the long shadows

-stretch from field to field, speaking of what had been and of all that

-was to be. It was so simple--everything was clear before us. Had there

-been doubts, fears, sudden alarms, startled heartbeats?

-

-If there had been, now they were ended forever.

-

-"Not forever," said Sweetheart; "who knows how long the magic second

-may last?"

-

-"But we--what difference can that make?" I asked.

-

-"To us?"

-

-"Yes."

-

-"None," said Sweetheart decisively.

-

-We looked out into the west. The sun turned to a mound of cinders; the

-hills loomed in opalescent steam.

-

-"But--but--your shadow!" said Sweetheart.

-

-I bent my head, thrilled with happiness.

-

-"And yours," I whispered.

-

-The shadows we cast were whiter than snow.

-

-I still heard the hill winds, soft in my ears as breaking surf; a

-bird-note came from the dusky woodland; a star broke out overhead.

-

-"What is your pleasure, Sweetheart, now all is said?" I asked.

-

-"The world is all so fair," she sighed; "is it fairer beyond the hills,

-Jack?"

-

-"It is fair where you pass by, north, south, and from west to west

-again. In France the poplars are as yellow as our oaks. In Morbihan the

-gorse gilds all the hills, yellow as golden-rod. Shall we go?"

-

-"But in the spring--let us wait until spring."

-

-"Where?"

-

-"Here."

-

-"Until spring?"

-

-"It is written that Time shall pass as a shadow across the sea. What

-is that book there under your feet--that iron-bound book, half embedded

-like a stone in the grass."

-

-"I did not see it!"

-

-"Bring it to me."

-

-I raised the book; it left a bare mark in the sod as a stone that is

-turned. Then, holding it on my knees, I opened it, and Sweetheart,

-leaning on my shoulder, read. The tall stars flared like candles,

-flooding the page with diamond light; the earth, perfumed with

-blossoms, stirred with the vague vibration of countless sounds, tiny

-voices swaying breathless in the hidden surge of an endless harmony.

-

-"The white shadow is the shadow of the soul," she read. Even the winds

-were hushed as her sweet lips moved.

-

-"And what shall make thee to understand what hell is?... When the

-sun shall be folded up as a garment that is laid away; when the stars

-fall, and the seas boil, and when souls shall be joined again to their

-bodies; and when the girl who hath been buried alive shall be asked

-for what crime; when books shall be laid open, when hell shall burn

-fiercely, and when paradise shall be brought very near:

-

-"Every soul shall know what it hath wrought!"

-

-I closed my eyes; the splendour of the starlight on the page was more

-than my eyes could bear.

-

-But she read on; for what can dim her eyes?

-

-"O man, verily, labouring, thou labourest to meet thy LORD.

-

-"And thou shalt meet HIM!

-

-"When the earth shall be stretched like a skin, and shall cast forth

-that which is therein;

-

-"By the heaven adorned with signs, by the witness and the witnessed;

-

-"By that which appeareth by night; by the daybreak and the ten

-nights--the ten nights;

-

-"The night of Al Kadr is better than a thousand months.

-

-"Praise be to God, the Lord of all creatures; the Most Merciful, the

-King of the Day of Judgment. Thee do we worship, and of thee do we beg

-assistance. Direct us in the right way, in the way of those to whom

-thou hast been gracious; not of those against whom thou art incensed,

-nor of those who go astray!"

-

-       *       *       *       *       *

-

-In the sudden silence that spread across earth and heaven I heard the

-sound of a voice under the earth, calling, calling, calling.

-

-"It is already spring," said Sweetheart; and she rose, placing her

-white hands in mine. "Shall we go?"

-

-"But we are already there," I stammered, turning my eyes fearfully; for

-the tall pines dwindled and clustered and rose again cool and gray in

-the morning air, all turned to stone, fretted and carved like lacework;

-and where the pines had faded, the twin towers of a cathedral loomed;

-and where the hills swept across the horizon, the roofs of a white city

-glimmered in the morning sun. Bridges and quays and streets and domes

-and the hum of traffic and rattle of arms; and over all, the veil of

-haze and the twin gray towers of Notre Dame!

-

-"Sweetheart!" I faltered.

-

-But we were already in my studio.

-

-

-IV.

-

-The studio had not changed. The sun flooded it.

-

-Sweetheart sat in the broken armchair and watched me struggle with the

-packing. Every now and then she made an impulsive movement toward the

-heap of clothes on the floor, which I checked with a "Thanks! I can fix

-it all alone, Sweetheart."

-

-Clifford seemed to extract amusement from it all, and said as much to

-Rowden, who was as usual ruining my zitherine by trying to play it like

-a banjo.

-

-Elliott, knowing he could be of no use to us, had the decency to

-sit outside the studio on one of the garden benches. He appeared at

-intervals at the studio door, saying, "Come along, Clifford; they don't

-want you messing about. Drop that banjo, Rowden, or Jack will break

-your head with it--won't you, Jack?"

-

-I said I would, but not with the zitherine.

-

-Clifford flatly refused to move unless Sweetheart would take him

-out into our garden and show him the solitary goldfish which lurked

-in the fountain under the almond trees. But Sweetheart, apparently

-fascinated by the mysteries of packing, turned a deaf ear to Clifford's

-blandishments and Rowden's discords.

-

-"I imagined," said Clifford, somewhat hurt, "that you would delight in

-taking upon yourself the duties of a hostess. I should be pleased to

-believe that I am not an unwelcome guest."

-

-"So should I," echoed Rowden; "I'd be pleased too."

-

-"What a shame for you to bother, Jack!" she said. "Mr. Clifford shall

-go and make some tea directly. Mr. Rowden, you may take a table out by

-the fountain--and stay there."

-

-Clifford, motioning Elliott to take the other end of the Japanese

-table, backed with it through the hallway and out to the gravel walk,

-expostulating.

-

-"The sugar is there in that tin box by the model stand," she said, when

-he reappeared, "and the extra spoons are lying in a long box on Jack's

-big easel."

-

-When Rowden, reluctantly relinquishing the zitherine, followed

-Clifford, bearing the cups and alcohol lamp, I raised my head and

-wiped the dust from my forehead. I believe I swore a little in French.

-Sweetheart looked startled. She knew more French than I supposed she

-did.

-

-"What is it, Jack?"

-

-"Mais--rien, ça m'embête--cette espèce de malle----"

-

-"Then why won't you let me help you, Jack? I can at least put in my

-gowns."

-

-"But I must pack my colour box first, and the gun case, and the

-box of reels, and the pastel case, and our shooting boots, and the

-water-colour box, and the cartridge belt, and your golf shoes, and----"

-

-"O dear!" said Sweetheart with a shudder.

-

-I stood up and scowled at the trunk.

-

-"To look at you, Jack," murmured Sweetheart, "one might think you

-unhappy."

-

-Unhappy! At the thought our eyes met across the table.

-

-"Unhappy!" I whispered.

-

-Then Clifford came stumbling in, wearing a pair of Joseph's sabots,

-and, imitating that faithful domestic in voice and manner, invited us

-to tea under the lilacs and almond blossoms.

-

-"In a moment," cried Sweetheart impatiently. "Go and pour the tea."

-

-Clifford looked aghast. "No, no!" he cried; "it's impossible--I won't

-believe that you two are deliberately getting rid of me so you can be

-alone to spoon! And your honeymoon already a year old, and----"

-

-Sweetheart frowned, and tapped her foot.

-

-Clifford retired indignant.

-

-Then she raised her eyes to mine, and a delicate colour stained her

-cheeks and neck.

-

-"Yes," I said, "we have been married nearly a year, Sweetheart."

-

-We looked at our white shadows on the floor.

-

-

-V.

-

-Sweetheart sat under the lilac blossoms pouring out tea for Clifford,

-Elliott, and Rowden. She was gracious to Clifford, gentle to Elliott,

-and she took Rowden under her wing in the sweetest way possible, to

-which Clifford stated his objections.

-

-"Mr. Rowden is younger than you are," she said gravely. "Monsieur

-Clifford, I do not wish you to torment him."

-

-"Rowden's no baby; he's as old as Jack is, and Jack doesn't murder

-music."

-

-"I am glad to see you acknowledge Jack's superiority in all matters,"

-said Sweetheart with a dangerous smile.

-

-"I don't," cried Clifford laughing; "and I don't see what you find

-to care about in a man who clips his hair like a gendarme and paints

-everything purple."

-

-"Everything is purple--if Jack paints it so," said Sweetheart, smiling

-at her reflected face in the water. She stood at the rim of the little

-stone fountain with her hands clasped behind her back. Elliott and

-Clifford were poking about in the water plants to dislodge the solitary

-goldfish, while Rowden gathered dewy clusters of lilacs as an offering.

-

-"There he goes!" said Elliott.

-

-"Poor fellow, living there all alone!" said Sweetheart. "Jack must

-leave word with Joseph to get him a little lady fish to pay his court

-to."

-

-"Better put in another gentleman fish, then, if you're following

-Nature," said Clifford, with an attempt at cynicism which drew the

-merriest laugh from Sweetheart.

-

-"Oh, how funny is Monsieur Clifford when he wants to be like

-Frenchmen!" she murmured.

-

-"Jack," said Elliott, as I came from the studio and picked up a cup of

-tea grown cold, "Clifford's doing the world-worn disenchanted roué."

-

-"And--and I fear he will next make love to me!" cried Sweetheart.

-

-"You'd better look out, Jack," said Clifford darkly, and pretended to

-sulk until Sweetheart sent him off to buy the bonbons she would need

-for the train.

-

-"They're packed," I said, "every trunk of them!"

-

-Sweetheart was enchanted. "All my new gowns, and the shoes

-from Rix's--O Jack, you didn't forget the shoes--and the bath

-robes--and----"

-

-"All packed," I said, swallowing the tea with a wry face.

-

-"Oh," she cried reproachfully, "don't drink that! Here, I will have

-some hot tea in a moment," and she ran over and perched on the arm of

-the garden bench while I lighted the alcohol lamp and then a cigarette.

-

-Rowden came up with his offering of lilacs, and she decorated each of

-us with a spray.

-

-It was growing late. The long shadows fell across the gravel walks and

-flecked the white walls of the sculptor's studio opposite.

-

-"It's the nine-o'clock train, isn't it?" said Elliott.

-

-"We will meet you at the station at eight-thirty," added Rowden.

-

-"You don't mind, do you, our dining alone?" said Sweetheart shyly;

-"it's our last day--Jack's and mine--in the old studio."

-

-"Not the last, I hope," said Elliott sincerely.

-

-We all sat silent for a moment.

-

-"O Paris, Paris--how I fear it!" murmured Sweetheart to me; and in the

-same breath, "No, no, we must love it, you and I."

-

-Then Elliott said aloud, "I suppose you have no idea when you will

-return?"

-

-"No," I replied, thinking of the magic second that had become a year.

-

-And so we dined alone, Sweetheart and I, in the old studio.

-

-At half-past eight o'clock the cab stood at the gate with all our traps

-piled on top, and Joseph and his wife and the two brats were crying,

-"Au revoir, madame! au revoir, monsieur! We will keep the studio well

-dusted. Bon voyage! bon voyage!" and all of a sudden my arm was caught

-by Sweetheart's little gloved hand, and she drew me back through

-the long ivy-covered alley to the garden where the studio stood, its

-doorway closed and silent, the hollow windows black and grim. Truly the

-light had passed away with the passing of Sweetheart. Her hand slipped

-from my arm, and she went and knelt down at the threshold and kissed

-it.

-

-"I first knew happiness when I first crossed it," she said; "it breaks

-my heart to leave it. Only that magic second! but it seems years that

-we have lived here."

-

-"It was you who brought happiness to it," I said.

-

-"Good-bye! good-bye, dear, dear, old studio!" she cried. "Oh, if Jack

-is always the same to me as he has been here--if he will be faithful

-and true in that new home!"

-

-The new home was to be in a strange land. Sweetheart was a little

-frightened, but was dying to go there. Sweetheart had never seen the

-golden gorse ablaze on the moors of Morbihan.

-

-

-VI.

-

-I went inside the brass railing and waited my turn to buy the tickets.

-When it came, I took two first class to Quimperlé, for it was to be

-an all-night ride, and there was no sleeping car. Clifford had taken

-charge of the baggage, and I went with him to have it registered,

-leaving Sweetheart with Elliott and Rowden. All the traps were

-there--the big trunks, the big valises, my sketching kit, the zitherine

-in a leather case, two handbags, a bundle of umbrellas and canes, and a

-huge package of canvases. The toilet case and the rugs and waterproofs

-we took with us into the compartment.

-

-The compartment was empty. Sweetheart nestled into one corner, and

-when I had placed our traps in the racks overhead I sat down opposite,

-while Clifford handed in our sandwiches, a bottle of red wine, and

-Sweetheart's box of bonbons.

-

-We didn't say much; most had been said before starting. Clifford was

-more affected than he cared to show--I know by the way he grasped my

-hand. They are dear fellows, every one. We did not realize that we were

-actually going--going, perhaps, forever. She laughed, and chatted, and

-made fun of Clifford, and teased Rowden, aided and abetted by Elliott,

-until the starting gong clanged and a warning whistle sounded along the

-gaslit platform.

-

-"Jack," cried Clifford, leaning in the window, "God bless you! God

-bless you both!"

-

-Elliott touched her hand and wrung mine, and Rowden risked his neck to

-give us both one last cordial grasp.

-

-"Count on me--on us," cried Clifford, speaking in English, "if you

-are--troubled!"

-

-By what, my poor Clifford? Can you, with all your gay courage, turn

-back the hands of the dials? Can you, with all your warm devotion, add

-one second to the magic second and make it two? The shadows we cast are

-white.

-

-The train stole out into the night, and I saw them grouped on the

-platform, silhouettes in the glare of the yellow signals. I drew in my

-head and shut the window. Sweetheart's face had grown very serious, but

-now she smiled across from her corner.

-

-"Aren't you coming over by me, Jack?"

-

-

-VII.

-

-We must have been moving very swiftly, for the car rocked and trembled,

-and it was probably that which awoke me. I looked across at Sweetheart.

-She was lying on her side, one cheek resting on her gloved hand, her

-travelling cap pushed back, her eyes shut. I smoothed away the curly

-strands of hair which straggled across her cheeks, and tucked another

-rug well about her feet. Her feet were small as a child's. I speak as

-if she were not a child. She was eighteen then.

-

-The next time I awoke we lay in a long gaslit station. Some soldiers

-were disembarking from the forward carriages, and a gendarme stalked up

-and down the platform.

-

-I looked sleepily about for the name of the station. It was painted

-in blue over the buffet--"Petit St. Yves." "Is it possible we are in

-Brittany?" I thought. Then the voices of the station hands, who were

-hoisting a small boat upon the forward carriage, settled my doubts.

-"Allons! tire hardiment, Jean Louis! mets le cannotte deboutte."

-

-"Arrête toi Yves! doucement! doucement! Sacrée garce!"

-

-Somewhere in the darkness a mellow bell tolled. I settled back to

-slumber, my eyes on Sweetheart.

-

-She slept.

-

-

-VIII.

-

-I awoke in a flood of brightest sunshine. From our window I could look

-into the centre of a most enchanting little town, all built of white

-limestone and granite. The June sunshine slanted on thatched roof and

-painted gable, and fairly blazed on the little river slipping by under

-the stone bridge in the square.

-

-The streets and the square were alive with rosy-faced women in white

-head-dresses. Everywhere the constant motion of blue skirts and

-spotless coiffes, the twinkle of varnished socks, the clump! clump! of

-sabots.

-

-Like a black shadow a priest stole across the square. Above him the

-cross on the church glowed like a live cinder, flashing its reflection

-along the purple-slated roof from the eaves of which a cloud of

-ash-gray pigeons drifted into the gutter below. I turned from the

-window to encounter Sweetheart's eyes. Her lips moved a little, her

-long lashes heavy with slumber drooped lower, then with a little sigh

-she sat bolt upright. When I laughed, as I always did, she smiled,

-a little confused, a little ashamed, murmuring: "Bonjour, mon chéri!

-Quelle heure est-il?" That was always the way Sweetheart awoke.

-

-"O dear, I am so rumpled!" she said. "Jack, get me the satchel this

-minute, and don't look at me until I ask you to."

-

-I unlocked the satchel, and then turning to the window again threw it

-wide open. Oh, how sweet came the morning air from the meadows! Some

-young fellows below on the bank of the stream were poking long cane

-fishing-rods under the arches of the bridge.

-

-"Sweetheart," I said over my shoulder, "I believe there are trout in

-this stream."

-

-"Mr. Elliott says that whenever you see a puddle you always say that,"

-she replied.

-

-"What does he know about it?" I answered, for I am touchy on the

-subject; "he doesn't know a catfish from a--a dogfish."

-

-"Neither do I, Jack dear, but I'm going to learn. Don't be cross."

-

-She had finished her toilet and came over to the window, leaning out

-over my shoulder.

-

-"Where are we?" she cried in startled wonder at the little white town

-and the acres of swaying clover. "Oh, Jack, is--is this the country?"

-

-A man in uniform passing under our window looked up surprised.

-

-"What are you doing here?" he demanded; then, seeing Sweetheart, he

-took off his gold-laced cap, and added, with a bow: "This carriage goes

-no farther, monsieur--madame----"

-

-"Merci!" exclaimed Sweetheart, "we wish to go to Quimperlé!"

-

-"And we have tickets for Quimperlé," I insisted.

-

-"But," smiled the official, "this is Quimperlé."

-

-It was true. There was the name written over the end of the station;

-and, looking ahead, I saw that our car had been detached and was

-standing in stately seclusion under the freight shed. How long it had

-been standing so Heaven alone knows; but they evidently had neglected

-to call us, and there we were inhabiting a detached carriage in the

-heart of Quimperlé. I managed to get a couple of porters, and presently

-we found all our traps piled up on the platform, and a lumbering

-vehicle with a Breton driver waiting to convey us to the hotel.

-

-"Which," said I to the docile Breton, "is the best hotel in Quimperlé?"

-

-"The Hôtel Lion d'Or," he replied.

-

-"How do you know?" I demanded.

-

-"Because," said he mildly, "it is the only hotel in Quimperlé."

-

-Sweetheart observed that this ought to be convincing, even to me,

-and she tormented me all the way to the square, where I got even by

-pretending to be horrified at her dishevelled condition incident to a

-night's railway ride in a stuffy compartment.

-

-"Don't, Jack! people will look at us."

-

-"Let 'em."

-

-"Oh, this is cruel! Oh, I'll pay you for this!"

-

-And they did look at us--or rather at her; for from the time Sweetheart

-and I had cast our lots together, I noticed that I seemed to escape the

-observation of passers-by. When I lived alone in Paris I attracted a

-fair share of observation from the world as it wagged on its Parisian

-way. It was pleasant to meet a pretty girl's eyes now and then in the

-throng which flowed through the park and boulevard. I really never

-flattered myself that it was because of my personal beauty; but in

-Paris, any young fellow who is dressed in the manner of Albion, hatted

-and gloved in the same style, is not entirely a cipher. But now it was

-not the same, by a long shot.

-

-Sweetheart's beauty simply put me in my place as an unnoticed but

-perhaps correct supplement to her.

-

-She knew she was a beauty, and was delighted when she looked into her

-mirror. Nothing escaped her. The soft hair threaded with sunshine,

-which, when loosened, curled to her knees; the clear white forehead and

-straight brows; the nose delicate and a trifle upturned; the scarlet

-lips and fine cut chin--she knew the value of each of these. She was

-pleased with the soft, full curve of her throat, the little ears, and

-the colour which came and went in her cheeks.

-

-But her eyes were the first thing one noticed. They were the most

-beautiful gray eyes that ever opened under silken lashes. She approved

-of my telling her this, which duty I fulfilled daily. Perhaps it may be

-superfluous to say that we were very much in love. Did I say _were_?

-

-I think that, as I am chanting the graces of Sweetheart, it might not

-be amiss to say that she is just an inch shorter than I am, and that

-no Parisienne carried a pretty gown with more perfection than she

-did. I have seen gowns that looked like the devil on the manikin, but

-when Sweetheart wore them they were the astonishment and admiration of

-myself. And I do know when a woman is well dressed, though I am an art

-critic.

-

-Sweetheart regarded her beauty as an intimate affair between ourselves,

-a precious gift for our mutual benefit, to be carefully treasured and

-petted. Her attitude toward the world was unmistakable. The world might

-look--she was indifferent. With our intimate friends she was above

-being flattered. Clifford said to me once: "She carries her beauty as

-a princess would carry the Koh-i-noor--she knows she is worthy of it,

-and hopes it is worthy of her."

-

-"We ought to be so happy that I am beautiful!" she would say to me.

-"Just think, supposing I were not!"

-

-I used to try to make her believe that it would have made no difference.

-

-"Oh, not now," she would say gravely. "I know that if I lost it it

-would be the same to us both, now; but you can't make me believe that,

-at first, when you used to lean over the terrace of the Luxembourg and

-wait patiently for hours just to see me walk out of the Odeon."

-

-"I didn't," I would always explain; "I was there by accident."

-

-"Oh, what a funny accident to happen every day for two months!"

-

-"Stop teasing! Of course, after the first week----"

-

-"And what a funny accident that I should pass the same way every day

-for two months, when before I always went by the Rue de Seine!"

-

-There was once such an accident, and such a girl. I never knew her; she

-is dead. I wondered sometimes that Sweetheart knew, and believed it was

-she herself. Yet the other woman's shadow was black.

-

-Sweetheart had a most peculiar and unworldly habit of not embellishing

-facts. She presently displayed it when we arrived at the Hôtel Lion

-d'Or.

-

-"Jack," said she nervously, "the cinders have made your face

-unpleasant. I am ashamed. They may not believe you are my husband."

-

-"As monsieur and madame," I said, "we may have dirty faces and be

-honest."

-

-"Do you suppose they--they will believe it? These queer people----"

-

-"They'd better!" I said fiercely.

-

-"I--I hadn't thought of that," she said. "You see, in our own little

-place in Paris everybody knew it, but here----"

-

-I said, "Dearest, what nonsense!" and we marched unceremoniously up

-to the register, where I wrote our names. Then, with a hasty little

-squeeze of her gloved hand, she turned to the maid and tripped off to

-inspect our quarters. While I was pumping the fat-headed old proprietor

-about the trout fishing in the vicinity, the maid returned with the

-request that I mount to the room above. I followed her along the tiled

-passages and found Sweetheart sitting on a trunk.

-

-"It's charming! charming!" she said. "Just look at the roses outside,

-and the square, and the river! and oh, Jack, the funny little Breton

-cattle, and the old man with knee-breeches! It's charming! and"--here

-she caught sight of the enraptured and fascinated maid--"and you are

-charming, with your red cheeks and white coiffe," she said. "Oh, how

-pretty!"

-

-"Oh, madame!" murmured the servant in dire confusion.

-

-I said, "Dearest, that will do. Nobody speaks of my peculiar charms,

-and I wish to be noticed."

-

-The presence of the maid prevented Sweetheart from making amends, so we

-told her we were satisfied, and we would spare her life if she prepared

-breakfast in seventeen seconds.

-

-She accepted the gift of existence with a dazed courtsey, and vanished.

-

-It was refreshing to get hold of a sponge and cold water after fourteen

-hours in a cramped compartment. Hunger drove us to hurry--a thing we

-rarely did in the morning--and the way we splashed cold water about

-would have been fatal to any but a tiled floor.

-

-"Dear," I said, "you have not yet seen me in my Tyrolese knickerbockers

-and beautiful shooting jacket. You have never beheld my legs clothed in

-Tyrolese stockings, at twenty francs a pair."

-

-"The legs?" she inquired from the depths of a bath robe.

-

-I ignored the question, and parted my hair with care. Then I sat down

-on the window and whistled.

-

-Of course I was ready first. Sweetheart's hair had got into a tangle

-and needed to be all combed out.

-

-"Oh, I know you are impatient, because you're whistling the Chant du

-Départ," she said from the door of her toilet room.

-

-"As usual," I said, "I am ready first."

-

-"If you say that again----" she threatened.

-

-I said it, and dodged a sponge. Presently I was requested to open the

-trunk and select a gown for her. Dear little Sweetheart! she loved

-to pretend that she had so many it needed long consultation to decide

-which.

-

-"The dark blue?" I inquired.

-

-"Don't you think it is too warm?"

-

-"The pale blue, then--or the pink and white?"

-

-"Why not the white, with the cuffs à l'Anglaise, and the canoe hat?"

-

-I hauled it out.

-

-Then, of course, she changed her mind.

-

-"I think the gray is better for the morning; then I can wear the big

-chip hat."

-

-I fished up the gray. It was light, almost silvery, and had white spots

-on it.

-

-"Jack, dear," she said, coming out with her hair tucked up in a knot,

-drawing the bath robe up to her chin with both hands, "I think that the

-white cloth would be better, and that I can wear the béret."

-

-By this time the trunk was in a pretty mess, which amused her; but at

-last I ferreted out the white cloth dress, and, refusing to listen to

-further discussion, sat down on the window seat. Sweetheart enjoyed it.

-

-"Stop telling me to hurry," she said; "I can't, if you keep saying it

-all the time."

-

-After a while she called me to fasten her corsage, which hooked with

-about ten hundred hooks along the side and collar. I hated to do it,

-and my finger ends stung for hours after, but, as Sweetheart very

-rightly says, "When we are rich enough to have a maid you needn't," I

-submitted with an air which delighted her. Her tormenting "Thank you,

-Jack," was the last straw, so I calmly picked her up and carried her

-out, and almost to the dining room, where I set her down just in time

-to avoid the proprietor and three domestics issuing from the office.

-

-Sweetheart was half inclined to laugh, half indignant, and wholly

-scandalized. But she did not dare say anything, for we were at the

-dining-room door.

-

-There were some people there, but except for a slight inclination we

-did not notice each other. We had a small table to ourselves by the

-rose-bowered window.

-

-We were very hungry. Breakfast began with fresh sardines just caught,

-and ended with little Breton cakes and a demi-tasse. I finished first;

-I always do, because the wretched habit of bolting my food, contracted

-while studying under Bouguereau at Julian's, clings to me yet. Oh,

-I shall have a merry time paying for it when I am forty! I began, as

-usual, to tease Sweetheart.

-

-"If you continue to eat like this, dear, you will never be able to wear

-your new frocks. This one seems a trifle too tight now."

-

-Sweetheart, who prided herself as much on her figure as on her lovely

-face, repelled the insult with disdain and nibbled her Breton biscuit

-defiantly. When at last she condescended to rise, we strolled out

-under the trees in front of the hotel, and sat down on the low stone

-wall surrounding the garden. The noon sun hung in the zenith, flooding

-the town with a dazzling downpour. Sunbeams glanced and danced on

-the water; sunbeams filtered through the foliage; sunbeams stole

-under Sweetheart's big straw hat, searching the depths of the gray

-eyes. Sunbeams played merry mischief with my ears and neck, which

-were beginning to sting in the first sunburn of the year. Through the

-square the white-coiffed women passed and repassed; small urchins with

-silver-buckled hatbands roamed about the bridge and market-place until

-collected and trooped off to school by a black-robed Jesuit frère;

-and in the shade of the trees a dozen sprawling men in Breton costume

-smoked their microscopical pipes and watched the water.

-

-"They are an industrious race," said I with fine irony, watching a

-happy inebriate pursuing a serpentine course toward the café opposite.

-

-Sweetheart, who was as patriotic a little girl as ever hummed the

-Marseillaise, and adopted France as long as she lived in it, was up in

-arms in an instant.

-

-"I have read," she said with conviction, "that the Bretons are a brave,

-industrious race. They are French."

-

-"They speak a different language," I said--"not a word of French in it."

-

-"They are French," repeated Sweetheart, with an inflection which

-decided me to shun the subject until I could unpack my guide-book.

-

-We sat a little while longer under the trees, until we both began

-nodding and mutually accused each other. Then Sweetheart went up to

-the room to take a nap, and I, scorning such weakness, lay down in a

-steamer chair under our window and fell fast asleep in no time.

-

-I was aroused by a big pink rose which hit me squarely on the mouth.

-Sweetheart was perched in the window seat above, and as I looked up she

-sent a shower of blossoms down upon me.

-

-"Jack, you lazy creature, it's five o'clock, and I'm dressed and ready

-for a walk!"

-

-"So am I," I said, jumping up.

-

-"But not like that. You must come up and make yourself nice for dinner."

-

-"Nice? What's the matter with these tweeds? Aren't these new stockings

-presentable?"

-

-"Look at your hair!" she said evasively. "Come up this minute and brush

-it."

-

-I went, and was compelled to climb into a white collar and shirt, and

-trousers of an English cut. But before we had gone far along the great

-military road that climbed the heights above the little river, I took

-Sweetheart's hand in mine and imparted to her my views and intentions

-upon the subject of my costume for the future.

-

-"You see, dearest, we are here in Brittany for three reasons. The

-first is, that I should paint outdoors. The second is, that we should

-economize like the deuce. The third is, our shadows----"

-

-"I know," she interrupted faintly. "Never mind, Jack, dear."

-

-We walked silently for a while, hand clasping hand very tightly, for we

-were both thinking of the third reason.

-

-I broke the silence first, speaking cheerfully, and she looked up with

-a quick smile while the shadow fell from her brow.

-

-"You see, dear, in this place, where we are going, there are no people

-but peasants. Your frocks are all right for a place like this; we

-must both wear our free-and-easy togs--I for painting, and you for

-scrambling about after your wild flowers or fishing with me. If you get

-tired of seeing me in corduroys or tweeds, I'll dress for you when you

-think you can't stand it any longer."

-

-"Oh, Jack, I do like your knickerbockers----"

-

-"And you shall wear your most gorgeous gown for me----"

-

-"Indeed I won't," she laughed, adding impulsively, "indeed I

-will--every day, if you wish it!"

-

-At the top of the hill stood an ancient Ursuline convent surrounded

-by a high wall, which also inclosed the broad acres of the wealthy

-sisterhood. We sat down by the roadside hedge and looked across the

-valley, where the hurrying river had ceased to hasten and now lingered

-in placid pools and long, deep reaches. The sun had set behind the

-forest, and the sky threw a purple light over woods and meadow. The

-grassy pools below were swept by flocks of whistling martins and

-swallows. One or two white gulls flapped slowly toward the tide water

-below, and a young curlew, speeding high overhead, uttered a lonesome

-cry. The grass--the brilliant green grass of Brittany--had turned a

-deep metallic blue in the twilight. A pale primrose light grew and died

-in the sky, and the forest changed from rose to ashes. Then a dull red

-bar shot across the parting clouds in the west, the forest smouldered

-an instant, and the pools glowed crimson. Slowly the red bar melted

-away, the light died out among the branches, the pools turned sombre.

-Looking up, we saw the new moon flashing in the sky above our heads.

-Sweetheart sighed in perfect contentment.

-

-"It's beautiful!" I said, with another sigh.

-

-"Ah, yes," she murmured, "beautiful to you, and to me--to me, Jack, who

-have never before seen this land of Morbihan."

-

-After a while she said, "And the ocean--oh, how I long to see it! Is it

-near us, Jack?"

-

-"The river runs into it twenty kilometres below. We feel the tide at

-Quimperlé." I did not add, "Baedeker."

-

-"I wonder," I said presently, "what are the feelings of a little

-American who sees this country--the real country--for the first time?"

-

-"I suppose you mean me," she said. "I don't know--I don't think I

-understand it yet, but I know I shall love it, and never want to go

-back."

-

-"Perhaps we never shall," I said. "The magic second may stretch into

-years that end at last as all ends."

-

-Then our hands met in that sudden nervous clasp which seemed to help

-and steady us when we were thinking of the real world, so long, so long

-forgotten.

-

-

-IX.

-

-I was awakened next morning by a spongeful of cold water in the face,

-which I hate. I started up to wreak vengeance upon Sweetheart, but she

-fled to the toilet room and locked herself in. From this retreat she

-taunted me until further sleep was out of the question, and I bowed

-to the inevitable--indignantly, when I saw my watch pointed to five

-o'clock.

-

-Sweetheart was perfectly possessed to row; so when I had bolted my

-coffee and sat watching her placidly sip hers, we decided to go down to

-the bank of the little stream and hire a boat. The boat was a wretched,

-shapeless affair, with two enormous oars and the remnants of rowlocks.

-It was the best boat in town, so we took it. I managed to get away

-from the bank, and, conscious of Sweetheart's open admiration, pulled

-boldly down the stream. It was easy work, for the tide was ebbing. The

-river up to the bridge was tidal, but above the bridge it leaped and

-flowed, a regular salmon stream. Sweetheart was so impatient to take

-the oars that I relinquished them and picked up my rod. The boat swung

-down the stream and under the high stone viaduct, where I insisted

-on anchoring and whipping the promising-looking water. The water was

-likely enough, and the sudden splash of a leaping grilse added to its

-likelihood. I was in hopes a grilse might become entangled with one of

-the flies, but though a big one shot up out of the water within five

-feet of Sweetheart, causing her to utter a suppressed scream, neither

-grilse nor trout rose to the beautiful lures I trailed about, and I

-only hooked two or three enormous dace, which came up like logs and

-covered the bottom of the boat with their coarse scales.

-

-Sweetheart had never seen a French trout uncooked, and scarcely shared

-my disappointment.

-

-"They are splendid fish," she repeated; "you are unreasonable."

-

-There was an ancient Breton squatting on the bank; from his sulky

-attitude I took him to be a poacher visiting his infernal set lines and

-snares; but I hailed him pleasantly with a bonjour, which he returned

-civilly enough.

-

-"Are there trout in this stream?"

-

-"About the bridge," he replied cautiously.

-

-"Have you caught any?"

-

-"I ain't fishing," he said, much alarmed.

-

-"What's that?" I demanded, pointing to as plump a trout as ever I saw,

-floating on the end of a string under the bank.

-

-"Where?" he asked, looking about him with affected concern.

-

-"There!"

-

-He looked around, everywhere except where I pointed. He examined the

-horizon, and the tree tops, as though he expected a fish on every twig.

-I poled the boat up to the bank and pointed out the fish.

-

-"Ma doui!" he exclaimed, "there _is_ a fish!"

-

-"Yes, a trout," I said.

-

-"Trout?" He burst into a forced laugh. "Trout! Ha! ha! Why, monsieur,

-that is a dace--a poor little dace!" He hastily jerked it up with a

-long homemade gaff which lay--of course quite by accident--at his feet.

-

-"A poor little dace!" he mumbled. "Of course, monsieur would not care

-to claim such a poor, coarse little fish; but I am only too glad to eat

-it--ah, yes, only too glad!"

-

-"You see," said Sweetheart impulsively, "that you are wrong. Give him

-our fish; that will make four dace for the poor fellow."

-

-I placed the three dace across the blade of my oar and held it out to

-the poacher. He took them as if he were really glad to get them. Then

-I said, "These are dace, and they don't have red spots."

-

-He stood as if ready to bolt, but I laughed, and settled back on my

-oars, saying: "You're a poacher; but I don't care a continental, and

-you can poach all day in this confounded country, where there is about

-one trout to the kilometre. Don't look scared. What do I care? Only

-don't tell me I'm unable to distinguish a trout when I can see the tip

-of his nose."

-

-I then sailed majestically out into the stream.

-

-Sweetheart wanted to know whether that was really a real poacher.

-She had read about them. Her ideal poacher was a young, stalwart,

-eagle-eyed giant, with a tangle of hair and a disposition toward

-assassination. The reality shocked her.

-

-"Anyway," she said, "you frightened the poor old thing. How rough men

-are!"

-

-We returned to the landing place with difficulty, for the tide was

-still on the ebb, and we got aground more than once. My hands were in

-a fine condition when at last I drove that wretched scow into the mud

-and lifted Sweetheart out to the firm bank. The evil-eyed old man who

-rented us the boat glanced sardonically at my rod and blistered hands,

-and I was glad enough to pay him all he asked and break away for the

-hotel.

-

-We had an hour to lunch in, pack, and be ready for the trap which

-was to bear us to our destination--the distant village of Faöuet, in

-Morbihan.

-

-

-X.

-

-A long drive on a smooth white road, acres of gorse and broom, beech

-woods and oak thickets, and the "Heu! heu! Allo! Allons! en route!" of

-the Breton driver, these are my recollections of the ride to Faöuet.

-There are others, too--the hedges heavy with bloom, the perfume of the

-wild honeysuckle, the continual bird chorus from every grove and every

-bramble patch--and Sweetheart's veil flying into my face.

-

-We have spoken of it since together, but she has few recollections

-of that journey. She only remembers it as her first steps into our

-heritage.

-

-And so we entered into our heritage, Sweetheart and I; and our heritage

-was very fair, for it lay everywhere about us. It was a world which

-we alone inhabited. Men said, "This land is Gloanec's," "This is

-Gurnalec's," "This is Kerdec's"; they spoke of "my woods" and "his

-meadows" and "their pastures." And how we laughed; for when we passed

-together through their lands, around us, far as the eye could reach,

-our heritage lay in the sunshine.

-

-

-XI.

-

-One day, when Sweetheart had been weeping--for we were thinking of the

-end to the magic second--I spoke of our heritage which swept far as the

-eye could reach across the moors of Faöuet.

-

-She said: "The past is ours, Jack; the present is ours; the future----"

-

-We tried to smile, but our hearts were like lead. Yet we know that the

-future will also be ours. I know it as I write.

-

-

-XII.

-

-The letter from St. Gildas, bringing with it a breath of salt air, lay

-on the table before us. Sweetheart clasped her hands and looked at me.

-

-"I'm in favour of going at once," I said for the third time. Over by

-the wall were piled my canvases, the result of three months in Faöuet.

-

-The first was a study of Sweetheart under the trees of the ancient

-orchard in the convent grounds. What trouble I had had with that

-canvas! I remembered the morning that the old gardener came over

-and stood behind me as I painted; and when I had replied to his

-"Good-morning," I recalled the pang his next words gave me:

-

-"I am so sorry, monsieur, but it is forbidden to enter the convent

-grounds."

-

-My canvas was almost finished, and, as the romancers have it, "my

-despair was great!" A month's work for nothing--or next to nothing!

-

-Sweetheart rose from her pose on the low bough of the apple tree and

-came over to my side. "Never mind, Jack; I shall go and ask the Mother

-Superior about it."

-

-I knew that she would win over the Mother Superior; and when, that

-evening, she came back radiant, crying, "She is lovely!--she says you

-may finish the picture, and I think you ought to go and thank her," I

-put on my cap, and stepping across the street, we rang at the gate.

-

-The old gardener let us in, and in a moment I stood before the latticed

-windows behind which some one was moving. In a low voice the invisible

-nun told us that the Superior granted to us the privilege of working in

-the orchard, but we must be careful of the grass, because it was almost

-time to cut it.

-

-"I am sure we may have confidence in you," she said.

-

-"We will not trample the grass, my sister, and I thank you for us both."

-

-The lattice trembled, was raised a little, and then fell.

-

-"You are English," said the hidden nun.

-

-"I am American, my sister."

-

-I looked at the lattice a moment, then dropped my eyes. I may have been

-mistaken, but I think she sighed.

-

-Sweetheart came closer to the lattice and murmured her thanks.

-

-There was a pause.

-

-Then came the voice again, sweet and gentle: "May Our Lady of Saint

-Gildas protect you"; and we went out by the little iron wicket.

-

-The next picture was another study of Sweetheart in the woods; the

-next, another study of Sweetheart; and the others were studies of the

-same young lady.

-

-The light in the room had grown dim, and I walked to the window which

-overlooked the convent chapel. The chapel windows were open; within,

-the nuns stood or knelt chanting. Three white-veiled figures were

-advancing to the altar, and the others, draped in black now knelt

-behind. I didn't think I had any business to look at them, so I did

-not. After all, they were cloistered nuns, and it was only on hot

-nights that they opened the chapel windows. Sweetheart was speaking

-beside my shoulder.

-

-"Poor things! The ones in white, they are the novices; they will never

-see parents or friends again. When they enter the gates they never

-leave--never; they are buried there."

-

-I said: "After all, we are much like them. We have left all; we have

-nothing now but each other, for the world is dead, and we are bound by

-vows which keep us within the narrow confines of our heritage."

-

-"But our heritage is everywhere--as far as we can see."

-

-"Ah, yes, but we can only see to the horizon. There is a world beyond."

-

-"I have renounced it," said Sweetheart faintly.

-

-

-XIII.

-

-The letter from St. Gildas had been lying on our table for a week

-before I thought of answering it, and even then it was Sweetheart who

-wrote:

-

-     "DEAR MR. STUART:

-

-     "Jack is too lazy to answer your kind note, so, in pure shame

-     for his discourtesy, I hasten to reply to your questions.

-

-     "First: Yes; we have been working very hard, and Jack's

-     pictures are charming, though he growls over them all day.

-

-     "Second: Yes; we intend to stay in Brittany this winter for

-     lots of reasons--one being economy, and another, Jack's

-     outdoor painting.

-

-     "Third: Yes; we are coming to St. Gildas.

-

-     "Fourth: To-morrow.

-

-     "Fifth: No; we had not heard of Mr. Clifford's affair with

-     the policeman; and oh, I am so sorry he was locked up and

-     fined! Jack laughs. I suspect he, too, was as wicked as you

-     all when he was a student, alone in Paris.

-

-     "Sixth: I know you are Jack's oldest and most intimate friend,

-     so I allow you more liberty than I do Messieurs Clifford and

-     Elliott; therefore I will answer your question as to whether

-     the honeymoon is not on the wane. No! no! no! There are three

-     answers to one question. See how generous I can be!"

-

-Sweetheart called me to see whether or not I approved. I did, and added

-my answer to Stuart's last question as follows: "No, you idiot!" Then

-I signed the note, and Sweetheart sealed and directed it.

-

-So we left for St. Gildas next morning before sunrise and in the rain.

-This leaving at such an unearthly hour was not my doing, but Sweetheart

-was determined, and rose by candlelight in spite of desperate

-opposition on my part. It was cold, and the rain beat against the

-windows.

-

-It was many kilometres to St. Gildas, but before we had gone six, the

-rain had ceased and the eastern sky flushed to a pale rose.

-

-"Thank goodness!" I said, "we shall have the sun."

-

-Then the daily repeated miracle of the coming of dawn was wrought

-before our eyes. The heavens glowed in rainbow tints; the shredded mist

-rising along the river was touched with purple and gold, and acres

-of meadow and pasture dripped precious stones. Shreds of the fading

-night-mist drifted among the tree tops, now tipped with fire, while in

-the forest depths faint sparkles came from some lost ray of morning

-light falling on wet leaves. Then of a sudden up shot the sun, and

-against it, black and gigantic, a peasant towered, leaning upon his

-spade.

-

-

-XIV.

-

-We were fast nearing the end of our long journey. The sun blazed on

-us from the zenith, and the wheels creaked with the heat of the white

-road. The driver leaned back, saying, "We enter Finistère here by this

-granite post." Presently he added, "The ocean!"

-

-There it lay, a basin of silver and blue. Sweetheart had started to her

-feet, speechless, one hand holding to my shoulder, the other clasped

-to her breast. And now, as the road wound through the hills and down

-to the coast, long stretches of white sand skirted the distant cliffs,

-and over the cliffs waved miles and miles of yellow gorse. A cluster of

-white and gray houses lay in the hollow to the left almost at the mouth

-of the river, and beyond, the waves were beating in the bar--beating

-the same rhythm which we were to hear so long there together, day and

-night. There was not a boat to be seen, not a creature, nor was there

-any sign of life save for the smoke curling from a cottage chimney

-below. The ocean lay sparkling beneath, and beyond its deeper blue

-melted into the haze on the horizon.

-

-Suddenly, in the road below, the figure of a man appeared, and at the

-same moment a pointer pup came gambolling up beside us in an ecstasy

-of self-abnegation and apology. I sprang out of the lumbering vehicle

-and lifted Sweetheart to the ground, and in an instant we were shaking

-hands with a stalwart young fellow in knickerbockers and jersey, who

-said we were a pretty pair not to have come sooner, and told Sweetheart

-he pitied her lot--meaning me.

-

-Then we walked arm in arm down a fragrant lane to the river bank, where

-the dearest old lady toddled out of the granite house to welcome us and

-show us our rooms. Sweetheart went with her, while I stopped an instant

-to chat with Stuart.

-

-"That is Madame Ylven," he said. "She is the most stunning peasant

-woman in Finistère, and you will want for nothing." Then, after a

-moment, "Good heavens! Jack, what a beauty your wife----" He stopped

-short, but added, "What a delicious little beauty Sweetheart has grown

-to be!"

-

-A white-coiffed maid came to the door, and said, "Will monsieur have

-the goodness to come? Madame wishes him to see the rooms."

-

-The wind blew from the south, and the thunder of the sea was in my ears

-as I mounted the stairs to our new quarters.

-

-Sweetheart met me at the door, saying, "It seems almost too much

-happiness to bear, but I feel that we are at home at last--alone

-together for all time."

-

-Alone together? The ocean at our threshold, the moors and forests at

-our back, and a good slate roof above us. Before me through the open

-door I could see the great old-fashioned room, warm in the afternoon

-sunlight--the room we were to live in so long, the room in which we

-were to pass the happiest and bitterest moments of our lives.

-

-She hesitated an instant before the threshold. I think we knew that we

-stood upon the threshold of our destiny. Then I said, half in earnest:

-"Are you afraid to cross with me into the unknown future? See, the room

-is filled with sunshine. Are you afraid?"

-

-She sprang across the threshold, and, turning to me, held out both

-hands.

-

-

-XV.

-

-The sun slipped lower and lower into the sea, until a distant tossing

-wave washed it out against the sky. Light died in the room, and shadows

-closed around us; yet it was in the darkness and shadows that we drew

-nearer to each other, then and after.

-

-

-XVI.

-

-Stuart stood under our window and yelled up at me, "Oh, Jack! I say,

-Jack!"

-

-Sweetheart, who was fussing over the half-unpacked trunk, went to the

-window and threw open the panes.

-

-"You don't mean to say you have had your coffee?" she said. "Jack isn't

-up yet."

-

-"Jack is up," I explained, coming to the window in pajamas. "Hello!"

-

-"I only wanted to say that I haven't had my coffee," he explained, "and

-I'm going to take it with you when you're ready."

-

-Sweetheart picked up her béret, and, passing a hatpin through it,

-turned to me with a warning, "I shall eat all the breakfast, monsieur!"

-and vanished down the stairs. A moment later I heard her clear voice

-below:

-

-  Sonnez le chœur,

-    Chasseur!

-  Sonnez la mort!

-

-Before I had finished dressing, Sweetheart tripped in with my coffee

-and toast.

-

-"Of course I've finished," she said, "and you don't deserve this.

-Mr. Stuart has gone off with his canvases, and says he'll see you at

-lunch."

-

-I swallowed the coffee and browsed on little squares of toast which

-she condescendingly buttered for me, and then, lighting a cigarette, I

-announced my intention of commanding an exploring expedition consisting

-of Sweetheart and myself. A scratching at the door and a patter of feet

-announced that I had been overheard.

-

-Sweetheart unlatched the door, and the pointer pup of the evening

-before charged into the room and covered us with boisterous caresses,

-which we took to indicate that he not only approved of the expedition,

-but intended to undertake the general supervision of it himself. I

-resigned the leadership at once.

-

-"His name," said Sweetheart in the tone of one who presents a

-distinguished guest, "is 'Luff.'"

-

-I gravely acknowledged the honour by patting his head.

-

-"I'm afraid," I said to Sweetheart, "that there is a bar sinister

-upon his escutcheon, but possibly it is only the indelible mark of the

-conquering British foxhound."

-

-Sweetheart said, "Nonsense!" and the expedition moved, Luff leading

-with a series of ear-splitting orders in the dog language which we

-perfectly understood.

-

-In ten minutes we stood on the cliffs, the salt wind whipping our

-faces. Saint-Gildas-des-Prés lay at our feet.

-

-"I know," observed Sweetheart calmly, "all about this place. Captain

-Ylven told me at breakfast."

-

-"Well," said I, "what's that island on the horizon?"

-

-Then she overwhelmed me with erudition, until I longed for Baedeker and

-revenge.

-

-"That is the Isle de Groix, and all about us is the Bay of Biscay. This

-little hamlet on the cliff is St. Julien, and if we follow the coast

-far enough we come to Lorient."

-

-"Follow the coast? Which way?"

-

-Sweetheart had forgotten, and I triumphed in silence, until she stamped

-her foot and marched off to assist Luff in investigating a suspicious

-hole in the cliff.

-

-I went to the edge of the plateau and looked over. The surf thundered

-against the rocks, tossing long strands of seaweed over the pebbly

-beach. A man with a wooden rake stood in the water up to his knees. He

-raked the seaweed from the breakers as a farmer rakes weeds from the

-lawn. The salt wind began to sting my lips and eyes. My throat felt dry

-and salty. I turned toward the hamlet of St. Gildas. I had not imagined

-it so small. Besides our house there were but three others clustered

-under the river bank. Behind it stretched woods and grain fields broken

-by patches of yellow gorse. Across the river stood a stone chapel

-almost lost in the miles of moorland. To the east and west the downs

-covered with gorse and heather rolled to the horizon. Here and there

-along the cliffs stood what appeared to be the ruins of ancient forts,

-and on a rock, just where the river sweeps out into the sea, rose a

-dirty white signal tower. The tower was low and squatty and wet. It

-looked like some saline excrescence which had slowly exuded from the

-brine-soaked rock. On the bar hundreds of white gulls rose and settled

-as the tide encroached; curlew were running along the foam-splashed

-shore under the eastern cliffs across the river.

-

-On our side of the river the cliffs were covered with blackthorn and

-hawthorn, with here and there a stunted oak, probably so placed by

-Providence as general rendezvous for all the small twittering birds of

-Finistère. Birds were everywhere. From the clouds came the ceaseless

-carol of skylarks; from the grain fields and the flowering gorse rose

-an unbroken chorus, taken up and repeated by flocks of microscopical

-songsters among the blackthorns on the cliffs.

-

-"This is paradise, this wilderness," I thought.

-

-Then, as I heard Sweetheart's mocking voice from the cliff:

-

-  O frère Jacques,

-  Dormez vous!

-

-"I'm not asleep!" I cried in answer. "What is it?"

-

-"Luff has unearthed a poor little mole, but I won't allow him to hurt

-it."

-

-"Jack, dear," she said, as I came up, "couldn't we keep it as a pet?

-See, the poor little thing is blind."

-

-As it was blind we called it "Love," which later was changed to

-"Cupid," and finally, when we discovered it true gormandizing

-character, for "Cupid" we substituted "Cupidity," by which name it

-flourished and fattened.

-

-"What a change," said Sweetheart sadly, "from Blind Love to Blind

-Greed!"

-

-The mole grew very fat.

-

-

-XVII.

-

-When the winds stir the leaves among the poplars, and the long shadows

-fall athwart the fields; when the winds rise at night, and the branches

-scrape and crack above the moonlit snow; when in the long hot days

-the earth is bathed in fragrance, and all the little creatures of

-the fields are silent; when in the still evenings the flowers perfume

-the air, and the gravel walks shine white in the moonlight; when the

-breezes quicken from the distant coast; when the sand shakes beneath

-the shock of the breakers, and every wave is plumed with white; when

-the calm eye of the beacon turns to mine, lingers, and turn away, and

-the surf is yeasty and thick; when I start at the sound of a voice from

-the cliffs, and my eyes are raised in vain; when the white gulls toss

-and drift in the storm-clouds, and the water hurries out in the black

-ebb tide; when I rise and look from the window; when I dress; when I

-work with pen and colour; when I rest; when I walk; when I sleep--there

-is one face before my eyes, one name on my lips. For the white shadow

-is turning gray, and God alone knows the end.

-

-

-XVIII.

-

-And God alone knows the end, for the mists are crowding, brooding

-like angry-browed clouds, and I hear the whistle of unseen winds, and

-my life-flame wavers and sinks and flares, blown hither and thither,

-tossing, fading, leaping, but fading, always fading.

-

-In a flash, like a printed picture on a screen, illuminated, keenly

-etched in the white glare, I see the bed, and the people around me,

-the black gowns, the pale eyes of the doctor, the sponge and basin, the

-rolls of lint.

-

-Voices, minute but clean-cut and clear as picked harp-strings, tinkle

-in my ears; the voice of the doctor, other voices, but always the

-voice of the doctor--"The splinter of bone on the brain; the splinter

-pressing on the tissues; the depression."

-

-The doctor! That is the man! That is the man who comes to my side, who

-follows, follows where I go, who seeks me throughout the world! I saw

-him as I lay flung on the turf, limp, unconscious, below the cliffs

-on the Aspen hills; I felt his presence in the studio; I heard him

-creeping at my heels across the gorse thickets of St. Gildas. And now

-he has come to cut short the magic second, to turn back time--back,

-back, into the old worn channels, rock-ribbed and salt with tears.

-

-As a leaf of written paper torn in two, so shall my life be torn in

-two; and the long tear shall mangle the chapter written in rose and

-gold.

-

-Then, too, my shadow, already turned from white to gray, shall fall

-with a deeper stain wherever I pass; and I shall see the yellow gorse

-glimmer and turn to golden-rod, and the poplars turn to oaks; and the

-twin towers of Notre Dame, filmy, lace-carved, and gray with centuries,

-shall dwindle as I look--dwindle and sway and turn to pines, singing

-pines that murmur to the winds, blowing across the Aspen hills.

-

-       *       *       *       *       *

-

-All that is fair shall pass away; all that I love, all that I fear

-for--these shall the doctor take away, lifting them from my memory on

-the point of a steel blade. What has he to give in return? A hell of

-vapour, distorting sight; a hell of sound, drowning the soul.

-

-       *       *       *       *       *

-

-Gigantic apparitions arise across the world of water, wavering like

-shadows on the clouds. Steel-clad, clothed in skins, casqued in steel,

-their winged heads bend and nod and move against the clouds. And even

-they are changing as clouds change shape. I see steel limbs turn red

-and naked. I see winged casques trail to the earth, feathered, painted

-in colours of earth.

-

-Ihó! Inâh! Etó! E-hó!

-

-The bridge of stars spans the vast lake of air; the sun and the moon

-travel over it.

-

-       *       *       *       *       *

-

-My shadow is turning dark; I can scarcely see the doctor, but now--God

-have mercy!--_I can touch him._

-

-       *       *       *       *       *

-

-All the high spectres are stooping from the clouds, bending above me to

-watch. I know them and their eyes of shadow--I know them now; Hârpen

-that was to Chaské what Hárpstinâ shall be to Hapéda; and Hârka shall

-come after all with the voice of winter winds:

-

-"Aké u, aké u, aké u!"

-

-But the magic second shall never return.

-

-"Mâ cânté maséca!"

-

-       *       *       *       *       *

-

-Now they leave my bed, the people who crowded there under the shadowy

-forms of the spectres; now the doctor bends over; I see and feel him.

-His hands are tangled in the threads of time; he is cutting a thread;

-he----

-

-

-XIX.

-

-When I spoke to him first I spoke in the French language. Before he

-answered, the scream of a blue jay in the elms outside set my nerves

-aquiver, and I called for Donald and Walter.

-

-As I lay there I could see the Aspen hills from the window, heaps

-of crumpled gold bathed in sunshine. Over them sailed the froth from

-the silken milkweed; over them drifted the big brown-red butterflies,

-luminous as richest autumn leaves.

-

-Some one closed the door softly. The doctor had gone.

-

-The sunlight poured into the window, etching my shadow on the wall

-behind. Lying very still there I saw it motionless beside me. _The

-shadow was black._

-

-Somebody said in the next room, "Will he die?"

-

-"Die?" I said aloud.

-

-A bird twittered outside my window.

-

-The door opened again, noiselessly.

-

-"Sweetheart?" I whispered.

-

-"Yes, Jack."

-

-After a moment I said, "When do you go back to school?"

-

-"I? I finished school a year ago."

-

-"Come nearer."

-

-"I am here, Jack."

-

-"Time stopped a year ago."

-

-"A year ago to-day."

-

-The same gray eyes, the same face, paler, perhaps.

-

-"We have journeyed far," I sighed, "always together, but in those days

-our shadows were white as snow. Am I going to die? There are tears in

-your eyes."

-

-They fell on my cheek; her arms fell too, closer, closer, around my

-neck.

-

-"Life has begun," she said.

-

-"Life? What was the year that ends to-day? The magic second of life?"

-

-"A year of death, to me!"

-

-Ah, but her soul knows of a life in death! And she shall know it,

-too, when her shadow turns whiter than snow. For the Temple of Idols

-has closed its doors at the sound of a voice, and an idol of gilt has

-turned to flesh and blood.

-

-I-hó!

-

-So shall she know of the life in death when her soul and her body are

-one.

-

-

-

-

-PASSEUR.

-

-

-  O friends, I've served ye food and bed;

-    O friends, the mist is rising wet;

-  Then bide a moment, O my dead,

-    Where, lonely, I must linger yet!

-

-

-

-

-PASSEUR.

-

-  Because man goeth to his long home,

-  And the mourners go about the streets.

-

-

-When he had finished his pipe he tapped the brier bowl against the

-chimney until the ashes powdered the charred log smouldering across

-the andirons. Then he sank back in his chair, absently touching the hot

-pipe-bowl with the tip of each finger until it grew cool enough to be

-dropped into his coat pocket.

-

-Twice he raised his eyes to the little American clock ticking upon the

-mantel. He had half an hour to wait.

-

-The three candles that lighted the room might be trimmed to advantage;

-this would give him something to do. A pair of scissors lay open

-upon the bureau, and he rose and picked them up. For a while he stood

-dreamily shutting and opening the scissors, his eyes roaming about the

-room. There was an easel in the corner, and a pile of dusty canvases

-behind it; behind the canvases there was a shadow--that gray, menacing

-shadow that never moved.

-

-When he had trimmed each candle he wiped the smoky scissors on a paint

-rag and flung them on the bureau again. The clock pointed to ten; he

-had been occupied exactly three minutes.

-

-The bureau was littered with neckties, pipes, combs and brushes,

-matches, reels and fly-books, collars, shirt studs, a new pair of

-Scotch shooting stockings, and a woman's workbasket.

-

-He picked out all the neckties, folded them once, and hung them over

-a bit of twine that stretched across the looking-glass; the shirt

-studs he shovelled into the top drawer along with brushes, combs, and

-stockings; the reels and fly-books he dusted with his handkerchief

-and placed methodically along the mantel shelf. Twice he stretched out

-his hand toward the woman's workbasket, but his hand fell to his side

-again, and he turned away into the room staring at the dying fire.

-

-Outside the snow-sealed window a shutter broke loose and banged

-monotonously, until he flung open the panes and fastened it. The soft,

-wet snow, that had choked the window-panes all day, was frozen hard

-now, and he had to break the polished crust before he could find the

-rusty shutter hinge.

-

-He leaned out for a moment, his numbed hands resting on the snow, the

-roar of a rising snow-squall in his ears; and out across the desolate

-garden and stark hedgerow he saw the flat black river spreading through

-the gloom.

-

-A candle sputtered and snapped behind him; a sheet of drawing-paper

-fluttered across the floor, and he closed the panes and turned back

-into the room, both hands in his worn pockets.

-

-The little American clock on the mantel ticked and ticked, but the

-hands lagged, for he had not been occupied five minutes in all. He went

-up to the mantel and watched the hands of the clock. A minute--longer

-than a year to him--crept by.

-

-Around the room the furniture stood ranged--a chair or two of yellow

-pine, a table, the easel, and in one corner the broad curtained bed;

-and behind each lay shadows, menacing shadows that never moved.

-

-A little pale flame started up from the smoking log on the andirons;

-the room sang with the sudden hiss of escaping wood gases. After a

-little the back of the log caught fire; jets of blue flared up here and

-there with mellow sounds like the lighting of gas-burners in a row, and

-in a moment a thin sheet of yellow flame wrapped the whole charred log.

-

-Then the shadows moved; not the shadows behind the furniture--they

-never moved--but other shadows, thin, gray, confusing, that came and

-spread their slim patterns all around him, and trembled and trembled.

-

-He dared not step or tread upon them, they were too real; they meshed

-the floor around his feet, they ensnared his knees, they fell across

-his breast like ropes. Some night, in the silence of the moors, when

-wind and river were still, he feared these strands of shadow might

-tighten--creep higher around his throat and tighten. But even then he

-knew that those other shadows would never move, those gray shapes that

-knelt crouching in every corner.

-

-When he looked up at the clock again ten minutes had straggled past.

-Time was disturbed in the room; the strands of shadow seemed entangled

-among the hands of the clock, dragging them back from their rotation.

-He wondered if the shadows would strangle Time, some still night when

-the wind and the flat river were silent.

-

-There grew a sudden chill across the floor; the cracks of the boards

-let it in. He leaned down and drew his sabots toward him from their

-place near the andirons, and slipped them over his chaussons; and as he

-straightened up, his eyes mechanically sought the mantel above, where

-in the dusk another pair of sabots stood, little, slender, delicate

-sabots, carved from red beech. A year's dust grayed their surface; a

-year's rust dulled the silver band across the instep. He said this to

-himself aloud, knowing that it was within a few minutes of the year.

-

-His own sabots came from Mort-Dieu; they were shaved square and banded

-with steel. But in days past he had thought that no sabot in Mort-Dieu

-was delicate enough to touch the instep of the Mort-Dieu passeur. So he

-sent to the shore lighthouse, and they sent to Lorient, where the women

-are coquettish and show their hair under the coiffe, and wear dainty

-sabots; and in this town, where vanity corrupts and there is much lace

-on coiffe and collarette, a pair of delicate sabots was found, banded

-with silver and chiselled in red beech. The sabots stood on the mantel

-above the fire now, dusty and tarnished.

-

-There was a sound from the window, the soft murmur of snow blotting

-glass panes. The wind, too, muttered under the roof eaves. Presently it

-would begin to whisper to him from the chimney--he knew it--and he held

-his hands over his ears and stared at the clock.

-

-In the hamlet of Mort-Dieu the pines sing all day of the sea secrets,

-but in the night the ghosts of little gray birds fill the branches,

-singing of the sunshine of past years. He heard the song as he sat,

-and he crushed his hands over his ears; but the gray birds joined with

-the wind in the chimney, and he heard all that he dared not hear, and

-he thought all that he dared not hope or think, and the swift tears

-scalded his eyes.

-

-In Mort-Dieu the nights are longer than anywhere on earth; he knew

-it--why should he not know? This had been so for a year; it was

-different before. There were so many things different before; days and

-nights vanished like minutes then; the pines told no secrets of the

-sea, and the gray birds had not yet come to Mort-Dieu. Also, there was

-Jeanne, passeur at the Carmes.

-

-When he first saw her she was poling the square, flat-bottomed ferry

-skiff from the Carmes to Mort-Dieu, a red handkerchief bound across her

-silky black hair, a red skirt fluttering just below her knees. The next

-time he saw her he had to call to her across the placid river, "Ohé!

-Ohé, passeur!" She came, poling the flat skiff, her deep blue eyes

-fixed pensively on him, the scarlet skirt and kerchief idly flapping in

-the April wind. Then day followed day when the far call "Passeur!" grew

-clearer and more joyous, and the faint answering cry, "I come!" rippled

-across the water like music tinged with laughter. Then spring came,

-and with spring came love--love, carried free across the ferry from the

-Carmes to Mort-Dieu.

-

-The flame above the charred log whistled, flickered, and went out in

-a jet of wood vapour, only to play like lightning above the gas and

-relight again. The clock ticked more loudly, and the song from the

-pines filled the room. But in his straining eyes a summer landscape was

-reflected, where white clouds sailed and white foam curled under the

-square bow of a little skiff. And he pressed his numbed hands tighter

-to his ears to drown the cry, "Passeur! Passeur!"

-

-And now for a moment the clock ceased ticking. It was time to go--who

-but he should know it, he who went out into the night swinging his

-lantern? And he went. He had gone each night from the first--from that

-first strange winter evening when a strange voice had answered him

-across the river, the voice of the new passeur. He had never heard

-_her_ voice again.

-

-So he passed down the windy wooden stairs, lantern hanging lighted in

-his hand, and stepped out into the storm. Through sheets of drifting

-snow, over heaps of frozen seaweed and icy drift he moved, shifting his

-lantern right and left, until its glimmer on the water warned him. Then

-he called out into the night, "Passeur!" The frozen spray spattered

-his face and crusted the lantern; he heard the distant boom of breakers

-beyond the bar, and the noise of mighty winds among the seaward cliffs.

-

-"Passeur!"

-

-Across the broad flat river, black as a sea of pitch, a tiny light

-sparkled a moment. Again he cried, "Passeur!"

-

-"I come!"

-

-He turned ghastly white, for it was her voice--or was he crazy?--and

-he sprang waist deep into the icy current and cried out again, but his

-voice ended in a sob.

-

-Slowly through the snow the flat skiff took shape, creeping nearer

-and nearer. But she was not at the pole--he saw that; there was only a

-tall, thin man, shrouded to the eyes in oilskin; and he leaped into the

-boat and bade the ferryman hasten.

-

-Halfway across he rose in the skiff, and called, "Jeanne!" But the roar

-of the storm and the thrashing of icy waves drowned his voice. Yet he

-heard her again, and she called to him by name.

-

-When at last the boat grated upon the invisible shore, he lifted his

-lantern, trembling, stumbling among the rocks, and calling to her, as

-though his voice could silence the voice that had spoken a year ago

-that night. And it could not. He sank shivering upon his knees, and

-looked out into the darkness, where an ocean rolled across a world.

-Then his stiff lips moved, and he repeated her name; but the hand of

-the ferryman fell gently upon his head.

-

-And when he raised his eyes he saw that the ferryman was Death.

-

-

-

-

-THE KEY TO GRIEF.

-

-  The moving finger writes, and, having writ,

-    Moves on; nor all your piety nor wit

-  Shall lure it back to cancel half a line,

-    Nor all your tears wash out a word of it.

-

-                                        FITZGERALD.

-

-

-

-

-THE KEY TO GRIEF.

-

-  The wild hawk to the wind-swept sky

-    The deer to the wholesome wold,

-  And the heart of a man to the heart of a maid,

-    As it was in the days of old.

-

-                                        KIPLING.

-

-

-I.

-

-They were doing their work very badly. They got the rope around his

-neck, and tied his wrists with moose-bush withes, but again he fell,

-sprawling, turning, twisting over the leaves, tearing up everything

-around him like a trapped panther.

-

-He got the rope away from them; he clung to it with bleeding fists; he

-set his white teeth in it, until the jute strands relaxed, unravelled,

-and snapped, gnawed through by his white teeth.

-

-Twice Tully struck him with a gum hook. The dull blows fell on flesh

-rigid as stone.

-

-Panting, foul with forest mould and rotten leaves, hands and face

-smeared with blood, he sat up on the ground, glaring at the circle of

-men around him.

-

-"Shoot him!" gasped Tully, dashing the sweat from his bronzed brow; and

-Bates, breathing heavily, sat down on a log and dragged a revolver from

-his rear pocket. The man on the ground watched him; there was froth in

-the corners of his mouth.

-

-"Git back!" whispered Bates, but his voice and hand trembled. "Kent,"

-he stammered, "won't ye hang?"

-

-The man on the ground glared.

-

-"Ye've got to die, Kent," he urged; "they all say so. Ask Lefty

-Sawyer; ask Dyce; ask Carrots.--He's got to swing fur it--ain't he,

-Tully?--Kent, fur God's sake, swing fur these here gents!"

-

-The man on the ground panted; his bright eyes never moved.

-

-After a moment Tully sprang on him again. There was a flurry of leaves,

-a crackle, a gasp and a grunt, then the thumping and thrashing of two

-bodies writhing in the brush. Dyce and Carrots jumped on the prostrate

-men. Lefty Sawyer caught the rope again, but the jute strands gave

-way and he stumbled. Tully began to scream, "He's chokin' me!" Dyce

-staggered out into the open, moaning over a broken wrist.

-

-"Shoot!" shouted Lefty Sawyer, and dragged Tully aside. "Shoot, Jim

-Bates! Shoot straight, b' God!"

-

-"Git back!" gasped Bates, rising from the fallen log.

-

-The crowd parted right and left; a quick report rang

-out--another--another. Then from the whirl of smoke a tall form

-staggered, dealing blows--blows that sounded sharp as the crack of a

-whip.

-

-"He's off! Shoot straight!" they cried.

-

-There was a gallop of heavy boots in the woods. Bates, faint and dazed,

-turned his head.

-

-"Shoot!" shrieked Tully.

-

-But Bates was sick; his smoking revolver fell to the ground; his white

-face and pale eyes contracted. It lasted only a moment; he started

-after the others, plunging, wallowing through thickets of osier and

-hemlock underbrush.

-

-Far ahead he heard Kent crashing on like a young moose in November,

-and he knew he was making for the shore. The others knew too. Already

-the gray gleam of the sea cut a straight line along the forest edge;

-already the soft clash of the surf on the rocks broke faintly through

-the forest silence.

-

-"He's got a canoe there!" bawled Tully. "He'll be into it!"

-

-And he was into it, kneeling in the bow, driving his paddle to the

-handle. The rising sun gleamed like red lightning on the flashing

-blade; the canoe shot to the crest of a wave, hung, bows dripping in

-the wind, dropped into the depths, glided, tipped, rolled, shot up

-again, staggered, and plunged on.

-

-Tully ran straight out into the cove surf; the water broke against his

-chest, bare and wet with sweat. Bates sat down on a worn black rock and

-watched the canoe listlessly.

-

-The canoe dwindled to a speck of gray and silver; and when Carrots, who

-had run back to the gum camp for a rifle, returned, the speck on the

-water might have been easier to hit than a loon's head at twilight. So

-Carrots, being thrifty by nature, fired once, and was satisfied to save

-the other cartridges. The canoe was still visible, making for the open

-sea. Somewhere beyond the horizon lay the keys, a string of rocks bare

-as skulls, black and slimy where the sea cut their base, white on the

-crests with the excrement of sea birds.

-

-"He's makin' fur the Key to Grief!" whispered Bates to Dyce.

-

-Dyce, moaning, and nursing his broken wrist, turned a sick face out to

-sea.

-

-The last rock seaward was the Key to Grief, a splintered pinnacle

-polished by the sea. From the Key to Grief, seaward a day's paddle, if

-a man dared, lay the long wooded island in the ocean known as Grief on

-the charts of the bleak coast.

-

-In the history of the coast, two men had made the voyage to the Key to

-Grief, and from there to the island. One of these was a rum-crazed pelt

-hunter, who lived to come back; the other was a college youth; they

-found his battered canoe at sea, and a day later his battered body was

-flung up in the cove.

-

-So, when Bates whispered to Dyce, and when Dyce called to the others,

-they knew that the end was not far off for Kent and his canoe; and they

-turned away into the forest, sullen, but satisfied that Kent would get

-his dues when the devil got his.

-

-Lefty spoke vaguely of the wages of sin. Carrots, with an eye to

-thrift, suggested a plan for an equitable division of Kent's property.

-

-When they reached the gum camp they piled Kent's personal effects on a

-blanket.

-

-Carrots took the inventory: a revolver, two gum hooks, a fur cap, a

-nickel-plated watch, a pipe, a pack of new cards, a gum sack, forty

-pounds of spruce gum, and a frying pan.

-

-Carrots shuffled the cards, picked out the joker, and flipped it

-pensively into the fire. Then he dealt cold decks all around.

-

-When the goods and chattels of their late companion had been divided by

-chance--for there was no chance to cheat--somebody remembered Tully.

-

-"He's down there on the coast, starin' after the canoe," said Bates

-huskily.

-

-He rose and walked toward a heap on the ground covered by a blanket. He

-started to lift the blanket, hesitated, and finally turned away. Under

-the blanket lay Tully's brother, shot the night before by Kent.

-

-"Guess we'd better wait till Tully comes," said Carrots uneasily. Bates

-and Kent had been campmates. An hour later Tully walked into camp.

-

-He spoke to no one that day. In the morning Bates found him down on

-the coast digging, and said: "Hello, Tully! Guess we ain't much hell on

-lynchin'!"

-

-"Naw," said Tully. "Git a spade."

-

-"Goin' to plant him there?"

-

-"Yep."

-

-"Where he kin hear them waves?"

-

-"Yep."

-

-"Purty spot."

-

-"Yep."

-

-"Which way will he face?"

-

-"Where he kin watch fur that damned canoe!" cried Tully fiercely.

-

-"He--he can't see," ventured Bates uneasily. "He's dead, ain't he?"

-

-"He'll heave up that there sand when the canoe comes back! An' it's

-a-comin'! An' Bud Kent'll be in it, dead or alive! Git a spade!"

-

-The pale light of superstition flickered in Bates's eyes. He hesitated.

-

-"The--the dead can't see," he began; "kin they?"

-

-Tully turned a distorted face toward him.

-

-"Yer lie!" he roared. "My brother kin see, dead or livin'! An' he'll

-see the hangin' of Bud Kent! An' he'll git up outer the grave fur to

-see it, Bill Bates! I'm tellin' ye! I'm tellin' ye! Deep as I'll plant

-him, he'll heave that there sand and call to me, when the canoe comes

-in! I'll hear him; I'll be here! An' we'll live to see the hangin' of

-Bud Kent!"

-

-About sundown they planted Tully's brother, face to the sea.

-

-

-II.

-

-On the Key to Grief the green waves rub all day. White at the summit,

-black at the base, the shafted rocks rear splintered pinnacles,

-slanting like channel buoys. On the polished pillars sea birds

-brood--white-winged, bright-eyed sea birds, that nestle and preen and

-flap and clatter their orange-coloured beaks when the sifted spray

-drives and drifts across the reef.

-

-As the sun rose, painting crimson streaks criss-cross over the waters,

-the sea birds sidled together, huddling row on row, steeped in downy

-drowse.

-

-Where the sun of noon burnished the sea, an opal wave washed, listless,

-noiseless; a sea bird stretched one listless wing.

-

-And into the silence of the waters a canoe glided, bronzed by the

-sunlight, jewelled by the salt drops stringing from prow to thwart,

-seaweed a-trail in the diamond-flashing wake, and in the bow a man

-dripping with sweat.

-

-Up rose the gulls, sweeping in circles, turning, turning over rock and

-sea, and their clamour filled the sky, starting little rippling echoes

-among the rocks.

-

-The canoe grated on a shelf of ebony; the seaweed rocked and washed;

-the little sea crabs sheered sideways, down, down into limpid depths of

-greenest shadows. Such was the coming of Bud Kent to the Key to Grief.

-

-He drew the canoe halfway up the shelf of rock and sat down, breathing

-heavily, one brown arm across the bow. For an hour he sat there. The

-sweat dried under his eyes. The sea birds came back, filling the air

-with soft querulous notes.

-

-There was a livid mark around his neck, a red, raw circle. The salt

-wind stung it; the sun burned it into his flesh like a collar of

-red-hot steel. He touched it at times; once he washed it with cold salt

-water.

-

-Far in the north a curtain of mist hung on the sea, dense, motionless

-as the fog on the Grand Banks. He never moved his eyes from it; he knew

-what it was. Behind it lay the Island of Grief.

-

-All the year round the Island of Grief is hidden by the banks of mist,

-ramparts of dead white fog encircling it on every side. Ships give it

-wide berth. Some speak of warm springs on the island whose waters flow

-far out to sea, rising in steam eternally.

-

-The pelt hunter had come back with tales of forests and deer and

-flowers everywhere; but he had been drinking much, and much was

-forgiven him.

-

-The body of the college youth tossed up in the cove on the mainland

-was battered out of recognition, but some said, when found, one hand

-clutched a crimson blossom half wilted, but broad as a sap pan.

-

-So Kent lay motionless beside his canoe, burned with thirst, every

-nerve vibrating, thinking of all these things. It was not fear that

-whitened the firm flesh under the tan; it was the fear of fear. He

-must not think--he must throttle dread; his eyes must never falter, his

-head never turn from that wall of mist across the sea. With set teeth

-he crushed back terror; with glittering eyes he looked into the hollow

-eyes of fright. And so he conquered fear.

-

-He rose. The sea birds whirled up into the sky, pitching, tossing,

-screaming, till the sharp flapping of their pinions set the snapping

-echoes flying among the rocks.

-

-Under the canoe's sharp prow the kelp bobbed and dipped and parted; the

-sunlit waves ran out ahead, glittering, dancing. Splash! splash! bow

-and stern! And now he knelt again, and the polished paddle swung and

-dipped, and swept and swung and dipped again.

-

-Far behind, the clamour of the sea birds lingered in his ears, till

-the mellow dip of the paddle drowned all sound and the sea was a sea of

-silence.

-

-No wind came to cool the hot sweat on cheek and breast. The sun blazed

-a path of flame before him, and he followed out into the waste of

-waters. The still ocean divided under the bows and rippled innocently

-away on either side, tinkling, foaming, sparkling like the current in

-a woodland brook. He looked around at the world of flattened water, and

-the fear of fear rose up and gripped his throat again. Then he lowered

-his head, like a tortured bull, and shook the fear of fear from his

-throat, and drove the paddle into the sea as a butcher stabs, to the

-hilt.

-

-So at last he came to the wall of mist. It was thin at first, thin and

-cool, but it thickened and grew warmer, and the fear of fear dragged at

-his head, but he would not look behind.

-

-Into the fog the canoe shot; the gray water ran by, high as the

-gunwales, oily, silent. Shapes flickered across the bows, pillars of

-mist that rode the waters, robed in films of tattered shadows. Gigantic

-forms towered to dizzy heights above him, shaking out shredded shrouds

-of cloud. The vast draperies of the fog swayed and hung and trembled as

-he brushed them; the white twilight deepened to a sombre gloom. And now

-it grew thinner; the fog became a mist, and the mist a haze, and the

-haze floated away and vanished into the blue of the heavens.

-

-All around lay a sea of pearl and sapphire, lapping, lapping on a

-silver shoal.

-

-So he came to the Island of Grief.

-

-

-III.

-

-On the silver shoal the waves washed and washed, breaking like crushed

-opals where the sands sang with the humming froth.

-

-Troops of little shore birds, wading on the shoal, tossed their

-sun-tipped wings and scuttled inland, where, dappled with shadow from

-the fringing forest, the white beach of the island stretched.

-

-The water all around was shallow, limpid as crystal, and he saw the

-ribbed sand shining on the bottom, where purple seaweed floated, and

-delicate sea creatures darted and swarmed and scattered again at the

-dip of his paddle.

-

-Like velvet rubbed on velvet the canoe brushed across the sand. He

-staggered to his feet, stumbled out, dragged the canoe high up under

-the trees, turned it bottom upward, and sank beside it, face downward

-in the sand. Sleep came to drive away the fear of fear, but hunger,

-thirst, and fever fought with sleep, and he dreamed--dreamed of a

-rope that sawed his neck, of the fight in the woods, and the shots. He

-dreamed, too, of the camp, of his forty pounds of spruce gum, of Tully,

-and of Bates. He dreamed of the fire and the smoke-scorched kettle, of

-the foul odour of musty bedding, of the greasy cards, and of his own

-new pack, hoarded for weeks to please the others. All this he dreamed,

-lying there face downward in the sand; but he did not dream of the face

-of the dead.

-

-The shadows of the leaves moved on his blonde head, crisp with clipped

-curls. A butterfly flitted around him, alighting now on his legs,

-now on the back of his bronzed hands. All the afternoon the bees hung

-droning among the wildwood blossoms; the leaves above scarcely rustled;

-the shore birds brooded along the water's edge; the thin tide, sleeping

-on the sand, mirrored the sky.

-

-Twilight paled the zenith; a breeze moved in the deeper woods; a star

-glimmered, went out, glimmered again, faded, and glimmered.

-

-Night came. A moth darted to and fro under the trees; a beetle hummed

-around a heap of seaweed and fell scrambling in the sand. Somewhere

-among the trees a sound had become distinct, the song of a little

-brook, melodious, interminable. He heard it in his dream; it threaded

-all his dreams like a needle of silver, and like a needle it pricked

-him--pricked his dry throat and cracked lips. It could not awake him;

-the cool night swathed him head and foot.

-

-Toward dawn a bird woke up and piped. Other birds stirred, restless,

-half awakened; a gull spread a cramped wing on the shore, preened its

-feathers, scratched its tufted neck, and took two drowsy steps toward

-the sea.

-

-The sea breeze stirred out behind the mist bank; it raised the feathers

-on the sleeping gulls; it set the leaves whispering. A twig snapped,

-broke off, and fell. Kent stirred, sighed, trembled, and awoke.

-

-The first thing he heard was the song of the brook, and he stumbled

-straight into the woods. There it lay, a thin, deep stream in the gray

-morning light, and he stretched himself beside it and laid his cheek

-in it. A bird drank in the pool, too--a little fluffy bird, bright-eyed

-and fearless.

-

-His knees were firmer when at last he rose, heedless of the drops that

-beaded lips and chin. With his knife he dug and scraped at some white

-roots that hung half meshed in the bank of the brook, and when he had

-cleaned them in the pool he ate them.

-

-The sun stained the sky when he went down to the canoe, but the eternal

-curtain of fog, far out at sea, hid it as yet from sight.

-

-He lifted the canoe, bottom upwards, to his head, and, paddle and pole

-in either hand, carried it into the forest.

-

-After he had set it down he stood a moment, opening and shutting his

-knife. Then he looked up into the trees. There were birds there, if

-he could get at them. He looked at the brook. There were the prints of

-his fingers in the sand; there, too, was the print of something else--a

-deer's pointed hoof.

-

-He had nothing but his knife. He opened it again and looked at it.

-

-That day he dug for clams and ate them raw. He waded out into the

-shallows, too, and jabbed at fish with his setting pole, but hit

-nothing except a yellow crab.

-

-Fire was what he wanted. He hacked and chipped at flinty-looking

-pebbles, and scraped tinder from a stick of sun-dried driftwood. His

-knuckles bled, but no fire came.

-

-That night he heard deer in the woods, and could not sleep for

-thinking, until the dawn came up behind the wall of mist, and he rose

-with it to drink his fill at the brook and tear raw clams with his

-white teeth. Again he fought for fire, craving it as he had never

-craved water, but his knuckles bled, and the knife scraped on the flint

-in vain.

-

-His mind, perhaps, had suffered somewhat. The white beach seemed to

-rise and fall like a white carpet on a gusty hearth. The birds, too,

-that ran along the sand, seemed big and juicy, like partridges; and

-he chased them, hurling shells and bits of driftwood at them till he

-could scarcely keep his feet for the rising, plunging beach--or carpet,

-whichever it was. That night the deer aroused him at intervals. He

-heard them splashing and grunting and crackling along the brook. Once

-he arose and stole after them, knife in hand, till a false step into

-the brook awoke him to his folly, and he felt his way back to the

-canoe, trembling.

-

-Morning came, and again he drank at the brook, lying on the sand where

-countless heart-shaped hoofs had passed leaving clean imprints; and

-again he ripped the raw clams from their shells and swallowed them,

-whimpering.

-

-All day long the white beach rose and fell and heaved and flattened

-under his bright dry eyes. He chased the shore birds at times, till the

-unsteady beach tripped him up and he fell full length in the sand. Then

-he would rise moaning, and creep into the shadow of the wood, and watch

-the little song-birds in the branches, moaning, always moaning.

-

-His hands, sticky with blood, hacked steel and flint together, but so

-feebly that now even the cold sparks no longer came.

-

-He began to fear the advancing night; he dreaded to hear the big warm

-deer among the thickets. Fear clutched him suddenly, and he lowered his

-head and set his teeth and shook fear from his throat again.

-

-Then he started aimlessly into the woods, crowding past bushes,

-scraping trees, treading on moss and twig and mouldy stump, his bruised

-hands swinging, always swinging.

-

-The sun set in the mist as he came out of the woods on to another

-beach--a warm, soft beach, crimsoned by the glow in the evening clouds.

-

-And on the sand at his feet lay a young girl asleep, swathed in the

-silken garment of her own black hair, round limbed, brown, smooth as

-the bloom on the tawny beach.

-

-A gull flapped overhead, screaming. Her eyes, deeper than night,

-unclosed. Then her lips parted in a cry, soft with sleep, "Ihó!"

-

-She rose, rubbing her velvet eyes. "Ihó!" she cried in wonder; "Inâh!"

-

-The gilded sand settled around her little feet. Her cheeks crimsoned.

-

-"E-hó! E-hó!" she whispered, and hid her face in her hair.

-

-

-IV.

-

-The bridge of the stars spans the sky seas; the sun and the moon are

-the travellers who pass over it. This was also known in the lodges of

-the Isantee, hundreds of years ago. Chaské told it to Hârpam, and when

-Hârpam knew he told it to Hapéda; and so the knowledge spread to Hârka,

-and from Winona to Wehârka, up and down, across and ever across, woof

-and web, until it came to the Island of Grief. And how? God knows!

-

-Wehârka, prattling in the tules, may have told Ne-kâ; and Ne-kâ,

-high in the November clouds, may have told Kay-óshk, who told it to

-Shinge-bis, who told it to Skeé-skah, who told it to Sé-só-Kah.

-

-Ihó! Inâh! Behold the wonder of it! And this is the fate of all

-knowledge that comes to the Island of Grief.

-

-       *       *       *       *       *

-

-As the red glow died in the sky, and the sand swam in shadows, the girl

-parted the silken curtains of her hair and looked at him.

-

-"Ehó!" she whispered again in soft delight.

-

-For now it was plain to her that he was the sun! He had crossed the

-bridge of stars in the blue twilight; he had come!

-

-"E-tó!"

-

-She stepped nearer, shivering, faint with the ecstasy of this holy

-miracle wrought before her.

-

-He was the Sun! His blood streaked the sky at dawn; his blood stained

-the clouds at even. In his eyes the blue of the sky still lingered,

-smothering two blue stars; and his body was as white as the breast of

-the Moon.

-

-She opened both arms, hands timidly stretched, palm upward. Her face

-was raised to his, her eyes slowly closed; the deep-fringed lids

-trembled.

-

-Like a young priestess she stood, motionless save for the sudden quiver

-of a limb, a quick pulse-flutter in the rounded throat. And so she

-worshipped, naked and unashamed, even after he, reeling, fell heavily

-forward on his face; even when the evening breeze stealing over the

-sands stirred the hair on his head, as winds stir the fur of a dead

-animal in the dust.

-

-       *       *       *       *       *

-

-When the morning sun peered over the wall of mist, and she saw it was

-the sun, and she saw him, flung on the sand at her feet, then she knew

-that he was a man, only a man, pallid as death and smeared with blood.

-

-And yet--miracle of miracles!--the divine wonder in her eyes deepened,

-and her body seemed to swoon, and fall a-trembling, and swoon again.

-

-For, although it was but a man who lay at her feet, it had been easier

-for her to look upon a god.

-

-He dreamed that he breathed fire--fire, that he craved as he had never

-craved water. Mad with delirium, he knelt before the flames, rubbing

-his torn hands, washing them in the crimson-scented flames. He had

-water, too, cool scented water, that sprayed his burning flesh, that

-washed in his eyes, his hair, his throat. After that came hunger,

-a fierce rending agony, that scorched and clutched and tore at his

-entrails; but that, too, died away, and he dreamed that he had eaten

-and all his flesh was warm. Then he dreamed that he slept; and when he

-slept he dreamed no more.

-

-One day he awoke and found her stretched beside him, soft palms tightly

-closed, smiling, asleep.

-

-

-V.

-

-Now the days began to run more swiftly than the tide along the tawny

-beach; and the nights, star-dusted and blue, came and vanished and

-returned, only to exhale at dawn like perfume from a violet.

-

-They counted hours as they counted the golden bubbles, winking with

-a million eyes along the foam-flecked shore; and the hours ended, and

-began, and glimmered, iridescent, and ended as bubbles end in a tiny

-rainbow haze.

-

-There was still fire in the world; it flashed up at her touch and where

-she chose. A bow strung with the silk of her own hair, an arrow winged

-like a sea bird and tipped with shell, a line from the silver tendon of

-a deer, a hook of polished bone--these were the mysteries he learned,

-and learned them laughing, her silken head bent close to his.

-

-The first night that the bow was wrought and the glossy string attuned,

-she stole into the moonlit forest to the brook; and there they stood,

-whispering, listening, and whispering, though neither understood the

-voice they loved.

-

-In the deeper woods, Kaug, the porcupine, scraped and snuffed. They

-heard Wabóse, the rabbit, pit-a-pat, pit-a-pat, loping across dead

-leaves in the moonlight. Skeé-skah, the wood-duck, sailed past,

-noiseless, gorgeous as a floating blossom.

-

-Out on the ocean's placid silver, Shinge-bis, the diver, shook the

-scented silence with his idle laughter, till Kay-óshk, the gray gull,

-stirred in his slumber. There came a sudden ripple in the stream, a

-mellow splash, a soft sound on the sand.

-

-"Ihó! Behold!"

-

-"I see nothing."

-

-The beloved voice was only a wordless melody to her.

-

-"Ihó! Ta-hinca, the red deer! E-hó! The buck will follow!"

-

-"Ta-hinca," he repeated, notching the arrow.

-

-"E-tó! Ta-mdóka!"

-

-So he drew the arrow to the head, and the gray gull feathers brushed

-his ear, and the darkness hummed with the harmony of the singing

-string.

-

-Thus died Ta-mdóka, the buck deer of seven prongs.

-

-

-VI.

-

-As an apple tossed spinning into the air, so spun the world above the

-hand that tossed it into space.

-

-And one day in early spring, Sé-só-Kah, the robin, awoke at dawn, and

-saw a girl at the foot of the blossoming tree holding a babe cradled in

-the silken sheets of her hair.

-

-At its feeble cry, Kaug, the porcupine, raised his quilled head.

-Wabóse, the rabbit, sat still with palpitating sides. Kay-óshk, the

-gray gull, tiptoed along the beach.

-

-Kent knelt with one bronzed arm around them both.

-

-"Ihó! Inâh!" whispered the girl, and held the babe up in the rosy

-flames of dawn.

-

-But Kent trembled as he looked, and his eyes filled. On the pale green

-moss their shadows lay--three shadows. But the shadow of the babe was

-white as froth.

-

-Because it was the firstborn son, they named it Chaské; and the girl

-sang as she cradled it there in the silken vestments of her hair; all

-day long in the sunshine she sang:

-

-    Wâ-wa, wâ-wa, wâ-we--yeá;

-  Kah-wéen, nee-zhéka Ke-diaus-âi,

-  Ke-gâh nau-wâi, ne-mé-go S'weén,

-  Ne-bâun, ne-bâun, ne-dâun-is âis.

-  E-we wâ-wa, wâ-we--yeá;

-  E-we wâ-wa, wâ-we--yeá.

-

-Out in the calm ocean, Shinge-bis, the diver, listened, preening his

-satin breast in silence. In the forest, Ta-hinca, the red deer, turned

-her delicate head to the wind.

-

-That night Kent thought of the dead, for the first time since he had

-come to the Key of Grief.

-

-"Aké-u! aké-u!" chirped Sé-só-Kah, the robin. But the dead never come

-again.

-

-"Beloved, sit close to us," whispered the girl, watching his troubled

-eyes. "Ma-cânte maséca."

-

-But he looked at the babe and its white shadow on the moss, and he only

-sighed: "Ma-cânte maséca, beloved! Death sits watching us across the

-sea."

-

-Now for the first time he knew more than the fear of fear; he knew

-fear. And with fear came grief.

-

-He never before knew that grief lay hidden there in the forest. Now he

-knew it. Still, that happiness, eternally reborn when two small hands

-reached up around his neck, when feeble fingers clutched his hand--that

-happiness that Sé-só-Kah understood, chirping to his brooding

-mate--that Ta-mdóka knew, licking his dappled fawns--that happiness

-gave him heart to meet grief calmly, in dreams or in the forest depths,

-and it helped him to look into the hollow eyes of fear.

-

-He often thought of the camp now; of Bates, his blanket mate; of Dyce,

-whose wrist he had broken with a blow; of Tully, whose brother he had

-shot. He even seemed to hear the shot, the sudden report among the

-hemlocks; again he saw the haze of smoke, he caught a glimpse of a tall

-form falling through the bushes.

-

-He remembered every minute incident of the trial: Bates's hand laid

-on his shoulder; Tully, red-bearded and wild-eyed, demanding his

-death; while Dyce spat and spat and smoked and kicked at the blackened

-log-ends projecting from the fire. He remembered, too, the verdict, and

-Tully's terrible laugh; and the new jute rope that they stripped off

-the market-sealed gum packs.

-

-He thought of these things, sometimes wading out on the shoals,

-shell-tipped fish spear poised: at such times he would miss his fish.

-He thought of it sometimes when he knelt by the forest stream listening

-for Ta-hinca's splash among the cresses: at such moments the feathered

-shaft whistled far from the mark, and Ta-mdóka stamped and snorted

-till even the white fisher, stretched on a rotting log, flattened his

-whiskers and stole away into the forest's blackest depths.

-

-When the child was a year old, hour for hour notched at sunset and

-sunrise, it prattled with the birds, and called to Ne-Kâ, the wild

-goose, who called again to the child from the sky: "Northward!

-northward, beloved!"

-

-When winter came--there is no frost on the Island of Grief--Ne-Kâ, the

-wild goose, passing high in the clouds, called: "Southward! southward,

-beloved!" And the child answered in a soft whisper of an unknown

-tongue, till the mother shivered, and covered it with her silken hair.

-

-"O beloved!" said the girl, "Chaské calls to all things living--to

-Kaug, the porcupine, to Wabóse, to Kay-óshk, the gray gull--he calls,

-and they understand."

-

-Kent bent and looked into her eyes.

-

-"Hush, beloved; it is not _that_ I fear."

-

-"Then what, beloved?"

-

-"His shadow. It is white as surf foam. And at night--I--I have seen----"

-

-"Oh, what?"

-

-"The air about him aglow like a pale rose."

-

-"Ma cânté maséca. The earth alone lasts. I speak as one dying--I know,

-O beloved!"

-

-Her voice died away like a summer wind.

-

-"Beloved!" he cried.

-

-But there before him she was changing; the air grew misty, and her hair

-wavered like shreds of fog, and her slender form swayed, and faded, and

-swerved, like the mist above a pond.

-

-In her arms the babe was a figure of mist, rosy, vague as a breath on

-a mirror.

-

-"The earth alone lasts. Inâh! It is the end, O beloved!"

-

-The words came from the mist--a mist as formless as the ether--a mist

-that drove in and crowded him, that came from the sea, from the clouds,

-from the earth at his feet. Faint with terror, he staggered forward

-calling, "Beloved! And thou, Chaské, O beloved! Aké u! Aké u!"

-

-Far out at sea a rosy star glimmered an instant in the mist and went

-out.

-

-A sea bird screamed, soaring over the waste of fog-smothered waters.

-Again he saw the rosy star; it came nearer; its reflection glimmered in

-the water.

-

-"Chaské!" he cried.

-

-He heard a voice, dull in the choking mist.

-

-"O beloved, I am here!" he called again.

-

-There was a sound on the shoal, a flicker in the fog, the flare of a

-torch, a face white, livid, terrible--the face of the dead.

-

-He fell upon his knees; he closed his eyes and opened them. Tully stood

-beside him with a coil of rope.

-

-       *       *       *       *       *

-

-Ihó! Behold the end! The earth alone lasts. The sand, the opal wave on

-the golden beach, the sea of sapphire, the dusted starlight, the wind,

-and love, shall die. Death also shall die, and lie on the shores of

-the skies like the bleached skull there on the Key to Grief, polished,

-empty, with its teeth embedded in the sand.

-

-

-

-

-A MATTER OF INTEREST.

-

-

-

-

-A MATTER OF INTEREST.

-

-  He that knows not, and knows not that he knows not, is a fool. Shun

-      him.

-  He that knows not, and knows that he knows not, is simple. Teach him.

-  He that knows, and knows not that he knows, is asleep. Wake him.

-  He that knows, and knows that he knows, is wise. Follow him.

-

-                                       _Arabian Proverb._

-

-

-I.

-

-Much as I dislike it, I am obliged to include this story in a volume

-devoted to fiction: I have attempted to tell it as an absolutely true

-story, but until three months ago, when the indisputable proofs were

-placed before the British Association by Professor James Holroyd,

-I was regarded as an impostor. Now that the Smithsonian Institute

-in Washington, the Philadelphia Zoölogical Society, and the Natural

-History Museum of New York city, are convinced that the story is

-truthful and accurate in every particular, I prefer to tell it my own

-way. Professor Holroyd urges me to do this, although Professor Bruce

-Stoddard, of Columbia College, is now at work upon a pamphlet, to be

-published the latter part of next month, describing scientifically the

-extraordinary discovery which, to the shame of the United States, was

-first accepted and recognised in England.

-

-Now, having no technical ability concerning the affair in question,

-and having no knowledge of either comparative anatomy or zoölogy, I

-am perhaps unfitted to tell this story. But the story is true; the

-episode occurred under my own eyes--here, within a few hours' sail of

-the Battery. And as I was one of the first persons to verify what has

-long been a theory among scientists, and, moreover, as the result of

-Professor Holroyd's discovery is to be placed on exhibition in Madison

-Square Garden on the twentieth of next month, I have decided to tell,

-as simply as I am able, exactly what occurred.

-

-I first wrote out the story on April 1, 1896. The North American

-Review, the Popular Science Monthly, the Scientific American, Nature,

-Forest and Stream, and the Fossiliferous Magazine in turn rejected it;

-some curtly informing me that fiction had no place in their columns.

-When I attempted to explain that it was not fiction, the editors of

-these periodicals either maintained a contemptuous silence, or bluntly

-notified me that my literary services and opinions were not desired.

-But finally, when several publishers offered to take the story as

-fiction, I cut short all negotiations and decided to publish it myself.

-Where I am known at all, it is my misfortune to be known as a writer

-of fiction. This makes it impossible for me to receive a hearing from a

-scientific audience. I regret it bitterly, because now, when it is too

-late, I am prepared to prove certain scientific matters of interest,

-and to produce the proofs. In this case, however, I am fortunate, for

-nobody can dispute the existence of a thing when the bodily proof is

-exhibited as evidence.

-

-This is the story; and if I write it as I write fiction, it is because

-I do not know how to write it otherwise.

-

-I was walking along the beach below Pine Inlet, on the south shore

-of Long Island. The railroad and telegraph station is at West Oyster

-Bay. Everybody who has travelled on the Long Island Railroad knows the

-station, but few, perhaps, know Pine Inlet. Duck shooters, of course,

-are familiar with it; but as there are no hotels there, and nothing

-to see except salt meadow, salt creek, and a strip of dune and sand,

-the summer-squatting public may probably be unaware of its existence.

-The local name for the place is Pine Inlet; the maps give its name as

-Sand Point, I believe, but anybody at West Oyster Bay can direct you

-to it. Captain McPeek, who keeps the West Oyster Bay House, drives duck

-shooters there in winter. It lies five miles southeast from West Oyster

-Bay.

-

-I had walked over that afternoon from Captain McPeek's. There was a

-reason for my going to Pine Inlet--it embarrasses me to explain it,

-but the truth is I meditated writing an ode to the ocean. It was out

-of the question to write it in West Oyster Bay, with the whistle of

-locomotives in my ears. I knew that Pine Inlet was one of the loneliest

-places on the Atlantic coast; it is out of sight of everything except

-leagues of gray ocean. Rarely one might make out fishing smacks

-drifting across the horizon. Summer squatters never visited it;

-sportsmen shunned it, except in winter. Therefore, as I was about to do

-a bit of poetry, I thought that Pine Inlet was the spot for the deed.

-So I went there.

-

-As I was strolling along the beach, biting my pencil reflectively,

-tremendously impressed by the solitude and the solemn thunder of

-the surf, a thought occurred to me: how unpleasant it would be if I

-suddenly stumbled on a summer boarder. As this joyless impossibility

-flitted across my mind, I rounded a bleak sand dune.

-

-A summer girl stood directly in my path.

-

-If I jumped, I think the young lady has pardoned me by this time. She

-ought to, because she also started, and said something in a very faint

-voice. What she said was "Oh!"

-

-She stared at me as though I had just crawled up out of the sea to bite

-her. I don't know what my own expression resembled, but I have been

-given to understand it was idiotic.

-

-Now I perceived, after a few moments, that the young lady was

-frightened, and I knew I ought to say something civil. So I said, "Are

-there any mosquitoes here?"

-

-"No," she replied, with a slight quiver in her voice; "I have only seen

-one, and it was biting somebody else."

-

-I looked foolish; the conversation seemed so futile, and the young

-lady appeared to be more nervous than before. I had an impulse to say,

-"Do not run; I have breakfasted," for she seemed to be meditating a

-plunge into the breakers. What I did say was: "I did not know anybody

-was here. I do not intend to intrude. I come from Captain McPeek's,

-and I am writing an ode to the ocean." After I had said this it seemed

-to ring in my ears like, "I come from Table Mountain, and my name is

-Truthful James."

-

-I glanced timidly at her.

-

-"She's thinking of the same thing," said I to myself. "What an ass I

-must appear!"

-

-However, the young lady seemed to be a trifle reassured. I noticed she

-drew a sigh of relief and looked at my shoes. She looked so long that

-it made me suspicious, and I also examined my shoes. They seemed to be

-fairly respectable.

-

-"I--I am sorry," she said, "but would you mind not walking on the

-beach?"

-

-This was sudden. I had intended to retire and leave the beach to her,

-but I did not fancy being driven away so abruptly.

-

-"I was about to withdraw, madam," said I, bowing stiffly; "I beg you

-will pardon any inconvenience----"

-

-"Dear me!" she cried, "you don't understand. I do not--I would

-not think for a moment of asking you to leave Pine Inlet. I merely

-ventured to request you to walk on the dunes. I am so afraid that your

-footprints may obliterate the impressions that my father is studying."

-

-"Oh!" said I, looking about me as though I had been caught in the

-middle of a flower-bed; "really I did not notice any impressions.

-Impressions of what--if I may be permitted?"

-

-"I don't know," she said, smiling a little at my awkward pose. "If you

-step this way in a straight line you can do no damage."

-

-I did as she bade me. I suppose my movements resembled the gait of

-a wet peacock. Possibly they recalled the delicate manœuvres of the

-kangaroo. Anyway, she laughed.

-

-This seriously annoyed me. I had been at a disadvantage; I walk well

-enough when let alone.

-

-"You can scarcely expect," said I, "that a man absorbed in his own

-ideas could notice impressions on the sand. I trust I have obliterated

-nothing."

-

-As I said this I looked back at the long line of footprints stretching

-away in prospective across the sand. They were my own. How large they

-looked! Was that what she was laughing at?

-

-"I wish to explain," she said gravely, looking at the point of her

-parasol. "I am very sorry to be obliged to warn you--to ask you to

-forego the pleasure of strolling on a beach that does not belong to me.

-Perhaps," she continued, in sudden alarm, "perhaps this beach belongs

-to you?"

-

-"The beach? Oh, no," I said.

-

-"But--but you were going to write poems about it?"

-

-"Only one--and that does not necessitate owning the beach. I have

-observed," said I frankly, "that the people who own nothing write many

-poems about it."

-

-She looked at me seriously.

-

-"I write many poems," I added.

-

-She laughed doubtfully.

-

-"Would you rather I went away?" I asked politely.

-

-"I? Why, no--I mean that you may do as you please--except please do not

-walk on the _beach_."

-

-"Then I do not alarm you by my presence?" I inquired. My clothes

-were a bit ancient. I wore them shooting, sometimes. "My family is

-respectable," I added; and I told her my name.

-

-"Oh! Then you wrote 'Culled Cowslips' and 'Faded Fig-Leaves,' and

-you imitate Maeterlinck, and you---- Oh, I know lots of people that

-you know;" she cried with every symptom of relief; "and you know my

-brother."

-

-"I am the author," said I coldly, "of 'Culled Cowslips,' but 'Faded

-Fig-Leaves' was an earlier work, which I no longer recognise, and I

-should be grateful to you if you would be kind enough to deny that I

-ever imitated Maeterlinck. Possibly," I added, "he imitates me."

-

-"Now, do you know," she said, "I was afraid of you at first? Papa is

-digging in the salt meadows nearly a mile away."

-

-It was hard to bear.

-

-"Can you not see," said I, "that I am wearing a shooting coat?"

-

-"I do see--now; but it is so--so old," she pleaded.

-

-"It is a shooting coat all the same," I said bitterly.

-

-She was very quiet, and I saw she was sorry.

-

-"Never mind," I said magnanimously, "you probably are not familiar with

-sporting goods. If I knew your name I should ask permission to present

-myself."

-

-"Why, I am Daisy Holroyd," she said.

-

-"What! Jack Holroyd's little sister?"

-

-"Little!" she cried.

-

-"I didn't mean that," said I. "You know that your brother and I were

-great friends in Paris----"

-

-"I know," she said significantly.

-

-"Ahem! Of course," I said, "Jack and I were inseparable----"

-

-"Except when shut in separate cells," said Miss Holroyd coldly.

-

-This unfeeling allusion to the unfortunate termination of a

-Latin-Quarter celebration hurt me.

-

-"The police," said I, "were too officious."

-

-"So Jack says," replied Miss Holroyd demurely.

-

-We had unconsciously moved on along the sand hills, side by side, as we

-spoke.

-

-"To think," I repeated, "that I should meet Jack's little----"

-

-"Please," she said, "you are only three years my senior."

-

-She opened the sunshade and tipped it over one shoulder. It was white,

-and had spots and posies on it.

-

-"Jack sends us every new book you write," she observed. "I do not

-approve of some things you write."

-

-"Modern school," I mumbled.

-

-"That is no excuse," she said severely; "Anthony Trollope didn't do it."

-

-The foam spume from the breakers was drifting across the dunes, and the

-little tip-up snipe ran along the beach and teetered and whistled and

-spread their white-barred wings for a low, straight flight across the

-shingle, only to tip and skeep and sail on again. The salt sea wind

-whistled and curled through the crested waves, blowing in perfumed

-puffs across thickets of sweet bay and cedar. As we passed through the

-crackling juicy-stemmed marsh weed myriads of fiddler crabs raised

-their fore-claws in warning and backed away, rustling, through the

-reeds, aggressive, protesting.

-

-"Like millions of pigmy Ajaxes defying the lightning," I said.

-

-Miss Holroyd laughed.

-

-"Now I never imagined that authors were clever except in print," she

-said.

-

-She was a most extraordinary girl.

-

-"I suppose," she observed after a moment's silence--"I suppose I am

-taking you to my father."

-

-"Delighted!" I mumbled. "H'm! I had the honour of meeting Professor

-Holroyd in Paris."

-

-"Yes; he bailed you and Jack out," said Miss Holroyd serenely.

-

-The silence was too painful to last.

-

-"Captain McPeek is an interesting man," I said. I spoke more loudly

-than I intended; I may have been nervous.

-

-"Yes," said Daisy Holroyd, "but he has a most singular hotel clerk."

-

-"You mean Mr. Frisby?"

-

-"I do."

-

-"Yes," I admitted, "Mr. Frisby is queer. He was once a bill-poster."

-

-"I know it!" exclaimed Daisy Holroyd, with some heat. "He ruins

-landscapes whenever he has an opportunity. Do you know that he has a

-passion for bill-posting? He has; he posts bills for the pure pleasure

-of it, just as you play golf, or tennis, or billiards."

-

-"But he's a hotel clerk now," I said; "nobody employs him to post

-bills."

-

-"I know it! He does it all by himself for the pure pleasure of it. Papa

-has engaged him to come down here for two weeks, and I dread it," said

-the girl.

-

-What Professor Holroyd might want of Frisby I had not the faintest

-notion. I suppose Miss Holroyd noticed the bewilderment in my face, for

-she laughed, and nodded her head twice.

-

-"Not only Mr. Frisby, but Captain McPeek also," she said.

-

-"You don't mean to say that Captain McPeek is going to close his

-hotel!" I exclaimed.

-

-My trunk was there. It contained guarantees of my respectability.

-

-"Oh, no; his wife will keep it open," replied the girl. "Look! you can

-see papa now. He's digging."

-

-"Where?" I blurted out.

-

-I remembered Professor Holroyd as a prim, spectacled gentleman, with

-close-cut, snowy beard and a clerical allure. The man I saw digging

-wore green goggles, a jersey, a battered sou'wester, and hip-boots

-of rubber. He was delving in the muck of the salt meadow, his face

-streaming with perspiration, his boots and jersey splashed with

-unpleasant-looking mud. He glanced up as we approached, shading his

-eyes with a sunburnt hand.

-

-"Papa, dear," said Miss Holroyd, "here is Jack's friend, whom you

-bailed out of Mazas."

-

-The introduction was startling. I turned crimson with mortification.

-The professor was very decent about it; he called me by name at once.

-

-When he said this he looked at his spade. It was clear that he

-considered me a nuisance and wished to go on with his digging.

-

-"I suppose," he said, "you are still writing?"

-

-"A little," I replied, trying not to speak sarcastically. My output had

-rivaled that of "The Duchess"--in quantity, I mean.

-

-"I seldom read--fiction," he said, looking restlessly at the hole in

-the ground.

-

-Miss Holroyd came to my rescue.

-

-"That was a charming story you wrote last," she said. "Papa should read

-it--you should, papa; it's all about a fossil."

-

-We both looked narrowly at Miss Holroyd. Her smile was guileless.

-

-"Fossils!" repeated the professor. "Do you care for fossils?"

-

-"Very much," said I.

-

-Now I am not perfectly sure what my object was in lying. I looked at

-Daisy Holroyd's dark-fringed eyes. They were very grave.

-

-"Fossils," said I, "are my hobby."

-

-I think Miss Holroyd winced a little at this. I did not care. I went on:

-

-"I have seldom had the opportunity to study the subject, but, as a boy,

-I collected flint arrow-heads----"

-

-"Flint arrow-heads!" said the professor coldly.

-

-"Yes; they were the nearest things to fossils obtainable," I replied,

-marvelling at my own mendacity.

-

-The professor looked into the hole. I also looked. I could see nothing

-in it. "He's digging for fossils," thought I to myself.

-

-"Perhaps," said the professor cautiously, "you might wish to aid me

-in a little research--that is to say, if you have an inclination for

-fossils." The double-entendre was not lost upon me.

-

-"I have read all your books so eagerly," said I, "that to join you,

-to be of service to you in any research, however difficult and trying,

-would be an honour and a privilege that I never dared to hope for."

-

-"That," thought I to myself, "will do its own work."

-

-But the professor was still suspicious. How could he help it, when

-he remembered Jack's escapades, in which my name was always blended!

-Doubtless he was satisfied that my influence on Jack was evil. The

-contrary was the case, too.

-

-"Fossils," he said, worrying the edges of the excavation with his

-spade, "fossils are not things to be lightly considered."

-

-"No, indeed!" I protested.

-

-"Fossils are the most interesting as well as puzzling things in the

-world," said he.

-

-"They are!" I cried enthusiastically.

-

-"But I am not looking for fossils," observed the professor mildly.

-

-This was a facer. I looked at Daisy Holroyd. She bit her lip and fixed

-her eyes on the sea. Her eyes were wonderful eyes.

-

-"Did you think I was digging for fossils in a salt meadow?" queried

-the professor. "You can have read very little about the subject. I am

-digging for something quite different."

-

-I was silent. I knew that my face was a trifle flushed. I longed to

-say, "Well, what the devil are you digging for?" but I only stared into

-the hole as though hypnotized.

-

-"Captain McPeek and Frisby ought to be here," he said, looking first at

-Daisy and then across the meadows.

-

-I ached to ask him why he had subpœnaed Captain McPeek and Frisby.

-

-"They are coming," said Daisy, shading her eyes. "Do you see the speck

-on the meadows?"

-

-"It may be a mud hen," said the professor.

-

-"Miss Holroyd is right," I said. "A wagon and team and two men are

-coming from the north. There is a dog beside the wagon--it's that

-miserable yellow dog of Frisby's."

-

-"Good gracious!" cried the professor, "you don't mean to tell me that

-you see all that at such a distance?"

-

-"Why not?" I said.

-

-"I see nothing," he insisted.

-

-"You will see that I'm right, presently," I laughed.

-

-The professor removed his blue goggles and rubbed them, glancing

-obliquely at me.

-

-"Haven't you heard what extraordinary eyesight duck shooters have?"

-said his daughter, looking back at her father. "Jack says that they can

-tell exactly what kind of a duck is flying before most people could see

-anything at all in the sky."

-

-"It's true," I said; "it comes to anybody, I fancy, who has had

-practice."

-

-The professor regarded me with a new interest. There was inspiration in

-his eyes. He turned toward the ocean. For a long time he stared at the

-tossing waves on the beach, then he looked far out to where the horizon

-met the sea.

-

-"Are there any ducks out there?" he asked at last.

-

-"Yes," said I, scanning the sea, "there are."

-

-He produced a pair of binoculars from his coat-tail pocket, adjusted

-them, and raised them to his eyes.

-

-"H'm! What sort of ducks?"

-

-I looked more carefully, holding both hands over my forehead.

-

-"Surf ducks--scoters and widgeon. There is one bufflehead among

-them--no, two; the rest are coots," I replied.

-

-"This," cried the professor, "is most astonishing. I have good eyes,

-but I can't see a blessed thing without these binoculars!"

-

-"It's not extraordinary," said I; "the surf ducks and coots any novice

-might recognise; the widgeon and buffleheads I should not have been

-able to name unless they had risen from the water. It is easy to tell

-any duck when it is flying, even though it looks no bigger than a black

-pin-point."

-

-But the professor insisted that it was marvellous, and he said that I

-might render him invaluable service if I would consent to come and camp

-at Pine Inlet for a few weeks.

-

-I looked at his daughter, but she turned her back--not exactly in

-disdain either. Her back was beautifully moulded. Her gown fitted also.

-

-"Camp out here?" I repeated, pretending to be unpleasantly surprised.

-

-"I do not think he would care to," said Miss Holroyd without turning.

-

-I had not expected that.

-

-"Above all things," said I, in a clear, pleasant voice, "I like to camp

-out."

-

-She said nothing.

-

-"It is not exactly camping," said the professor. "Come, you shall see

-our conservatory. Daisy, come, dear! you must put on a heavier frock;

-it is getting toward sundown."

-

-At that moment, over a near dune, two horses' heads appeared, followed

-by two human heads, then a wagon, then a yellow dog.

-

-I turned triumphantly to the professor.

-

-"You are the very man I want," he muttered; "the very man--the very

-man."

-

-I looked at Daisy Holroyd. She returned my glance with a defiant little

-smile.

-

-"Waal," said Captain McPeek, driving up, "here we be! Git out, Frisby."

-

-Frisby, fat, nervous, and sentimental, hopped out of the cart.

-

-"Come!" said the professor, impatiently moving across the dunes. I

-walked with Daisy Holroyd. McPeek and Frisby followed. The yellow dog

-walked by himself.

-

-

-II.

-

-The sun was dipping into the sea as we trudged across the meadows

-toward a high dome-shaped dune covered with cedars and thickets of

-sweet bay. I saw no sign of habitation among the sand hills. Far as the

-eye could reach, nothing broke the gray line of sea and sky save the

-squat dunes crowned with stunted cedars.

-

-Then, as we rounded the base of the dune, we almost walked into the

-door of a house. My amazement amused Miss Holroyd, and I noticed also

-a touch of malice in her pretty eyes. But she said nothing, following

-her father into the house, with the slightest possible gesture to me.

-Was it invitation, or was it menace?

-

-The house was merely a light wooden frame, covered with some waterproof

-stuff that looked like a mixture of rubber and tar. Over this--in

-fact, over the whole roof--was pitched an awning of heavy sail-cloth.

-I noticed that the house was anchored to the sand by chains, already

-rusted red. But this one-storied house was not the only building

-nestling in the south shelter of the big dune. A hundred feet away

-stood another structure--long, low, also built of wood. It had rows on

-rows of round portholes on every side. The ports were fitted with heavy

-glass, hinged to swing open if necessary. A single big double door

-occupied the front.

-

-Behind this long, low building was still another, a mere shed. Smoke

-rose from the sheet-iron chimney. There was somebody moving about

-inside the open door.

-

-As I stood gaping at this mushroom hamlet the professor appeared at the

-door and asked me to enter. I stepped in at once.

-

-The house was much larger than I had imagined. A straight hallway ran

-through the centre from east to west. On either side of this hallway

-were rooms, the doors swinging wide open. I counted three doors on each

-side; the three on the south appeared to be bedrooms.

-

-The professor ushered me into a room on the north side, where I found

-Captain McPeek and Frisby sitting at a table, upon which were drawings

-and sketches of articulated animals and fishes.

-

-"You see, McPeek," said the professor, "we only wanted one more man,

-and I think I've got him.--Haven't I?" turning eagerly to me.

-

-"Why, yes," I said, laughing; "this is delightful. Am I invited to stay

-here?"

-

-"Your bedroom is the third on the south side; everything is ready.

-McPeek, you can bring his trunk to-morrow, can't you?" demanded the

-professor.

-

-The red-faced captain nodded, and shifted a quid.

-

-"Then it's all settled," said the professor, and he drew a sigh of

-satisfaction. "You see," he said, turning to me, "I was at my wit's end

-to know whom to trust. I never thought of you. Jack's out in China, and

-I didn't dare trust anybody in my own profession. All you care about is

-writing verses and stories, isn't it?"

-

-"I like to shoot," I replied mildly.

-

-"Just the thing!" he cried, beaming at us all in turn. "Now I can see

-no reason why we should not progress rapidly. McPeek, you and Frisby

-must get those boxes up here before dark. Dinner will be ready before

-you have finished unloading. Dick, you will wish to go to your room

-first."

-

-My name isn't Dick, but he spoke so kindly, and beamed upon me in such

-a fatherly manner, that I let it go. I had occasion to correct him

-afterward, several times, but he always forgot the next minute. He

-calls me Dick to this day.

-

-It was dark when Professor Holroyd, his daughter, and I sat down to

-dinner. The room was the same in which I had noticed the drawings of

-beast and bird, but the round table had been extended into an oval, and

-neatly spread with dainty linen and silver.

-

-A fresh-cheeked Swedish girl appeared from a further room, bearing the

-soup. The professor ladled it out, still beaming.

-

-"Now, this is very delightful!--isn't it, Daisy?" he said.

-

-"Very," said Miss Holroyd, with the faintest tinge of irony.

-

-"Very," I repeated heartily; but I looked at my soup when I said it.

-

-"I suppose," said the professor, nodding mysteriously at his daughter,

-"that Dick knows nothing of what we're about down here?"

-

-"I suppose," said Miss Holroyd, "that he thinks we are digging for

-fossils."

-

-I looked at my plate. She might have spared me that.

-

-"Well, well," said her father, smiling to himself, "he shall know

-everything by morning. You'll be astonished, Dick, my boy."

-

-"His name isn't Dick," corrected Daisy.

-

-The professor said, "Isn't it?" in an absent-minded way, and relapsed

-into contemplation of my necktie.

-

-I asked Miss Holroyd a few questions about Jack, and was informed that

-he had given up law and entered the diplomatic service--as what, I did

-not dare ask, for I know what our diplomatic service is.

-

-"In China," said Daisy.

-

-"Choo Choo is the name of the city," added her father proudly; "it's

-the terminus of the new trans-Siberian railway."

-

-"It's on the Yellow River," said Daisy.

-

-"He's vice-consul," added the professor triumphantly.

-

-"He'll make a good one," I observed. I knew Jack. I pitied his consul.

-

-So we chatted on about my old playmate, until Freda, the red-cheeked

-maid, brought coffee, and the professor lighted a cigar, with a little

-bow to his daughter.

-

-"Of course, you don't smoke," she said to me, with a glimmer of malice

-in her eyes.

-

-"He mustn't," interposed the professor hastily; "it will make his hand

-tremble."

-

-"No, it doesn't," said I, laughing; "but my hand will shake if I don't

-smoke. Are you going to employ me as a draughtsman?"

-

-"You'll know to-morrow," he chuckled, with a mysterious smile at his

-daughter.--"Daisy, give him my best cigars; put the box here on the

-table. We can't afford to have his hand tremble."

-

-Miss Holroyd rose, and crossed the hallway to her father's room,

-returning presently with a box of promising-looking cigars.

-

-"I don't think he knows what is good for him," she said. "He should

-smoke only one every day."

-

-It was hard to bear. I am not vindictive, but I decided to treasure up

-a few of Miss Holroyd's gentle taunts. My intimacy with her brother was

-certainly a disadvantage to me now. Jack had apparently been talking

-too much, and his sister appeared to be thoroughly acquainted with my

-past. It was a disadvantage. I remembered her vaguely as a girl with

-long braids, who used to come on Sundays with her father and take tea

-with us in our rooms. Then she went to Germany to school, and Jack and

-I employed our Sunday evenings otherwise. It is true that I regarded

-her weekly visits as a species of infliction, but I did not think I

-ever showed it.

-

-"It is strange," said I, "that you did not recognise me at once, Miss

-Holroyd. Have I changed so greatly in five years?"

-

-"You wore a pointed French beard in Paris," she said--"a very downy

-one. And you never stayed to tea but twice, and then you only spoke

-once."

-

-"Oh!" said I blankly. "What did I say?"

-

-"You asked me if I liked plums," said Daisy, bursting into an

-irresistible ripple of laughter.

-

-I saw that I must have made the same sort of an ass of myself that most

-boys of eighteen do.

-

-It was too bad. I never thought about the future in those days. Who

-could have imagined that little Daisy Holroyd would have grown up

-into this bewildering young lady? It was really too bad. Presently the

-professor retired to his room, carrying with him an armful of drawings,

-and bidding us not to sit up late. When he closed his door Miss Holroyd

-turned to me.

-

-"Papa will work over those drawings until midnight," she said, with a

-despairing smile.

-

-"It isn't good for him," I said. "What are the drawings?"

-

-"You may know to-morrow," she answered, leaning forward on the table

-and shading her face with one hand. "Tell me about yourself and Jack in

-Paris."

-

-I looked at her suspiciously.

-

-"What! There isn't much to tell. We studied. Jack went to the law

-school, and I attended--er--oh, all sorts of schools."

-

-"Did you? Surely you gave yourself a little recreation occasionally?"

-

-"Occasionally," I nodded.

-

-"I am afraid you and Jack studied too hard."

-

-"That may be," said I, looking meek.

-

-"Especially about fossils."

-

-I couldn't stand that.

-

-"Miss Holroyd," I said, "I do care for fossils. You may think that I am

-a humbug, but I have a perfect mania for fossils--now."

-

-"Since when?"

-

-"About an hour ago," I said airily. Out of the corner of my eye I saw

-that she had flushed up. It pleased me.

-

-"You will soon tire of the experiment," she said with a dangerous smile.

-

-"Oh, I may," I replied indifferently.

-

-She drew back. The movement was scarcely perceptible, but I noticed it,

-and she knew I did.

-

-The atmosphere was vaguely hostile. One feels such mental conditions

-and changes instantly. I picked up a chessboard, opened it, set up the

-pieces with elaborate care, and began to move, first the white, then

-the black. Miss Holroyd watched me coldly at first, but after a dozen

-moves she became interested and leaned a shade nearer. I moved a black

-pawn forward.

-

-"Why do you do that?" said Daisy.

-

-"Because," said I, "the white queen threatens the pawn."

-

-"It was an aggressive move," she insisted.

-

-"Purely defensive," I said. "If her white highness will let the pawn

-alone, the pawn will let the queen alone."

-

-Miss Holroyd rested her chin on her wrist and gazed steadily at the

-board. She was flushing furiously, but she held her ground.

-

-"If the white queen doesn't block that pawn, the pawn may become

-dangerous," she said coldly.

-

-I laughed, and closed up the board with a snap.

-

-"True," I said, "it might even take the queen." After a moment's

-silence I asked, "What would you do in that case, Miss Holroyd?"

-

-"I should resign," she said serenely; then realizing what she had said,

-she lost her self-possession for a second, and cried: "No, indeed! I

-should fight to the bitter end! I mean----"

-

-"What?" I asked, lingering over my revenge.

-

-"I mean," she said slowly, "that your black pawn would never have the

-chance--never! I should take it immediately."

-

-"I believe you would," said I, smiling; "so we'll call the game yours,

-and--the pawn captured."

-

-"I don't want it," she exclaimed. "A pawn is worthless."

-

-"Except when it's in the king row."

-

-"Chess is most interesting," she observed sedately. She had completely

-recovered her self-control. Still I saw that she now had a certain

-respect for my defensive powers. It was very soothing to me.

-

-"You know," said I gravely, "that I am fonder of Jack than of anybody.

-That's the reason we never write each other, except to borrow things. I

-am afraid that when I was a young cub in France I was not an attractive

-personality."

-

-"On the contrary," said Daisy, smiling, "I thought you were very big

-and very perfect. I had illusions. I wept often when I went home and

-remembered that you never took the trouble to speak to me but once."

-

-"I was a cub," I said; "not selfish and brutal, but I didn't understand

-schoolgirls. I never had any sisters, and I didn't know what to say to

-very young girls. If I had imagined that you felt hurt----"

-

-"Oh, I did--five years ago. Afterward I laughed at the whole thing."

-

-"Laughed?" I repeated, vaguely disappointed.

-

-"Why, of course. I was very easily hurt when I was a child. I think I

-have outgrown it."

-

-The soft curve of her sensitive mouth contradicted her.

-

-"Will you forgive me now?" I asked.

-

-"Yes. I had forgotten the whole thing until I met you an hour or so

-ago."

-

-There was something that had a ring not entirely genuine in this

-speech. I noticed it, but forgot it the next moment.

-

-"Tiger cubs have stripes," said I. "Selfishness blossoms in the cradle,

-and prophecy is not difficult. I hope I am not more selfish than my

-brothers."

-

-"I hope not," she said, smiling.

-

-Presently she rose, touched her hair with the tip of one finger, and

-walked to the door.

-

-"Good-night," she said, courtesying very low.

-

-"Good-night," said I, opening the door for her to pass.

-

-

-III.

-

-The sea was a sheet of silver, tinged with pink. The tremendous arch of

-the sky was all shimmering and glimmering with the promise of the sun.

-Already the mist above, flecked with clustered clouds, flushed with

-rose colour and dull gold. I heard the low splash of the waves breaking

-and curling across the beach. A wandering breeze, fresh and fragrant,

-blew the curtains of my window. There was the scent of sweet bay in the

-room, and everywhere the subtile, nameless perfume of the sea.

-

-When at last I stood upon the shore, the air and sea were all aglimmer

-in a rosy light, deepening to crimson in the zenith. Along the beach I

-saw a little cove, shelving and all ashine, where shallow waves washed

-with a mellow sound. Fine as dusted gold the shingle glowed, and the

-thin film of water rose, receded, crept up again a little higher, and

-again flowed back, with the low hiss of snowy foam and gilded bubbles

-breaking.

-

-I stood a little while quiet, my eyes upon the water, the invitation of

-the ocean in my ears, vague and sweet as the murmur of a shell. Then I

-looked at my bathing suit and towels.

-

-"In we go!" said I aloud. A second later the prophecy was fulfilled.

-

-I swam far out to sea, and as I swam the waters all around me turned to

-gold. The sun had risen.

-

-There is a fragrance in the sea at dawn that none can name. Whitethorn

-abloom in May, sedges asway, and scented rushes rustling in an inland

-wind recall the sea to me--I can't say why.

-

-Far out at sea I raised myself, swung around, dived, and set out again

-for shore, striking strong strokes until the flecked foam flew. And

-when at last I shot through the breakers, I laughed aloud and sprang

-upon the beach, breathless and happy. Then from the ocean came another

-cry, clear, joyous, and a white arm rose in the air.

-

-She came drifting in with the waves like a white sea-sprite, laughing

-at me from her tangled hair, and I plunged into the breakers again to

-join her.

-

-Side by side we swam along the coast, just outside the breakers, until

-in the next cove we saw the flutter of her maid's cap strings.

-

-"I will beat you to breakfast!" she cried, as I rested, watching her

-glide up along the beach.

-

-"Done!" said I--"for a sea-shell!"

-

-"Done!" she called across the water.

-

-I made good speed along the shore, and I was not long in dressing,

-but when I entered the dining-room she was there, demure, smiling,

-exquisite in her cool, white frock.

-

-"The sea-shell is yours," said I. "I hope I can find one with a pearl

-in it."

-

-The professor hurried in before she could reply. He greeted me very

-cordially, but there was an abstracted air about him, and he called me

-Dick until I recognised that remonstrance was useless. He was not long

-over his coffee and rolls.

-

-"McPeek and Frisby will return with the last load, including your

-trunk, by early afternoon," he said, rising and picking up his bundle

-of drawings. "I haven't time to explain to you what we are doing,

-Dick, but Daisy will take you about and instruct you. She will give

-you the rifle standing in my room--it's a good Winchester. I have

-sent for an 'Express' for you, big enough to knock over any elephant

-in India.--Daisy, take him through the sheds and tell him everything.

-Luncheon is at noon.--Do you usually take luncheon, Dick?"

-

-"When I am permitted," I smiled.

-

-"Well," said the professor doubtfully, "you mustn't come back here

-for it. Freda can take you what you want. Is your hand unsteady after

-eating?"

-

-"Why, papa!" said Daisy. "Do you intend to starve him?"

-

-We all laughed.

-

-The professor tucked his drawings into a capacious pocket, pulled his

-sea boots up to his hips, seized a spade, and left, nodding to us as

-though he were thinking of something else.

-

-We went to the door and watched him across the salt meadows until a

-distant sand dune hid him.

-

-"Come," said Daisy Holroyd, "I am going to take you to the shop."

-

-She put on a broad-brimmed straw hat, a distractingly pretty

-combination of filmy cool stuffs, and led the way to the long low

-structure that I had noticed the evening before.

-

-The interior was lighted by the numberless little portholes, and I

-could see everything plainly. I acknowledge I was nonplussed by what I

-did see.

-

-In the centre of the shed, which must have been at least a hundred feet

-long, stood what I thought at first was the skeleton of an enormous

-whale. After a moment's silent contemplation of the thing I saw that

-it could not be a whale, for the frames of two gigantic bat-like wings

-rose from each shoulder. Also I noticed that the animal possessed

-legs--four of them--with most unpleasant-looking webbed claws fully

-eight feet long. The bony framework of the head, too, resembled

-something between a crocodile and a monstrous snapping turtle.

-The walls of the shanty were hung with drawings and blue prints. A

-man dressed in white linen was tinkering with the vertebræ of the

-lizardlike tail.

-

-"Where on earth did such a reptile come from?" I asked at length.

-

-"Oh, it's not real!" said Daisy scornfully; "it's papier-maché."

-

-"I see," said I--"a stage prop."

-

-"A what?" asked Daisy, in hurt astonishment.

-

-"Why, a--a sort of Siegfried dragon--a what's-his-name--er, Pfafner, or

-Peffer, or----"

-

-"If my father heard you say such things he would dislike you," said

-Daisy. She looked grieved, and moved toward the door. I apologized--for

-what, I knew not--and we became reconciled. She ran into her father's

-room and brought me the rifle, a very good Winchester. She also gave me

-a cartridge belt, full.

-

-"Now," she smiled, "I shall take you to your observatory, and when we

-arrive you are to begin your duty at once."

-

-"And that duty?" I ventured, shouldering the rifle.

-

-"That duty is, to watch the ocean. I shall then explain the whole

-affair--but you mustn't look at me while I speak; you must watch the

-sea."

-

-"This," said I, "is hardship. I had rather go without the luncheon."

-

-I do not think she was offended at my speech; still she frowned for

-almost three seconds.

-

-We passed through acres of sweet bay and spear grass, sometimes

-skirting thickets of twisted cedars, sometimes walking in the full

-glare of the morning sun, sinking into shifting sand where sun-scorched

-shells crackled under our feet, and sun-browned seaweed glistened,

-bronzed and iridescent. Then, as we climbed a little hill, the sea wind

-freshened in our faces, and lo! the ocean lay below us, far-stretching

-as the eye could reach, glittering, magnificent.

-

-Daisy sat down flat on the sand. It takes a clever girl to do that and

-retain the respectful deference due her from men. It takes a graceful

-girl to accomplish it triumphantly when a man is looking.

-

-"You must sit beside me," she said--as though it would prove irksome to

-me.

-

-"Now," she continued, "you must watch the water while I am talking."

-

-I nodded.

-

-"Why don't you do it, then?" she asked.

-

-I succeeded in wrenching my head toward the ocean, although I felt sure

-it would swing gradually round again in spite of me.

-

-"To begin with," said Daisy Holroyd, "there's a thing in that ocean

-that would astonish you if you saw it. Turn your head!"

-

-"I am," I said meekly.

-

-"Did you hear what I said?"

-

-"Yes--er--a thing in the ocean that's going to astonish me." Visions of

-mermaids rose before me.

-

-"The thing," said Daisy, "is a Thermosaurus!"

-

-I nodded vaguely, as though anticipating a delightful introduction to

-a nautical friend.

-

-"You don't seem astonished," she said reproachfully.

-

-"Why should I be?" I asked.

-

-"Please turn your eyes toward the water. Suppose a Thermosaurus should

-look out of the waves!"

-

-"Well," said I, "in that case the pleasure would be mutual."

-

-She frowned, and bit her upper lip.

-

-"Do you know what a Thermosaurus is?" she asked.

-

-"If I am to guess," said I, "I guess it's a jellyfish."

-

-"It's that big, ugly, horrible creature that I showed you in the shed!"

-cried Daisy impatiently.

-

-"Eh!" I stammered.

-

-"Not papier-maché either," she continued excitedly; "it's a real one."

-

-This was pleasant news. I glanced instinctively at my rifle and then at

-the ocean.

-

-"Well," said I at last, "it strikes me that you and I resemble a pair

-of Andromedas waiting to be swallowed. This rifle won't stop a beast,

-a live beast, like that Nibelungen dragon of yours."

-

-"Yes, it will," she said; "it's not an ordinary rifle."

-

-Then, for the first time, I noticed, just below the magazine, a

-cylindrical attachment that was strange to me.

-

-"Now, if you will watch the sea very carefully, and will promise not to

-look at me," said Daisy, "I will try to explain."

-

-She did not wait for me to promise, but went on eagerly, a sparkle of

-excitement in her blue eyes:

-

-"You know, of all the fossil remains of the great bat-like and

-lizard-like creatures that inhabited the earth ages and ages ago,

-the bones of the gigantic saurians are the most interesting. I think

-they used to splash about the water and fly over the land during the

-Carboniferous period; anyway, it doesn't matter. Of course, you have

-seen pictures of reconstructed creatures such as the Ichthyosaurus, the

-Plesiosaurus, the Anthracosaurus, and the Thermosaurus?"

-

-I nodded, trying to keep my eyes from hers.

-

-"And you know that the remains of the Thermosaurus were first

-discovered and reconstructed by papa?"

-

-"Yes," said I. There was no use in saying no.

-

-"I am glad you do. Now, papa has proved that this creature lived

-entirely in the Gulf Stream, emerging for occasional flights across an

-ocean or two. Can you imagine how he proved it?"

-

-"No," said I, resolutely pointing my nose at the ocean.

-

-"He proved it by a minute examination of the microscopical shells

-found among the ribs of the Thermosaurus. These shells contained little

-creatures that live only in the warm waters of the Gulf Stream. They

-were the food of the Thermosaurus."

-

-"It was rather slender rations for a thing like that, wasn't it? Did he

-ever swallow bigger food--er--men?"

-

-"Oh, yes. Tons of fossil bones from prehistoric men are also found in

-the interior of the Thermosaurus."

-

-"Then," said I, "you, at least, had better go back to Captain

-McPeek's----"

-

-"Please turn around; don't be so foolish. I didn't say there was a

-_live_ Thermosaurus in the water, did I?"

-

-"Isn't there?"

-

-"Why, no!"

-

-My relief was genuine, but I thought of the rifle and looked

-suspiciously out to sea.

-

-"What's the Winchester for?" I asked.

-

-"Listen, and I will explain. Papa has found out--how, I do not exactly

-understand--that there is in the waters of the Gulf Stream the body of

-a Thermosaurus. The creature must have been alive within a year or so.

-The impenetrable scale armour that covers its body has, as far as papa

-knows, prevented its disintegration. We know that it is there still, or

-was there within a few months. Papa has reports and sworn depositions

-from steamer captains and seamen from a dozen different vessels,

-all corroborating each other in essential details. These stories, of

-course, get into the newspapers--sea-serpent stories--but papa knows

-that they confirm his theory that the huge body of this reptile is

-swinging along somewhere on the Gulf Stream."

-

-She opened her sunshade and held it over her. I noticed that she

-deigned to give me the benefit of about one eighth of it.

-

-"Your duty with that rifle is this: If we are fortunate enough to see

-the body of the Thermosaurus come floating by, you are to take good

-aim and fire--fire rapidly every bullet in the magazine; then reload

-and fire again, and reload and fire as long as you have any cartridges

-left."

-

-"A self-feeding Maxim is what I should have," I said with gentle

-sarcasm. "Well, and suppose I make a sieve of this big lizard?"

-

-"Do you see these rings in the sand?" she asked.

-

-Sure enough, somebody had driven heavy piles deep into the sand all

-around us, and to the tops of these piles were attached steel rings,

-half buried under the spear grass. We sat almost exactly in the centre

-of a circle of these rings.

-

-"The reason is this," said Daisy: "every bullet in your cartridges

-is steel-tipped and armour-piercing. To the base of each bullet is

-attached a thin wire of pallium. Pallium is that new metal, a thread of

-which, drawn out into finest wire, will hold a ton of iron suspended.

-Every bullet is fitted with minute coils of miles of this wire. When

-the bullet leaves the rifle it spins out this wire as a shot from a

-life-saver's mortar spins out and carries the life line to a wrecked

-ship. The end of each coil of wire is attached to that cylinder under

-the magazine of your rifle. As soon as the shell is automatically

-ejected this wire flies out also. A bit of scarlet tape is fixed to

-the end, so that it will be easy to pick up. There is also a snap clasp

-on the end, and this clasp fits those rings that you see in the sand.

-Now, when you begin firing, it is my duty to run and pick up the wire

-ends and attach them to the rings. Then, you see, we have the body of

-the Thermosaurus full of bullets, every bullet anchored to the shore by

-tiny wires, each of which could easily hold a ton's strain."

-

-I looked at her in amazement.

-

-"Then," she added calmly, "we have captured the Thermosaurus."

-

-"Your father," said I at length, "must have spent years of labour over

-this preparation."

-

-"It is the work of a lifetime," she said simply.

-

-My face, I suppose, showed my misgivings.

-

-"It must not fail," she added.

-

-"But--but we are nowhere near the Gulf Stream," I ventured.

-

-Her face brightened, and she frankly held the sunshade over us both.

-

-"Ah, you don't know," she said, "what else papa has discovered. Would

-you believe that he has found a loop in the Gulf Stream--a genuine

-loop--that swings in here just outside of the breakers below? It is

-true! Everybody on Long Island knows that there is a warm current off

-the coast, but nobody imagined it was merely a sort of backwater from

-the Gulf Stream that formed a great circular mill-race around the

-cone of a subterranean volcano, and rejoined the Gulf Stream off Cape

-Albatross. But it is! That is why papa bought a yacht three years ago

-and sailed about for two years so mysteriously. Oh, I did want to go

-with him so much!"

-

-"This," said I, "is most astonishing."

-

-She leaned enthusiastically toward me, her lovely face aglow.

-

-"Isn't it?" she said; "and to think that you and papa and I are the

-only people in the whole world who know this!"

-

-To be included in such a triology was very delightful.

-

-"Papa is writing the whole thing--I mean about the currents. He also

-has in preparation sixteen volumes on the Thermosaurus. He said this

-morning that he was going to ask you to write the story first for some

-scientific magazine. He is certain that Professor Bruce Stoddard, of

-Columbia, will write the pamphlets necessary. This will give papa time

-to attend to the sixteen-volume work, which he expects to finish in

-three years."

-

-"Let us first," said I, laughing, "catch our Thermosaurus."

-

-"We must not fail," she said wistfully.

-

-"We shall not fail," I said, "for I promise to sit on this sand hill

-as long as I live--until a Thermosaurus appears--if that is your wish,

-Miss Holroyd."

-

-Our eyes met for an instant. She did not chide me, either, for not

-looking at the ocean. Her eyes were bluer, anyway.

-

-"I suppose," she said, bending her head and absently pouring sand

-between her fingers--"I suppose you think me a blue-stocking, or

-something odious?"

-

-"Not exactly," I said. There was an emphasis in my voice that made her

-colour. After a moment she laid the sunshade down, still open.

-

-"May I hold it?" I asked.

-

-She nodded almost imperceptibly.

-

-The ocean had turned a deep marine blue, verging on purple, that

-heralded a scorching afternoon. The wind died away; the odour of cedar

-and sweet bay hung heavy in the air.

-

-In the sand at our feet an iridescent flower beetle crawled, its

-metallic green and blue wings burning like a spark. Great gnats, with

-filmy, glittering wings, danced aimlessly above the young golden-rod;

-burnished crickets, inquisitive, timid, ran from under chips of

-driftwood, waved their antennæ at us, and ran back again. One by one

-the marbled tiger beetles tumbled at our feet, dazed from the exertion

-of an aërial flight, then scrambled and ran a little way, or darted

-into the wire grass, where great brilliant spiders eyed them askance

-from their gossamer hammocks.

-

-Far out at sea the white gulls floated and drifted on the water, or

-sailed up into the air to flap lazily for a moment and settle back

-among the waves. Strings of black surf ducks passed, their strong wings

-tipping the surface of the water; single wandering coots whirled from

-the breakers into lonely flight toward the horizon.

-

-We lay and watched the little ring-necks running along the water's

-edge, now backing away from the incoming tide, now boldly wading

-after the undertow. The harmony of silence, the deep perfume, the

-mystery of waiting for that something that all await--what is it?

-love? death? or only the miracle of another morrow?--troubled me with

-vague restfulness. As sunlight casts shadows, happiness, too, throws a

-shadow, and the shadow is sadness.

-

-And so the morning wore away until Freda came with a cool-looking

-hamper. Then delicious cold fowl and lettuce sandwiches and champagne

-cup set our tongues wagging as only very young tongues can wag. Daisy

-went back with Freda after luncheon, leaving me a case of cigars, with

-a bantering smile. I dozed, half awake, keeping a partly closed eye

-on the ocean, where a faint gray streak showed plainly amid the azure

-water all around. That was the Gulf Stream loop.

-

-About four o'clock Frisby appeared with a bamboo shelter tent, for

-which I was unaffectedly grateful.

-

-After he had erected it over me he stopped to chat a bit, but the

-conversation bored me, for he could talk of nothing but bill-posting.

-

-"You wouldn't ruin the landscape here, would you?" I asked.

-

-"Ruin it!" repeated Frisby nervously. "It's ruined now; there ain't a

-place to stick a bill."

-

-"The snipe stick bills--in the sand," I said flippantly.

-

-There was no humour about Frisby. "Do they?" he asked.

-

-I moved with a certain impatience.

-

-"Bills," said Frisby, "give spice an' variety to Nature. They break the

-monotony of the everlastin' green and what-you-may-call-its."

-

-I glared at him.

-

-"Bills," he continued, "are not easy to stick, lemme tell you, sir.

-Sign paintin's a soft snap when it comes to bill-stickin'. Now, I guess

-I've stuck more bills in New York State than ennybody."

-

-"Have you?" I said angrily.

-

-"Yes, siree! I always pick out the purtiest spots--kinder filled chuck

-full of woods and brooks and things; then I h'ist my paste-pot onto a

-rock, and I slather that rock with gum, and whoop she goes!"

-

-"Whoop what goes?"

-

-"The bill. I paste her onto the rock, with one swipe of the brush for

-the edges and a back-handed swipe for the finish--except when a bill is

-folded in two halves."

-

-"And what do you do then?" I asked, disgusted.

-

-"Swipe twice," said Frisby with enthusiasm.

-

-"And you don't think it injures the landscape?"

-

-"Injures it!" he exclaimed, convinced that I was attempting to joke.

-

-I looked wearily out to sea. He also looked at the water and sighed

-sentimentally.

-

-"Floatin' buoys with bills onto 'em is a idea of mine," he observed.

-"That damn ocean is monotonous, ain't it?"

-

-I don't know what I might have done to Frisby--the rifle was so

-convenient--if his mean yellow dog had not waddled up at this juncture.

-

-"Hi, Davy, sic 'em!" said Frisby, expectorating upon a clamshell

-and hurling it seaward. The cur watched the flight of the shell

-apathetically, then squatted in the sand and looked at his master.

-

-"Kinder lost his spirit," said Frisby, "ain't he? I once stuck a bill

-onto Davy, an' it come off, an' the paste sorter sickened him. He was

-hell on rats--once!"

-

-After a moment or two Frisby took himself off, whistling cheerfully

-to Davy, who followed him when he was ready. The rifle burned in my

-fingers.

-

-It was nearly six o'clock when the professor appeared, spade on

-shoulder, boots smeared with mud.

-

-"Well," he said, "nothing to report, Dick, my boy?"

-

-"Nothing, professor."

-

-He wiped his shining face with his handkerchief and stared at the water.

-

-"My calculations lead me to believe," he said, "that our prize may be

-due any day now. This theory I base upon the result of the report from

-the last sea captain I saw. I can not understand why some of these

-captains did not take the carcass in tow. They all say that they tried,

-but that the body sank before they could come within half a mile. The

-truth is, probably, that they did not stir a foot from their course to

-examine the thing."

-

-"Have you ever cruised about for it?" I ventured.

-

-"For two years," he said grimly. "It's no use; it's accident when a

-ship falls in with it. One captain reports it a thousand miles from

-where the last skipper spoke it, and always in the Gulf Stream. They

-think it is a different specimen every time, and the papers are teeming

-with sea-serpent fol-de-rol."

-

-"Are you sure," I asked, "that it will swing in to the coast on this

-Gulf Stream loop?"

-

-"I think I may say that it is certain to do so. I experimented with

-a dead right whale. You may have heard of its coming ashore here last

-summer."

-

-"I think I did," said I with a faint smile. The thing had poisoned the

-air for miles around.

-

-"But," I continued, "suppose it comes in the night?"

-

-He laughed.

-

-"There I am lucky. Every night this month, and every day, too,

-the current of the loop runs inland so far that even a porpoise

-would strand for at least twelve hours. Longer than that I have not

-experimented with, but I know that the shore trend of the loop runs

-across a long spur of the submerged volcanic mountain, and that

-anything heavier than a porpoise would scrape the bottom and be carried

-so slowly that at least twelve hours must elapse before the carcass

-could float again into deep water. There are chances of its stranding

-indefinitely, too, but I don't care to take those chances. That is why

-I have stationed you here, Dick, my boy."

-

-He glanced again at the water, smiling to himself.

-

-"There is another question I want to ask," I said, "if you don't mind."

-

-"Of course not!" he said warmly.

-

-"What are you digging for?"

-

-"Why, simply for exercise. The doctor told me I was killing myself

-with my sedentary habits, so I decided to dig. I don't know a better

-exercise. Do you?"

-

-"I suppose not," I murmured, rather red in the face. I wondered whether

-he'd mention fossils.

-

-"Did Daisy tell you why we are making our papier-maché Thermosaurus?"

-he asked.

-

-I shook my head.

-

-"We constructed that from measurements I took from the fossil remains

-of the Thermosaurus in the Metropolitan Museum. Professor Bruce

-Stoddard made the drawings. We set it up here, all ready to receive the

-skin of the carcass that I am expecting."

-

-We had started toward home, walking slowly across the darkening dunes,

-shoulder to shoulder. The sand was deep, and walking was not easy.

-

-"I wish," said I at last, "that I knew why Miss Holroyd asked me not to

-walk on the beach. It's much less fatiguing."

-

-"That," said the professor, "is a matter that I intend to discuss with

-you to-night." He spoke gravely, almost sadly. I felt that something of

-unparalleled importance was soon to be revealed. So I kept very quiet,

-watching the ocean out of the corners of my eyes.

-

-

-IV.

-

-Dinner was ended. Daisy Holroyd lighted her father's pipe for him, and

-insisted on my smoking as much as I pleased. Then she sat down, and

-folded her hands like a good little girl, waiting for her father to

-make the revelation which I felt in my bones must be something out of

-the ordinary.

-

-The professor smoked for a while, gazing meditatively at his daughter;

-then, fixing his gray eyes on me, he said:

-

-"Have you ever heard of the kree--that Australian bird, half parrot,

-half hawk, that destroys so many sheep in New South Wales?"

-

-I nodded.

-

-"The kree kills a sheep by alighting on its back and tearing away

-the flesh with its hooked beak until a vital part is reached. You

-know that? Well, it has been discovered that the kree had prehistoric

-prototypes. These birds were enormous creatures, who preyed upon

-mammoths and mastodons, and even upon the great saurians. It has

-been conclusively proved that a few saurians have been killed by

-the ancestors of the kree, but the favourite food of these birds was

-undoubtedly the Thermosaurus. It is believed that the birds attacked

-the eyes of the Thermosaurus, and when, as was its habit, the mammoth

-creature turned on its back to claw them, they fell upon the thinner

-scales of its stomach armour and finally killed it. This, of course,

-is a theory, but we have almost absolute proofs of its correctness.

-Now, these two birds are known among scientists as the ekaf-bird and

-the ool-yllik. The names are Australian, in which country most of

-their remains have been unearthed. They lived during the Carboniferous

-period. Now it is not generally known, but the fact is, that in

-1801 Captain Ransom, of the British exploring vessel Gull, purchased

-from the natives of Tasmania the skin of an ekaf-bird that could not

-have been killed more than twenty-four hours previous to its sale. I

-saw this skin in the British Museum. It was labelled "unknown bird,

-probably extinct." It took me exactly a week to satisfy myself that it

-was actually the skin of an ekaf-bird. But that is not all, Dick, my

-boy," continued the professor excitedly. "In 1854, Admiral Stuart, of

-our own navy, saw the carcass of a strange gigantic bird floating along

-the southern coast of Australia. Sharks were after it, and, before a

-boat could be lowered, these miserable fish got it. But the good old

-admiral secured a few feathers and sent them to the Smithsonian. I saw

-them. They were not even labelled, but I knew that they were feathers

-from the ekaf-bird or its near relative, the ool-yllik."

-

-I had grown so interested that I had leaned far across the table.

-Daisy, too, bent forward. It was only when the professor paused for a

-moment that I noticed how close together our heads were--Daisy's and

-mine. I don't think she realized it. She did not move.

-

-"Now comes the important part of this long discourse," said the

-professor, smiling at our eagerness. "Ever since the carcass of our

-derelict Thermosaurus was first noticed, every captain who has seen

-it has also reported the presence of one or more gigantic birds in

-the neighbourhood. These birds, at a great distance, appeared to

-be hovering over the carcass, but on the approach of a vessel they

-disappeared. Even in midocean they were observed. When I heard about it

-I was puzzled. A month later I was satisfied that neither the ekaf-bird

-nor the ool-yllik was extinct. Last Monday I knew that I was right.

-I found forty-eight distinct impressions of the huge seven-toed claw

-of the ekaf-bird on the beach here at Pine Inlet. You may imagine my

-excitement. I succeeded in digging up enough wet sand around one of

-these impressions to preserve its form. I managed to get it into a soap

-box, and now it is there in my shop. The tide rose too rapidly for me

-to save the other footprints."

-

-I shuddered at the possibility of a clumsy misstep on my part

-obliterating the impression of an ool-yllik.

-

-"That is the reason that my daughter warned you off the beach," he said

-mildly.

-

-"Hanging would have been too good for the vandal who destroyed such

-priceless prizes!" I cried out in self-reproach.

-

-Daisy Holroyd turned a flushed face to mine, and impulsively laid her

-hand on my sleeve.

-

-"How could you know?" she said.

-

-"It's all right now," said her father, emphasizing each word with

-a gentle tap of his pipe-bowl on the table edge; "don't be hard on

-yourself, Dick, my boy. You'll do yeoman's service yet."

-

-It was nearly midnight, and still we chatted on about the Thermosaurus,

-the ekaf-bird, and the ool-yllik, eagerly discussing the probability of

-the great reptile's carcass being in the vicinity. That alone seemed to

-explain the presence of these prehistoric birds at Pine Inlet.

-

-"Do they ever attack human beings?" I asked.

-

-The professor looked startled.

-

-"Gracious!" he exclaimed, "I never thought of that. And Daisy running

-about out of doors! Dear me! it takes a scientist to be an unnatural

-parent!"

-

-His alarm was half real, half assumed; but all the same, he glanced

-gravely at us both, shaking his handsome head, absorbed in thought.

-Daisy herself looked a little doubtful. As for me, my sensations were

-distinctly queer.

-

-"It is true," said the professor, frowning at the wall, "that human

-remains have been found associated with the bones of the ekaf-bird--I

-don't know how intimately. It is a matter to be taken into most serious

-consideration."

-

-"The problem can be solved," said I, "in several ways. One is, to keep

-Miss Holroyd in the house----"

-

-"I shall not stay in!" cried Daisy indignantly.

-

-We all laughed, and her father assured her that she should not be

-abused.

-

-"Even if I did stay in," she said, "one of these birds might alight on

-Master Dick."

-

-She looked saucily at me as she spoke, but turned crimson when her

-father observed quietly, "You don't seem to think of me, Daisy."

-

-"Of course I do," she said, getting up and putting both arms around

-her father's neck; "but Dick--as--as you call him--is so helpless and

-timid."

-

-My blissful smile froze on my lips.

-

-"Timid!" I repeated.

-

-She came back to the table, making me a mocking reverence.

-

-"Do you think I am to be laughed at with impunity?" she said.

-

-"What are your other plans, Dick, my boy?" asked the

-professor.--"Daisy, let him alone, you little tease!"

-

-"One is, to haul a lot of cast-iron boilers along the dunes," I said.

-"If these birds come when the carcass floats in, and if they seem

-disposed to trouble us, we could crawl into the boilers and be safe."

-

-"Why, that is really brilliant!" cried Daisy.

-

-"Be quiet, my child! Dick, the plan is sound and sensible and perfectly

-practical. McPeek and Frisby shall go for a dozen loads of boilers

-to-morrow."

-

-"It will spoil the beauty of the landscape," said Daisy, with a

-taunting nod to me.

-

-"And Frisby will probably attempt to cover them with bill-posters," I

-added, laughing.

-

-"That," said Daisy, "I shall prevent, even at the cost of my life." And

-she stood up, looking very determined.

-

-"Children, children," protested the professor, "go to bed--you bother

-me."

-

-Then I turned deliberately to Miss Holroyd.

-

-"Good-night, Daisy," I said.

-

-"Good-night, Dick," she said, very gently.

-

-

-V.

-

-The week passed quickly for me, leaving but few definite impressions.

-As I look back to it now I can see the long stretch of beach burning

-in the fierce sunlight, the endless meadows, with the glimmer of

-water in the distance, the dunes, the twisted cedars, the leagues of

-scintillating ocean, rocking, rocking, always rocking. In the starlit

-nights the curlew came in from the sand-bars by twos and threes; I

-could hear their faint call as I lay in bed thinking. All day long the

-little ring-necks whistled from the shore. The plover answered them

-from distant lonely inland pools. The great white gulls drifted like

-feathers upon the sea.

-

-One morning, toward the end of the week, I, strolling along the dunes,

-came upon Frisby. He was bill-posting. I caught him red-handed.

-

-"This," said I, "must stop. Do you understand, Mr. Frisby?"

-

-He stepped back from his work, laying his head on one side, considering

-first me, then the bill that he had pasted on one of our big boilers.

-

-"Don't like the colour?" he asked. "It goes well on them boilers."

-

-"Colour! No, I don't like the colour either. Can't you understand that

-there are some people in the world who object to seeing patent-medicine

-advertisements scattered over a landscape?"

-

-"Hey?" he said perplexed.

-

-"Will you kindly remove that advertisement?" I persisted.

-

-"Too late," said Frisby; "it's sot."

-

-I was too disgusted to speak, but my disgust turned to anger when

-I perceived that, as far as the eye could reach, our boilers, lying

-from three to four hundred feet apart, were ablaze with yellow and red

-posters, extolling the "Eureka Liver Pill Company."

-

-"It don't cost 'em nothin'," said Frisby cheerfully; "I done it fur the

-fun of it. Purty, ain't it?"

-

-"They are Professor Holroyd's boilers," I said, subduing a desire

-to beat Frisby with my telescope. "Wait until Miss Holroyd sees this

-work."

-

-"Don't she like yeller and red?" he demanded anxiously.

-

-"You'll find out," said I.

-

-Frisby gaped at his handiwork and then at his yellow dog. After a

-moment he mechanically spat on a clamshell and requested Davy to "sic"

-it.

-

-"Can't you comprehend that you have ruined our pleasure in the

-landscape?" I asked more mildly.

-

-"I've got some green bills," said Frisby; "I kin stick 'em over the

-yeller ones----"

-

-"Confound it!" said I, "it isn't the colour!"

-

-"Then," observed Frisby, "you don't like them pills. I've got some

-bills of the 'Cropper Bicycle,' and a few of 'Bagley, the Gents'

-Tailor----'"

-

-"Frisby," said I, "use them all--paste the whole collection over your

-dog and yourself--then walk off the cliff."

-

-He sullenly unfolded a green poster, swabbed the boiler with paste,

-laid the upper section of the bill upon it, and plastered the whole

-bill down with a thwack of his brush. As I walked away I heard him

-muttering.

-

-Next day Daisy was so horrified that I promised to give Frisby an

-ultimatum. I found him with Freda, gazing sentimentally at his work,

-and I sent him back to the shop in a hurry, telling Freda at the same

-time that she could spend her leisure in providing Mr. Frisby with

-sand, soap, and a scrubbing brush. Then I walked on to my post of

-observation.

-

-I watched until sunset. Daisy came with her father to hear my report,

-but there was nothing to tell, and we three walked slowly back to the

-house.

-

-In the evenings the professor worked on his volumes, the click of his

-type-writer sounding faintly behind his closed door. Daisy and I played

-chess sometimes; sometimes we played hearts. I don't remember that we

-ever finished a game of either--we talked too much.

-

-Our discussions covered every topic of interest: we argued

-upon politics; we skimmed over literature and music; we settled

-international differences; we spoke vaguely of human brotherhood. I say

-we slighted no subject of interest--I am wrong; we never spoke of love.

-

-Now, love is a matter of interest to ten people out of ten. Why it was

-that it did not appear to interest us is as interesting a question

-as love itself. We were young, alert, enthusiastic, inquiring. We

-eagerly absorbed theories concerning any curious phenomena in Nature,

-as intellectual cocktails to stimulate discussion. And yet we did not

-discuss love. I do not say that we avoided it. No; the subject was too

-completely ignored for even that. And yet we found it very difficult to

-pass an hour separated. The professor noticed this, and laughed at us.

-We were not even embarrassed.

-

-Sunday passed in pious contemplation of the ocean. Daisy read a little

-in her prayer-book, and the professor threw a cloth over his typewriter

-and strolled up and down the sands. He may have been lost in devout

-abstraction; he may have been looking for footprints. As for me, my

-mind was very serene, and I was more than happy. Daisy read to me a

-little for my soul's sake, and the professor came up and said something

-cheerful. He also examined the magazine of my Winchester.

-

-That night, too, Daisy took her guitar to the sands and sang one or two

-Armenian hymns. Unlike us, the Armenians do not take their pleasures

-sadly. One of their pleasures is evidently religion.

-

-The big moon came up over the dunes and stared at the sea until the

-surface of every wave trembled with radiance. A sudden stillness fell

-across the world; the wind died out; the foam ran noiselessly across

-the beach; the cricket's rune was stilled.

-

-I leaned back, dropping one hand upon the sand. It touched another

-hand, soft and cool.

-

-After a while the other hand moved slightly, and I found that my own

-had closed above it. Presently one finger stirred a little--only a

-little--for our fingers were interlocked.

-

-On the shore the foam-froth bubbled and winked and glimmered in the

-moonlight. A star fell from the zenith, showering the night with

-incandescent dust.

-

-If our fingers lay interlaced beside us, her eyes were calm and serene

-as always, wide open, fixed upon the depths of a dark sky. And when her

-father rose and spoke to us, she did not withdraw her hand.

-

-"Is it late?" she asked dreamily.

-

-"It is midnight, little daughter."

-

-I stood up, still holding her hand, and aided her to rise. And when, at

-the door, I said good-night, she turned and looked at me for a little

-while in silence, then passed into her room slowly, with head still

-turned toward me.

-

-All night long I dreamed of her; and when the east whitened, I sprang

-up, the thunder of the ocean in my ears, the strong sea wind blowing

-into the open window.

-

-"She is asleep," I thought, and I leaned from the window and peered out

-into the east.

-

-The sea called to me, tossing its thousand arms; the soaring gulls,

-dipping, rising, wheeling above the sand-bar, screamed and clamoured

-for a playmate. I slipped into my bathing suit, dropped from the window

-upon the soft sand, and in a moment had plunged head foremost into the

-surf, swimming beneath the waves toward the open sea.

-

-Under the tossing ocean the voice of the waters was in my ears--a low,

-sweet voice, intimate, mysterious. Through singing foam and broad,

-green, glassy depths, by whispering sandy channels atrail with seaweed,

-and on, on, out into the vague, cool sea, I sped, rising to the top,

-sinking, gliding. Then at last I flung myself out of water, hands

-raised, and the clamour of the gulls filled my ears.

-

-As I lay, breathing fast, drifting on the sea, far out beyond the gulls

-I saw a flash of white, and an arm was lifted, signalling me.

-

-"Daisy!" I called.

-

-A clear hail came across the water, distinct on the sea wind, and at

-the same instant we raised our hands and moved toward each other.

-

-How we laughed as we met in the sea! The white dawn came up out of the

-depths, the zenith turned to rose and ashes.

-

-And with the dawn came the wind--a great sea wind, fresh, aromatic,

-that hurled our voices back into our throats and lifted the sheeted

-spray above our heads. Every wave, crowned with mist, caught us in a

-cool embrace, cradled us, and slipped away, only to leave us to another

-wave, higher, stronger, crested with opalescent glory, breathing

-incense.

-

-We turned together up the coast, swimming lightly side by side, but our

-words were caught up by the winds and whirled into the sky.

-

-We looked up at the driving clouds; we looked out upon the pallid waste

-of waters; but it was into each other's eyes we looked, wondering,

-wistful, questioning the reason of sky and sea. And there in each

-other's eyes we read the mystery, and we knew that earth and sky and

-sea were created for us alone.

-

-Drifting on by distant sands and dunes, her white fingers touching

-mine, we spoke, keying our tones to the wind's vast harmony. And we

-spoke of love.

-

-Gray and wide as the limitless span of the sky and the sea, the

-winds gathered from the world's ends to bear us on; but they were

-not familiar winds; for now, along the coast, the breakers curled and

-showed a million fangs, and the ocean stirred to its depths, uneasy,

-ominous, and the menace of its murmur drew us closer as we moved.

-

-Where the dull thunder and the tossing spray warned us from sunken

-reefs, we heard the harsh challenges of gulls; where the pallid surf

-twisted in yellow coils of spume above the bar, the singing sands

-murmured of treachery and secrets of lost souls agasp in the throes of

-silent undertows.

-

-But there was a little stretch of beach glimmering through the

-mountains of water, and toward this we turned, side by side. Around us

-the water grew warmer; the breath of the following waves moistened our

-cheeks; the water itself grew gray and strange about us.

-

-"We have come too far," I said; but she only answered: "Faster, faster!

-I am afraid!" The water was almost hot now; its aromatic odour filled

-our lungs.

-

-"The Gulf loop!" I muttered. "Daisy, shall I help you?"

-

-"No. Swim--close by me! Oh-h! Dick----"

-

-Her startled cry was echoed by another--a shrill scream, unutterably

-horrible--and a great bird flapped from the beach, splashing and

-beating its pinions across the water with a thundering noise.

-

-Out across the waves it blundered, rising little by little from the

-water, and now, to my horror, I saw another monstrous bird swinging in

-the air above it, squealing as it turned on its vast wings. Before I

-could speak we touched the beach, and I half lifted her to the shore.

-

-"Quick!" I repeated. "We must not wait."

-

-Her eyes were dark with fear, but she rested a hand on my shoulder, and

-we crept up among the dune grasses and sank down by the point of sand

-where the rough shelter stood, surrounded by the iron-ringed piles.

-

-She lay there, breathing fast and deep, dripping with spray. I had no

-power of speech left, but when I rose wearily to my knees and looked

-out upon the water my blood ran cold. Above the ocean, on the breast

-of the roaring wind, three enormous birds sailed, turning and wheeling

-among each other; and below, drifting with the gray stream of the Gulf

-loop, a colossal bulk lay half submerged--a gigantic lizard, floating

-belly upward.

-

-Then Daisy crept kneeling to my side and touched me, trembling from

-head to foot.

-

-"I know," I muttered. "I must run back for the rifle."

-

-"And--and leave me?"

-

-I took her by the hand, and we dragged ourselves through the wire grass

-to the open end of a boiler lying in the sand.

-

-She crept in on her hands and knees, and called to me to follow.

-

-"You are safe now," I cried. "I must go back for the rifle."

-

-"The birds may--may attack you."

-

-"If they do I can get into one of the other boilers," I said. "Daisy,

-you must not venture out until I come back. You won't, will you?"

-

-"No-o," she whispered doubtfully.

-

-"Then--good-by."

-

-"Good-by," she answered, but her voice was very small and still.

-

-"Good-by," I said again. I was kneeling at the mouth of the big iron

-tunnel; it was dark inside and I could not see her, but, before I was

-conscious of it, her arms were around my neck and we had kissed each

-other.

-

-I don't remember how I went away. When I came to my proper senses I was

-swimming along the coast at full speed, and over my head wheeled one of

-the birds, screaming at every turn.

-

-The intoxication of that innocent embrace, the close impress of her

-arms around my neck, gave me a strength and recklessness that neither

-fear nor fatigue could subdue. The bird above me did not even frighten

-me; I watched it over my shoulder, swimming strongly, with the tide now

-aiding me, now stemming my course; but I saw the shore passing quickly

-and my strength increased, and I shouted when I came in sight of the

-house, and scrambled up on the sand, dripping and excited. There was

-nobody in sight, and I gave a last glance up into the air where the

-bird wheeled, still screeching, and hastened into the house. Freda

-stared at me in amazement as I seized the rifle and shouted for the

-professor.

-

-"He has just gone to town, with Captain McPeek in his wagon," stammered

-Freda.

-

-"What!" I cried. "Does he know where his daughter is?"

-

-"Miss Holroyd is asleep--not?" gasped Freda.

-

-"Where's Frisby?" I cried impatiently.

-

-"Yimmie?" quavered Freda.

-

-"Yes, Jimmie; isn't there anybody here? Good heavens! where's that man

-in the shop?"

-

-"He also iss gone," said Freda, shedding tears, "to buy papier-maché.

-Yimmie, he iss gone to post bills."

-

-I waited to hear no more, but swung my rifle over my shoulder, and,

-hanging the cartridge belt across my chest, hurried out and up the

-beach. The bird was not in sight.

-

-I had been running for perhaps a minute when, far up on the dunes, I

-saw a yellow dog rush madly through a clump of sweet bay, and at the

-same moment a bird soared past, rose, and hung hovering just above

-the thicket. Suddenly the bird swooped; there was a shriek and a yelp

-from the cur, but the bird gripped it in one claw and beat its wings

-upon the sand, striving to rise. Then I saw Frisby--paste, bucket, and

-brush raised--fall upon the bird, yelling lustily. The fierce creature

-relaxed its talons, and the dog rushed on, squeaking with terror. The

-bird turned on Frisby and sent him sprawling on his face, a sticky

-mass of paste and sand. But this did not end the struggle. The bird,

-croaking wildly, flew at the prostrate billposter, and the sand whirled

-into a pillar above its terrible wings. Scarcely knowing what I was

-about, I raised my rifle and fired twice. A horrid scream echoed each

-shot, and the bird rose heavily in a shower of sand; but two bullets

-were embedded in that mass of foul feathers, and I saw the wires and

-scarlet tape uncoiling on the sand at my feet. In an instant I seized

-them and passed the ends around a cedar tree, hooking the clasps tight.

-Then I cast one swift glance upward, where the bird wheeled screeching,

-anchored like a kite to the pallium wires; and I hurried on across

-the dunes, the shells cutting my feet, and the bushes tearing my wet

-swimming suit, until I dripped with blood from shoulder to ankle. Out

-in the ocean the carcass of the Thermosaurus floated, claws outspread,

-belly glistening in the gray light, and over him circled two birds. As

-I reached the shelter I knelt and fired into the mass of scales, and at

-my first shot a horrible thing occurred: the lizardlike head writhed,

-the slitted yellow eyes sliding open from the film that covered them.

-A shudder passed across the undulating body, the great scaled belly

-heaved, and one leg feebly clawed at the air.

-

-The thing was still alive!

-

-Crushing back the horror that almost paralyzed my hands, I planted shot

-after shot into the quivering reptile, while it writhed and clawed,

-striving to turn over and dive; and at each shot the black blood

-spurted in long, slim jets across the water. And now Daisy was at my

-side, pale and determined, swiftly clasping each tape-marked wire to

-the iron rings in the circle around us. Twice I filled the magazine

-from my belt, and twice I poured streams of steel-tipped bullets into

-the scaled mass, twisting and shuddering on the sea. Suddenly the birds

-steered toward us. I felt the wind from their vast wings. I saw the

-feathers erect, vibrating. I saw the spread claws outstretched, and I

-struck furiously at them, crying to Daisy to run into the iron shelter.

-Backing, swinging my clubbed rifle, I retreated, but I tripped across

-one of the taut pallium wires, and in an instant the hideous birds were

-on me, and the bone in my forearm snapped like a pipestem at a blow

-from their wings. Twice I struggled to my knees, blinded with blood,

-confused, almost fainting; then I fell again, rolling into the mouth of

-the iron boiler.

-

-       *       *       *       *       *

-

-When I struggled back to consciousness Daisy knelt silently beside me,

-while Captain McPeek and Professor Holroyd bound up my shattered arm,

-talking excitedly. The pain made me faint and dizzy. I tried to speak

-and could not. At last they got me to my feet and into the wagon, and

-Daisy came, too, and crouched beside me, wrapped in oilskins to her

-eyes. Fatigue, lack of food, and excitement had combined with wounds

-and broken bones to extinguish the last atom of strength in my body;

-but my mind was clear enough to understand that the trouble was over

-and the Thermosaurus safe.

-

-I heard McPeek say that one of the birds that I had anchored to a cedar

-tree had torn loose from the bullets and winged its way heavily out

-to sea. The professor answered: "Yes, the ekaf-bird; the others were

-ool-ylliks. I'd have given my right arm to have secured them." Then

-for a time I heard no more; but the jolting of the wagon over the dunes

-roused me to keenest pain, and I held out my right hand to Daisy. She

-clasped it in both of hers, and kissed it again and again.

-

-       *       *       *       *       *

-

-There is little more to add, I think. Professor Bruce Stoddard has

-edited this story carefully. His own scientific pamphlet will be

-published soon, to be followed by Professor Holroyd's sixteen volumes.

-In a few days the stuffed and mounted Thermosaurus will be placed on

-free public exhibition in the arena of Madison Square Garden, the only

-building in the city large enough to contain the body of this immense

-winged reptile.

-

-When my arm came out of splints, Daisy and I---- But really that

-has nothing to do with a detailed scientific description of the

-Thermosaurus, which, I think, I shall add as an appendix to the book.

-If you do not find it there it will be because Daisy and I have very

-little time to write about Thermosaurians.

-

-But what I really want to tell you about is the extraordinary

-adventures of Captain McPeek and Frisby--how they produced a specimen

-of Samia Cynthia that dwarfed a hundred of Attacus Atlas, and how the

-American line steamer St. Louis fouled the thing with her screw.

-

-The more I think of it the more determined I am to tell it to you. It

-will be difficult to prevent me. And that is not fiction either.

-

-

-

-

-ENVOI.

-

-

-

-

-_ENVOI._

-

-

- _I._

-

- _When shadows pass across the grass

-  And April breezes stir the sedge,

-  Along the brimming river's edge

-    I trail my line for silver trout,

-  And smoke, and dream of you, my lass,

-    And wonder why we two fell out,

-    And how the deuce it came about._

-

- _II._

-

- _When swallows sheer the meadow-mere

-  And thickets thrill with thrushes' hymns,

-  Along the mill-pond's reedy rims

-    I trail my line for shining dace;

-  But how can finny fishes cheer

-    A fellow, if he find no grace

-    In your sweet eyes and your dear face?_

-

- _III._

-

- _Let thrushes wing their way and sing

-  Where cresses freshen pebbled nooks;

-  By silent rills and singing brooks

-    I pass my way alone, alas!

-  With your dear name the woodlands ring--

-    Your name is murmured by the grass,

-    By earth, by air, all-where I pass._

-

- _IV._

-

- _The painted bream may swim the stream--

-    I'll cast no line to-day, pardi!

-  In vain the river-ripples gleam,

-    In vain the thrushes' minstrelsy.

-  Vain is the wind that whispers, "Lo!

-  Thy fish are waiting--Angler, go!"_

-

- _V._

-

- _Will you forgive if I forgive?

-  Life is too sad, I think, to live

-  Alone, and dream and smoke and fish;

-  I'll say "Forgive" first--if you wish?_

-

- _VI._

-

- _For at that word, the Sorcery

-  Of Love shall change the earth and sky

-  To Paradise, with cherubim

-  Instead of birds on every limb._

-

- _VII._

-

- _Rivers shall sing our rhapsody;

-  The vaulted forest, tree by tree,

-  High hung with tapestry, shall glow

-  With golden pillars all a-row._

-

- _VIII._

-

- _And down the gilded forest aisle

-  Shy throngs of violets shall smile

-  And kiss your feet from tree to tree

-  While blue-bells droop in courtesy._

-

- _IX._

-

- _And if the sun incarnadine

-  The clouds--green leaves shall be your screen;

-  And if the clouds with jealousy

-  Should weep--we'll beg of some kind tree

-  A moment's hospitality._

-

- _X._

-

- _Good cheer is here, if you incline;

-  Moss-hidden springs shall bubble wine

-  While squirrels chuckle, rank on rank,

-  And strawberries from every bank

-  Shall blush to see how deep we drank._

-

- _XI._

-

- _Winds of the West shall cool our eyes

-  While every woodland creature tries

-  His voice a little, so that he

-  May know his notes more perfectly

-  When crickets start the symphony._

-

- _XII._

-

- _Through hazel glade and scented dell

-  Where brooklets ring a tinkling bell,

-  The forest orchestra shall swell,

-  Until the sun-soaked grasses ring

-  With crickets strumming string on string._

-

- _XIII._

-

- _Then, with your white hand daintily

-  Scarce touching mine, we'll leave our tree

-  And ramble slowly toward the West

-  Where our high castle's flaming crest,

-  Towering behind the setting sun,

-  Flings out its banners, one by one,

-  Signals of fire, that day is done._

-

- _XIV._

-

- _Deep in that palace we shall find

-  How blind we are, how blind! how blind!

-  And how he'll laugh, who holds the key

-  To the great portal's mystery!

-  And how his joyous laugh will ring

-  When you and I shall bid him fling

-  The gates ajar for you and me!_

-

- _XV._

-

- _Let shadows flee athwart the lea

-  When dark December strips the hedge

-  Along the icy river's edge;

-    Yet, if you will forgive me, lass,

-  The world shall bloom like spring to me,

-    Snow turn to dew upon the grass

-    And fagots blossom where you pass._

-

- _XVI._

-

- _Swallows shall sheer the frozen mere,

-  Dead reeds along the mill-pond's rims

-  Shall thrill with summer-thrushes' hymns,

-    While summer breezes blow apace,

-  If you will but forgive me, dear,

-    And let me find a moment's grace,

-    In your sweet eyes and your dear face._

-

-                                       _R. W. C._

-

-

-THE END.

-

-

-

-

-CORRECTIONS

-

-

-  page     original text                    correction

-  ix       [missing from contents]          THE KEY TO GRIEF      185

-  13       Yvette has gone to Bannelec.     Yvette has gone to Bannalec.

-  23       It was crowded with Britons,     It was crowded with Bretons,

-  29       doxens of similar red            dozens of similar red

-  93       the great moth dated             the great moth darted

-  103      among the beach trees.           among the beech trees.

-  104      leaves of beach and oak          leaves of beech and oak

-  135      Sacré garce!                     Sacrée garce!

-  167      O frère Jaques,                  O frère Jacques,

-  180      carved from red beach.           carved from red beech.

-  181      their is much lace               there is much lace

-  181      chiselled in red beach.          chiselled in red beech.

-

-

-

-

-

-End of Project Gutenberg's The Mystery of Choice, by Robert William Chambers

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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 46581 ***
+
+TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:
+
+Italics have been transcribed using _underscores_, small capitals as ALL
+CAPITALS. Inconsistencies in hyphenation and spelling have not been
+corrected. Punctuation has been silently corrected. A list of other
+corrections can be found at the end of the document.
+
+
+
+
+THE MYSTERY OF CHOICE
+
+
+BY ROBERT W. CHAMBERS
+
+AUTHOR OF THE KING IN YELLOW, THE RED REPUBLIC, A KING AND A FEW DUKES,
+THE MAKER OF MOONS, ETC.
+
+
+NEW YORK D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 1897
+
+
+
+
+COPYRIGHT, 1897,
+BY ROBERT W. CHAMBERS.
+
+
+
+
+_DEDICATION._
+
+
+ _There is a maid, demure as she is wise,
+  With all of April in her winsome eyes,
+  And to my tales she listens pensively,
+  With slender fingers clasped about her knee,
+  Watching the sparrows on the balcony._
+
+   _Shy eyes that, lifted up to me,
+    Free all my heart of vanity;
+    Clear eyes, that speak all silently,
+    Sweet as the silence of a nunnery--
+    Read, for I write my rede for you alone,
+    Here where the city's mighty monotone
+    Deepens the silence to a symphony--
+    Silence of Saints, and Seers, and Sorcery._
+
+ _Arms and the Man! A noble theme, I ween!
+  Alas! I can not sing of these, Eileen--
+  Only of maids and men and meadow-grass,
+  Of sea and fields and woodlands, where I pass;
+  Nothing but these I know, Eileen, alas!_
+
+   _Clear eyes that, lifted up to me,
+    Free all my soul from vanity;
+    Gray eyes, that speak all wistfully--
+    Nothing but these I know, alas!_
+
+                                       _R. W. C._
+
+ _April, 1896._
+
+
+
+
+INTRODUCTION.
+
+
+ _I._
+
+ _Where two fair paths, deep flowered
+                        And leaf-embowered,
+  Creep East and West across a World concealed,
+  Which shall he take who journeys far afield?_
+
+ _II._
+
+ _Canst thou then say, "I go,"
+                        Or "I forego"?
+  What turns thee East or West, as thistles blow?
+  Is fair more fair than fair--and dost thou know?_
+
+ _III._
+
+ _Turn to the West, unblessed
+                        And uncaressed;
+  Turn to the East, and, seated at the Feast
+  Thou shalt find Life, or Death from Life released._
+
+ _IV._
+
+ _And thou who lovest best
+                        A maid dark-tressed,
+  And passest others by with careless eye,
+  Canst thou tell why thou choosest? Tell, then; why?_
+
+  _V._
+
+ _So when thy kiss is given
+                        Or half-forgiven,
+  Why should she tremble, with her face flame-hot,
+  Or laugh and whisper, "Love, I tremble not"?_
+
+ _VI._
+
+ _Or when thy hand may catch
+                        A half-drawn latch,
+  What draws thee from the door, to turn and pass
+  Through streets unknown, dim, still, and choked with grass?_
+
+ _VII._
+
+ _What! Canst thou not foresee
+                        The Mystery?
+  Heed! For a Voice commands thy every deed!
+  And it hath sounded. And thou needs must heed!_
+
+                                       _R. W. C._
+
+ _1896._
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS.
+
+
+                               PAGE
+
+  THE PURPLE EMPEROR              1
+
+  POMPE FUNÈBRE                  39
+
+  THE MESSENGER                  47
+
+  THE WHITE SHADOW              109
+
+  PASSEUR                       175
+
+  THE KEY TO GRIEF              185
+
+  A MATTER OF INTEREST          213
+
+  ENVOI                         283
+
+
+
+
+THE PURPLE EMPEROR.
+
+
+
+
+THE PURPLE EMPEROR.
+
+  Un souvenir heureux est peut-être, sur terre,
+    Plus vrai que le bonheur.
+
+                                        A. DE MUSSET.
+
+
+I.
+
+The Purple Emperor watched me in silence. I cast again, spinning out
+six feet more of waterproof silk, and, as the line hissed through the
+air far across the pool, I saw my three flies fall on the water like
+drifting thistledown. The Purple Emperor sneered.
+
+"You see," he said, "I am right. There is not a trout in Brittany that
+will rise to a tailed fly."
+
+"They do in America," I replied.
+
+"Zut! for America!" observed the Purple Emperor.
+
+"And trout take a tailed fly in England," I insisted sharply.
+
+"Now do I care what things or people do in England?" demanded the
+Purple Emperor.
+
+"You don't care for anything except yourself and your wriggling
+caterpillars," I said, more annoyed than I had yet been.
+
+The Purple Emperor sniffed. His broad, hairless, sunburnt features bore
+that obstinate expression which always irritated me. Perhaps the manner
+in which he wore his hat intensified the irritation, for the flapping
+brim rested on both ears, and the two little velvet ribbons which
+hung from the silver buckle in front wiggled and fluttered with every
+trivial breeze. His cunning eyes and sharp-pointed nose were out of all
+keeping with his fat red face. When he met my eye, he chuckled.
+
+"I know more about insects than any man in Morbihan--or Finistère
+either, for that matter," he said.
+
+"The Red Admiral knows as much as you do," I retorted.
+
+"He doesn't," replied the Purple Emperor angrily.
+
+"And his collection of butterflies is twice as large as yours," I
+added, moving down the stream to a spot directly opposite him.
+
+"It is, is it?" sneered the Purple Emperor. "Well, let me tell you,
+Monsieur Darrel, in all his collection he hasn't a specimen, a single
+specimen, of that magnificent butterfly, Apatura Iris, commonly known
+as the 'Purple Emperor.'"
+
+"Everybody in Brittany knows that," I said, casting across the
+sparkling water; "but just because you happen to be the only man who
+ever captured a 'Purple Emperor' in Morbihan, it doesn't follow that
+you are an authority on sea-trout flies. Why do you say that a Breton
+sea-trout won't touch a tailed fly?"
+
+"It's so," he replied.
+
+"Why? There are plenty of May-flies about the stream."
+
+"Let 'em fly!" snarled the Purple Emperor, "you won't see a trout touch
+'em."
+
+My arm was aching, but I grasped my split bamboo more firmly, and,
+half turning, waded out into the stream and began to whip the ripples
+at the head of the pool. A great green dragon-fly came drifting by on
+the summer breeze and hung a moment above the pool, glittering like an
+emerald.
+
+"There's a chance! Where is your butterfly net?" I called across the
+stream.
+
+"What for? That dragon-fly? I've got dozens--Anax Junius, Drury,
+characteristic, anal angle of posterior wings, in male, round; thorax
+marked with----"
+
+"That will do," I said fiercely. "Can't I point out an insect in
+the air without this burst of erudition? Can you tell me, in simple
+everyday French, what this little fly is--this one, flitting over the
+eel grass here beside me? See, it has fallen on the water."
+
+"Huh!" sneered the Purple Emperor, "that's a Linnobia annulus."
+
+"What's that?" I demanded.
+
+Before he could answer there came a heavy splash in the pool, and the
+fly disappeared.
+
+"He! he! he!" tittered the Purple Emperor. "Didn't I tell you the fish
+knew their business? That was a sea-trout. I hope you don't get him."
+
+He gathered up his butterfly net, collecting box, chloroform bottle,
+and cyanide jar. Then he rose, swung the box over his shoulder, stuffed
+the poison bottles into the pockets of his silver-buttoned velvet
+coat, and lighted his pipe. This latter operation was a demoralizing
+spectacle, for the Purple Emperor, like all Breton peasants, smoked one
+of those microscopical Breton pipes which requires ten minutes to find,
+ten minutes to fill, ten minutes to light, and ten seconds to finish.
+With true Breton stolidity he went through this solemn rite, blew three
+puffs of smoke into the air, scratched his pointed nose reflectively,
+and waddled away, calling back an ironical "Au revoir, and bad luck to
+all Yankees!"
+
+I watched him out of sight, thinking sadly of the young girl whose life
+he made a hell upon earth--Lys Trevec, his niece. She never admitted
+it, but we all knew what the black-and-blue marks meant on her soft,
+round arm, and it made me sick to see the look of fear come into her
+eyes when the Purple Emperor waddled into the café of the Groix Inn.
+
+It was commonly said that he half-starved her. This she denied. Marie
+Joseph and 'Fine Lelocard had seen him strike her the day after the
+Pardon of the Birds because she had liberated three bullfinches which
+he had limed the day before. I asked Lys if this were true, and she
+refused to speak to me for the rest of the week. There was nothing to
+do about it. If the Purple Emperor had not been avaricious, I should
+never have seen Lys at all, but he could not resist the thirty francs
+a week which I offered him; and Lys posed for me all day long, happy
+as a linnet in a pink thorn hedge. Nevertheless, the Purple Emperor
+hated me, and constantly threatened to send Lys back to her dreary
+flax-spinning. He was suspicious, too, and when he had gulped down
+the single glass of cider which proves fatal to the sobriety of most
+Bretons, he would pound the long, discoloured oaken table and roar
+curses on me, on Yves Terrec, and on the Red Admiral. We were the
+three objects in the world which he most hated: me, because I was a
+foreigner, and didn't care a rap for him and his butterflies; and the
+Red Admiral, because he was a rival entomologist.
+
+He had other reasons for hating Terrec.
+
+The Red Admiral, a little wizened wretch, with a badly adjusted
+glass eye and a passion for brandy, took his name from a butterfly
+which predominated in his collection. This butterfly, commonly known
+to amateurs as the "Red Admiral," and to entomologists as Vanessa
+Atalanta, had been the occasion of scandal among the entomologists of
+France and Brittany. For the Red Admiral had taken one of these common
+insects, dyed it a brilliant yellow by the aid of chemicals, and palmed
+it off on a credulous collector as a South African species, absolutely
+unique. The fifty francs which he gained by this rascality were,
+however, absorbed in a suit for damages brought by the outraged amateur
+a month later; and when he had sat in the Quimperlé jail for a month,
+he reappeared in the little village of St. Gildas soured, thirsty, and
+burning for revenge. Of course we named him the Red Admiral, and he
+accepted the name with suppressed fury.
+
+The Purple Emperor, on the other hand, had gained his imperial title
+legitimately, for it was an undisputed fact that the only specimen of
+that beautiful butterfly, Apatura Iris, or the Purple Emperor, as it
+is called by amateurs--the only specimen that had ever been taken in
+Finistère or in Morbihan--was captured and brought home alive by Joseph
+Marie Gloanec, ever afterward to be known as the Purple Emperor.
+
+When the capture of this rare butterfly became known the Red Admiral
+nearly went crazy. Every day for a week he trotted over to the Groix
+Inn, where the Purple Emperor lived with his niece, and brought his
+microscope to bear on the rare newly captured butterfly, in hopes of
+detecting a fraud. But this specimen was genuine, and he leered through
+his microscope in vain.
+
+"No chemicals there, Admiral," grinned the Purple Emperor; and the Red
+Admiral chattered with rage.
+
+To the scientific world of Brittany and France the capture of an
+Apatura Iris in Morbihan was of great importance. The Museum of Quimper
+offered to purchase the butterfly, but the Purple Emperor, though a
+hoarder of gold, was a monomaniac on butterflies, and he jeered at the
+Curator of the Museum. From all parts of Brittany and France letters
+of inquiry and congratulation poured in upon him. The French Academy
+of Sciences awarded him a prize, and the Paris Entomological Society
+made him an honorary member. Being a Breton peasant, and a more than
+commonly pig-headed one at that, these honours did not disturb his
+equanimity; but when the little hamlet of St. Gildas elected him mayor,
+and, as is the custom in Brittany under such circumstances, he left his
+thatched house to take up an official life in the little Groix Inn, his
+head became completely turned. To be mayor in a village of nearly one
+hundred and fifty people! It was an empire! So he became unbearable,
+drinking himself viciously drunk every night of his life, maltreating
+his niece, Lys Trevec, like the barbarous old wretch that he was, and
+driving the Red Admiral nearly frantic with his eternal harping on the
+capture of Apatura Iris. Of course he refused to tell where he had
+caught the butterfly. The Red Admiral stalked his footsteps, but in vain.
+
+"He! he! he!" nagged the Purple Emperor, cuddling his chin over a glass
+of cider; "I saw you sneaking about the St. Gildas spinny yesterday
+morning. So you think you can find another Apatura Iris by running
+after me? It won't do, Admiral, it won't do, d'ye see?"
+
+The Red Admiral turned yellow with mortification and envy, but the next
+day he actually took to his bed, for the Purple Emperor had brought
+home not a butterfly but a live chrysalis, which, if successfully
+hatched, would become a perfect specimen of the invaluable Apatura
+Iris. This was the last straw. The Red Admiral shut himself up in
+his little stone cottage, and for weeks now he had been invisible to
+everybody except 'Fine Lelocard who carried him a loaf of bread and a
+mullet or langouste every morning.
+
+The withdrawal of the Red Admiral from the society of St. Gildas
+excited first the derision and finally the suspicion of the Purple
+Emperor. What deviltry could he be hatching? Was he experimenting with
+chemicals again, or was he engaged in some deeper plot, the object
+of which was to discredit the Purple Emperor? Roux, the postman,
+who carried the mail on foot once a day from Bannalec, a distance of
+fifteen miles each way, had brought several suspicious letters, bearing
+English stamps, to the Red Admiral, and the next day the Admiral had
+been observed at his window grinning up into the sky and rubbing his
+hands together. A night or two after this apparition the postman left
+two packages at the Groix Inn for a moment while he ran across the way
+to drink a glass of cider with me. The Purple Emperor, who was roaming
+about the café, snooping into everything that did not concern him, came
+upon the packages and examined the postmarks and addresses. One of the
+packages was square and heavy, and felt like a book. The other was also
+square, but very light, and felt like a pasteboard box. They were both
+addressed to the Red Admiral, and they bore English stamps.
+
+When Roux, the postman, came back, the Purple Emperor tried to pump
+him, but the poor little postman knew nothing about the contents of the
+packages, and after he had taken them around the corner to the cottage
+of the Red Admiral the Purple Emperor ordered a glass of cider, and
+deliberately fuddled himself until Lys came in and tearfully supported
+him to his room. Here he became so abusive and brutal that Lys called
+to me, and I went and settled the trouble without wasting any words.
+This also the Purple Emperor remembered, and waited his chance to get
+even with me.
+
+That had happened a week ago, and until to-day he had not deigned to
+speak to me.
+
+Lys had posed for me all the week, and to-day being Saturday, and I
+lazy, we had decided to take a little relaxation, she to visit and
+gossip with her little black-eyed friend Yvette in the neighbouring
+hamlet of St. Julien, and I to try the appetites of the Breton trout
+with the contents of my American fly book.
+
+I had thrashed the stream very conscientiously for three hours, but not
+a trout had risen to my cast, and I was piqued. I had begun to believe
+that there were no trout in the St. Gildas stream, and would probably
+have given up had I not seen the sea trout snap the little fly which
+the Purple Emperor had named so scientifically. That set me thinking.
+Probably the Purple Emperor was right, for he certainly was an expert
+in everything that crawled and wriggled in Brittany. So I matched,
+from my American fly book, the fly that the sea trout had snapped up,
+and withdrawing the cast of three, knotted a new leader to the silk
+and slipped a fly on the loop. It was a queer fly. It was one of those
+unnameable experiments which fascinate anglers in sporting stores and
+which generally prove utterly useless. Moreover, it was a tailed fly,
+but of course I easily remedied that with a stroke of my penknife.
+Then I was all ready, and I stepped out into the hurrying rapids and
+cast straight as an arrow to the spot where the sea trout had risen.
+Lightly as a plume the fly settled on the bosom of the pool; then came
+a startling splash, a gleam of silver, and the line tightened from the
+vibrating rod-tip to the shrieking reel. Almost instantly I checked the
+fish, and as he floundered for a moment, making the water boil along
+his glittering sides, I sprang to the bank again, for I saw that the
+fish was a heavy one and I should probably be in for a long run down
+the stream. The five-ounce rod swept in a splendid circle, quivering
+under the strain. "Oh, for a gaff-hook!" I cried aloud, for I was now
+firmly convinced that I had a salmon to deal with, and no sea trout at
+all.
+
+Then as I stood, bringing every ounce to bear on the sulking fish, a
+lithe, slender girl came hurriedly along the opposite bank calling out
+to me by name.
+
+"Why, Lys!" I said, glancing up for a second, "I thought you were at
+St. Julien with Yvette."
+
+"Yvette has gone to Bannalec. I went home and found an awful fight
+going on at the Groix Inn, and I was so frightened that I came to tell
+you."
+
+The fish dashed off at that moment, carrying all the line my reel held,
+and I was compelled to follow him at a jump. Lys, active and graceful
+as a young deer, in spite of her Pont-Aven sabots, followed along the
+opposite bank until the fish settled in a deep pool, shook the line
+savagely once or twice, and then relapsed into the sulks.
+
+"Fight at the Groix Inn?" I called across the water. "What fight?"
+
+"Not exactly fight," quavered Lys, "but the Red Admiral has come out
+of his house at last, and he and my uncle are drinking together and
+disputing about butterflies. I never saw my uncle so angry, and the Red
+Admiral is sneering and grinning. Oh, it is almost wicked to see such
+a face!"
+
+"But Lys," I said, scarcely able to repress a smile, "your uncle and
+the Red Admiral are always quarrelling and drinking."
+
+"I know--oh, dear me!--but this is different, Monsieur Darrel. The Red
+Admiral has grown old and fierce since he shut himself up three weeks
+ago, and--oh, dear! I never saw such a look in my uncle's eyes before.
+He seemed insane with fury. His eyes--I can't speak of it--and then
+Terrec came in."
+
+"Oh," I said more gravely, "that was unfortunate. What did the Red
+Admiral say to his son?"
+
+Lys sat down on a rock among the ferns, and gave me a mutinous glance
+from her blue eyes.
+
+Yves Terrec, loafer, poacher, and son of Louis Jean Terrec, otherwise
+the Red Admiral, had been kicked out by his father, and had also been
+forbidden the village by the Purple Emperor, in his majestic capacity
+of mayor. Twice the young ruffian had returned: once to rifle the
+bedroom of the Purple Emperor--an unsuccessful enterprise--and another
+time to rob his own father. He succeeded in the latter attempt, but was
+never caught, although he was frequently seen roving about the forests
+and moors with his gun. He openly menaced the Purple Emperor; vowed
+that he would marry Lys in spite of all the gendarmes in Quimperlé;
+and these same gendarmes he led many a long chase through brier-filled
+swamps and over miles of yellow gorse.
+
+What he did to the Purple Emperor--what he intended to do--disquieted
+me but little; but I worried over his threat concerning Lys. During
+the last three months this had bothered me a great deal; for when Lys
+came to St. Gildas from the convent the first thing she captured was my
+heart. For a long time I had refused to believe that any tie of blood
+linked this dainty blue-eyed creature with the Purple Emperor. Although
+she dressed in the velvet-laced bodice and blue petticoat of Finistère,
+and wore the bewitching white coiffe of St. Gildas, it seemed like a
+pretty masquerade. To me she was as sweet and as gently bred as many a
+maiden of the noble Faubourg who danced with her cousins at a Louis XV
+fête champêtre. So when Lys said that Yves Terrec had returned openly
+to St. Gildas, I felt that I had better be there also.
+
+"What did Terrec say, Lys?" I asked, watching the line vibrating above
+the placid pool.
+
+The wild rose colour crept into her cheeks. "Oh," she answered, with a
+little toss of her chin, "you know what he always says."
+
+"That he will carry you away?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"In spite of the Purple Emperor, the Red Admiral, and the gendarmes?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"And what do you say, Lys?"
+
+"I? Oh, nothing."
+
+"Then let me say it for you."
+
+Lys looked at her delicate pointed sabots, the sabots from Pont-Aven,
+made to order. They fitted her little foot. They were her only luxury.
+
+"Will you let me answer for you, Lys?" I asked.
+
+"You, Monsieur Darrel?"
+
+"Yes. Will you let me give him his answer?"
+
+"Mon Dieu, why should you concern yourself, Monsieur Darrel?"
+
+The fish lay very quiet, but the rod in my hand trembled.
+
+"Because I love you, Lys."
+
+The wild rose colour in her cheeks deepened; she gave a gentle gasp,
+then hid her curly head in her hands.
+
+"I love you, Lys."
+
+"Do you know what you say?" she stammered.
+
+"Yes, I love you."
+
+She raised her sweet face and looked at me across the pool.
+
+"I love you," she said, while the tears stood like stars in her eyes.
+"Shall I come over the brook to you?"
+
+
+II.
+
+That night Yves Terrec left the village of St. Gildas vowing vengeance
+against his father, who refused him shelter.
+
+I can see him now, standing in the road, his bare legs rising like
+pillars of bronze from his straw-stuffed sabots, his short velvet
+jacket torn and soiled by exposure and dissipation, and his eyes,
+fierce, roving, bloodshot--while the Red Admiral squeaked curses on
+him, and hobbled away into his little stone cottage.
+
+"I will not forget you!" cried Yves Terrec, and stretched out his hand
+toward his father with a terrible gesture. Then he whipped his gun to
+his cheek and took a short step forward, but I caught him by the throat
+before he could fire, and a second later we were rolling in the dust
+of the Bannalec road. I had to hit him a heavy blow behind the ear
+before he would let go, and then, rising and shaking myself, I dashed
+his muzzle-loading fowling piece to bits against a wall, and threw his
+knife into the river. The Purple Emperor was looking on with a queer
+light in his eyes. It was plain that he was sorry Terrec had not choked
+me to death.
+
+"He would have killed his father," I said, as I passed him, going
+toward the Groix Inn.
+
+"That's his business," snarled the Purple Emperor. There was a deadly
+light in his eyes. For a moment I thought he was going to attack me;
+but he was merely viciously drunk, so I shoved him out of my way and
+went to bed, tired and disgusted.
+
+The worst of it was I couldn't sleep, for I feared that the Purple
+Emperor might begin to abuse Lys. I lay restlessly tossing among the
+sheets until I could stay there no longer. I did not dress entirely;
+I merely slipped on a pair of chaussons and sabots, a pair of
+knickerbockers, a jersey, and a cap. Then, loosely tying a handkerchief
+about my throat, I went down the worm-eaten stairs and out into the
+moonlit road. There was a candle flaring in the Purple Emperor's
+window, but I could not see him.
+
+"He's probably dead drunk," I thought, and looked up at the window
+where, three years before, I had first seen Lys.
+
+"Asleep, thank Heaven!" I muttered, and wandered out along the road.
+Passing the small cottage of the Red Admiral, I saw that it was dark,
+but the door was open. I stepped inside the hedge to shut it, thinking,
+in case Yves Terrec should be roving about, his father would lose
+whatever he had left.
+
+Then, after fastening the door with a stone, I wandered on through the
+dazzling Breton moonlight. A nightingale was singing in a willow swamp
+below, and from the edge of the mere, among the tall swamp grasses,
+myriads of frogs chanted a bass chorus.
+
+When I returned, the eastern sky was beginning to lighten, and across
+the meadows on the cliffs, outlined against the paling horizon, I saw
+a seaweed gatherer going to his work among the curling breakers on the
+coast. His long rake was balanced on his shoulder, and the sea wind
+carried his song across the meadows to me:
+
+    St. Gildas!
+    St. Gildas!
+    Pray for us,
+    Shelter us,
+  Us who toil in the sea.
+
+Passing the shrine at the entrance of the village, I took off my cap
+and knelt in prayer to Our Lady of Faöuet; and if I neglected myself
+in that prayer, surely I believed Our Lady of Faöuet would be kinder to
+Lys. It is said that the shrine casts white shadows. I looked, but saw
+only the moonlight. Then very peacefully I went to bed again, and was
+only awakened by the clank of sabres and the trample of horses in the
+road below my window.
+
+"Good gracious!" I thought, "it must be eleven o'clock, for there are
+the gendarmes from Quimperlé."
+
+I looked at my watch; it was only half-past eight, and as the gendarmes
+made their rounds every Thursday at eleven, I wondered what had brought
+them out so early to St. Gildas.
+
+"Of course," I grumbled, rubbing my eyes, "they are after Terrec," and
+I jumped into my limited bath.
+
+Before I was completely dressed I heard a timid knock, and opening my
+door, razor in hand, stood astonished and silent. Lys, her blue eyes
+wide with terror, leaned on the threshold.
+
+"My darling!" I cried, "what on earth is the matter?" But she
+only clung to me, panting like a wounded sea gull. At last, when I
+drew her into the room and raised her face to mine, she spoke in a
+heart-breaking voice:
+
+"Oh, Dick! they are going to arrest you, but I will die before I
+believe one word of what they say. No, don't ask me," and she began to
+sob desperately.
+
+When I found that something really serious was the matter, I flung
+on my coat and cap, and, slipping one arm about her waist, went down
+the stairs and out into the road. Four gendarmes sat on their horses
+in front of the café door; beyond them, the entire population of St.
+Gildas gaped, ten deep.
+
+"Hello, Durand!" I said to the brigadier, "what the devil is this I
+hear about arresting me?"
+
+"It's true, mon ami," replied Durand with sepulchral sympathy. I looked
+him over from the tip of his spurred boots to his sulphur-yellow sabre
+belt, then upward, button by button, to his disconcerted face.
+
+"What for?" I said scornfully. "Don't try any cheap sleuth work on me!
+Speak up, man, what's the trouble?"
+
+The Purple Emperor, who sat in the doorway staring at me, started to
+speak, but thought better of it and got up and went into the house. The
+gendarmes rolled their eyes mysteriously and looked wise.
+
+"Come, Durand," I said impatiently, "what's the charge?"
+
+"Murder," he said in a faint voice.
+
+"What!" I cried incredulously. "Nonsense! Do I look like a murderer?
+Get off your horse, you stupid, and tell me who's murdered."
+
+Durand got down, looking very silly, and came up to me, offering his
+hand with a propitiatory grin.
+
+"It was the Purple Emperor who denounced you! See, they found your
+handkerchief at his door----"
+
+"Whose door, for Heaven's sake?" I cried.
+
+"Why, the Red Admiral's!"
+
+"The Red Admiral's? What has he done?"
+
+"Nothing--he's only been murdered."
+
+I could scarcely believe my senses, although they took me over to the
+little stone cottage and pointed out the blood-spattered room. But
+the horror of the thing was that the corpse of the murdered man had
+disappeared, and there only remained a nauseating lake of blood on
+the stone floor, in the centre of which lay a human hand. There was
+no doubt as to whom the hand belonged, for everybody who had ever seen
+the Red Admiral knew that the shrivelled bit of flesh which lay in the
+thickening blood was the hand of the Red Admiral. To me it looked like
+the severed claw of some gigantic bird.
+
+"Well," I said, "there's been murder committed. Why don't you do
+something?"
+
+"What?" asked Durand.
+
+"I don't know. Send for the Commissaire."
+
+"He's at Quimperlé. I telegraphed."
+
+"Then send for a doctor, and find out how long this blood has been
+coagulating."
+
+"The chemist from Quimperlé is here; he's a doctor."
+
+"What does he say?"
+
+"He says that he doesn't know."
+
+"And who are you going to arrest?" I inquired, turning away from the
+spectacle on the floor.
+
+"I don't know," said the brigadier solemnly; "you are denounced by the
+Purple Emperor, because he found your handkerchief at the door when he
+went out this morning."
+
+"Just like a pig-headed Breton!" I exclaimed, thoroughly angry. "Did he
+not mention Yves Terrec?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Of course not," I said. "He overlooked the fact that Terrec tried to
+shoot his father last night, and that I took away his gun. All that
+counts for nothing when he finds my handkerchief at the murdered man's
+door."
+
+"Come into the café," said Durand, much disturbed, "we can talk it
+over, there. Of course, Monsieur Darrel, I have never had the faintest
+idea that you were the murderer!"
+
+The four gendarmes and I walked across the road to the Groix Inn and
+entered the café. It was crowded with Bretons, smoking, drinking,
+and jabbering in half a dozen dialects, all equally unsatisfactory to
+a civilized ear; and I pushed through the crowd to where little Max
+Fortin, the chemist of Quimperlé, stood smoking a vile cigar.
+
+"This is a bad business," he said, shaking hands and offering me the
+mate to his cigar, which I politely declined.
+
+"Now, Monsieur Fortin," I said, "it appears that the Purple Emperor
+found my handkerchief near the murdered man's door this morning, and
+so he concludes"--here I glared at the Purple Emperor--"that I am the
+assassin. I will now ask him a question," and turning on him suddenly,
+I shouted, "What were you doing at the Red Admiral's door?"
+
+The Purple Emperor started and turned pale, and I pointed at him
+triumphantly.
+
+"See what a sudden question will do. Look how embarrassed he is,
+and yet I do not charge him with murder; and I tell you, gentlemen,
+that man there knows as well as I do who was the murderer of the Red
+Admiral!"
+
+"I don't!" bawled the Purple Emperor.
+
+"You do," I said. "It was Yves Terrec."
+
+"I don't believe it," he said obstinately, dropping his voice.
+
+"Of course not, being pig-headed."
+
+"I am not pig-headed," he roared again, "but I am mayor of St. Gildas,
+and I do not believe that Yves Terrec killed his father."
+
+"You saw him try to kill him last night?"
+
+The mayor grunted.
+
+"And you saw what I did."
+
+He grunted again.
+
+"And," I went on, "you heard Yves Terrec threaten to kill his father.
+You heard him curse the Red Admiral and swear to kill him. Now the
+father is murdered and his body is gone."
+
+"And your handkerchief?" sneered the Purple Emperor.
+
+"I dropped it, of course."
+
+"And the seaweed gatherer who saw you last night lurking about the Red
+Admiral's cottage," grinned the Purple Emperor.
+
+I was startled at the man's malice.
+
+"That will do," I said. "It is perfectly true that I was walking on the
+Bannalec road last night, and that I stopped to close the Red Admiral's
+door, which was ajar, although his light was not burning. After that
+I went up the road to the Dinez Woods, and then walked over by St.
+Julien, whence I saw the seaweed gatherer on the cliffs. He was near
+enough for me to hear what he sang. What of that?"
+
+"What did you do then?"
+
+"Then I stopped at the shrine and said a prayer, and then I went to
+bed and slept until Brigadier Durand's gendarmes awoke me with their
+clatter."
+
+"Now, Monsieur Darrel," said the Purple Emperor, lifting a fat finger
+and shooting a wicked glance at me, "Now, Monsieur Darrel, which did
+you wear last night on your midnight stroll--sabots or shoes?"
+
+I thought a moment. "Shoes--no, sabots. I just slipped on my chaussons
+and went out in my sabots."
+
+"Which was it, shoes or sabots?" snarled the Purple Emperor.
+
+"Sabots, you fool."
+
+"Are these your sabots?" he asked, lifting up a wooden shoe with my
+initials cut on the instep.
+
+"Yes," I replied.
+
+"Then how did this blood come on the other one?" he shouted, and
+held up a sabot, the mate to the first, on which a drop of blood had
+spattered.
+
+"I haven't the least idea," I said calmly; but my heart was beating
+very fast and I was furiously angry.
+
+"You blockhead!" I said, controlling my rage, "I'll make you pay for
+this when they catch Yves Terrec and convict him. Brigadier Durand, do
+your duty if you think I am under suspicion. Arrest me, but grant me
+one favour. Put me in the Red Admiral's cottage, and I'll see whether
+I can't find some clew that you have overlooked. Of course, I won't
+disturb anything until the Commissaire arrives. Bah! You all make me
+very ill."
+
+"He's hardened," observed the Purple Emperor, wagging his head.
+
+"What motive had I to kill the Red Admiral?" I asked them all
+scornfully. And they all cried:
+
+"None! Yves Terrec is the man!"
+
+Passing out of the door I swung around and shook my finger at the
+Purple Emperor.
+
+"Oh, I'll make you dance for this, my friend," I said; and I followed
+Brigadier Durand across the street to the cottage of the murdered man.
+
+
+III.
+
+They took me at my word and placed a gendarme with a bared sabre at the
+gateway by the hedge.
+
+"Give me your parole," said poor Durand, "and I will let you go
+where you wish." But I refused, and began prowling about the cottage
+looking for clews. I found lots of things that some people would have
+considered most important, such as ashes from the Red Admiral's pipe,
+footprints in a dusty vegetable bin, bottles smelling of Pouldu cider,
+and dust--oh, lots of dust!--but I was not an expert, only a stupid,
+everyday amateur; so I defaced the footprints with my thick shooting
+boots, and I declined to examine the pipe ashes through a microscope,
+although the Red Admiral's microscope stood on the table close at hand.
+
+At last I found what I had been looking for, some long wisps of straw,
+curiously depressed and flattened in the middle, and I was certain
+I had found the evidence that would settle Yves Terrec for the rest
+of his life. It was plain as the nose on your face. The straws were
+sabot straws, flattened where the foot had pressed them, and sticking
+straight out where they projected beyond the sabot. Now nobody in
+St. Gildas used straw in sabots except a fisherman who lived near St.
+Julien, and the straw in his sabots was ordinary yellow wheat straw!
+This straw, or rather these straws, were from the stalks of the red
+wheat which only grows inland, and which, everybody in St. Gildas
+knew, Yves Terrec wore in his sabots. I was perfectly satisfied; and
+when, three hours later, a hoarse shouting from the Bannalec Road
+brought me to the window, I was not surprised to see Yves Terrec,
+bloody, dishevelled, hatless, with his strong arms bound behind him,
+walking with bent head between two mounted gendarmes. The crowd around
+him swelled every minute, crying: "Parricide! parricide! Death to the
+murderer!" As he passed my window I saw great clots of mud on his dusty
+sabots, from the heels of which projected wisps of red wheat straw.
+Then I walked back into the Red Admiral's study, determined to find
+what the microscope would show on the wheat straws. I examined each
+one very carefully, and then, my eyes aching, I rested my chin on my
+hand and leaned back in the chair. I had not been as fortunate as some
+detectives, for there was no evidence that the straws had ever been
+used in a sabot at all. Furthermore, directly across the hallway stood
+a carved Breton chest, and now I noticed for the first time that, from
+beneath the closed lid, dozens of similar red wheat straws projected,
+bent exactly as mine were bent by the weight of the lid.
+
+I yawned in disgust. It was apparent that I was not cut out for a
+detective, and I bitterly pondered over the difference between clews in
+real life and clews in a detective story. After a while I rose, walked
+over to the chest and opened the lid. The interior was wadded with
+the red wheat straws, and on this wadding lay two curious glass jars,
+two or three small vials, several empty bottles labelled chloroform, a
+collecting jar of cyanide of potassium, and a book. In a farther corner
+of the chest were some letters bearing English stamps, and also the
+torn coverings of two parcels, all from England, and all directed to
+the Red Admiral under his proper name of "Sieur Louis Jean Terrec, St.
+Gildas, par Moëlan, Finistère."
+
+All these traps I carried over to the desk, shut the lid of the chest,
+and sat down to read the letters. They were written in commercial
+French, evidently by an Englishman.
+
+Freely translated, the contents of the first letter were as follows:
+
+                                        "LONDON, _June 12, 1894_.
+
+     "DEAR MONSIEUR (_sic_): Your kind favour of the 19th inst.
+     received and contents noted. The latest work on the
+     Lepidoptera of England is Blowzer's How to catch British
+     Butterflies, with notes and tables, and an introduction by
+     Sir Thomas Sniffer. The price of this work (in one volume,
+     calf) is £5 or 125 francs of French money. A post-office
+     order will receive our prompt attention. We beg to remain,
+
+                               "Yours, etc.,
+                                      "FRADLEY & TOOMER,
+                               "470 Regent Square, London, S. W."
+
+The next letter was even less interesting. It merely stated that the
+money had been received and the book would be forwarded. The third
+engaged my attention, and I shall quote it, the translation being a
+free one:
+
+     "DEAR SIR: Your letter of the 1st of July was duly received,
+     and we at once referred it to Mr. Fradley himself. Mr. Fradley
+     being much interested in your question, sent your letter to
+     Professor Schweineri, of the Berlin Entomological Society,
+     whose note Blowzer refers to on page 630, in his How to catch
+     British Butterflies. We have just received an answer from
+     Professor Schweineri, which we translate into French--(see
+     inclosed slip). Professor Schweineri begs to present to you
+     two jars of cythyl, prepared under his own supervision. We
+     forward the same to you. Trusting that you will find
+     everything satisfactory, we remain,
+
+                                        "Yours sincerely,
+                                              "FRADLEY & TOOMER."
+
+The inclosed slip read as follows:
+
+     "Messrs. FRADLEY & TOOMER,
+
+     "GENTLEMEN: Cythaline, a complex hydrocarbon, was first used
+     by Professor Schnoot, of Antwerp, a year ago. I discovered
+     an analogous formula about the same time and named it cythyl.
+     I have used it with great success everywhere. It is as
+     certain as a magnet. I beg to present you three small jars,
+     and would be pleased to have you forward two of them to your
+     correspondent in St. Gildas with my compliments. Blowzer's
+     quotation of me, on page 630 of his glorious work, How to
+     catch British Butterflies, is correct.
+
+                               "Yours, etc.,
+                                      "HEINRICH SCHWEINERI,
+                                        P.H.D., D.D., D.S., M.S."
+
+When I had finished this letter I folded it up and put it into my
+pocket with the others. Then I opened Blowzer's valuable work, How to
+catch British Butterflies, and turned to page 630.
+
+Now, although the Red Admiral could only have acquired the book very
+recently, and although all the other pages were perfectly clean, this
+particular page was thumbed black, and heavy pencil marks inclosed a
+paragraph at the bottom of the page. This is the paragraph:
+
+     "Professor Schweineri says: 'Of the two old methods used by
+     collectors for the capture of the swift-winged, high-flying
+     Apatura Iris, or Purple Emperor, the first, which was using a
+     long-handled net, proved successful once in a thousand times;
+     and the second, the placing of bait upon the ground, such as
+     decayed meat, dead cats, rats, etc., was not only disagreeable,
+     even for an enthusiastic collector, but also very uncertain.
+     Once in five hundred times would the splendid butterfly leave
+     the tops of his favourite oak trees to circle about the fetid
+     bait offered. I have found cythyl a perfectly sure bait to
+     draw this beautiful butterfly to the ground, where it can be
+     easily captured. An ounce of cythyl placed in a yellow saucer
+     under an oak tree, will draw to it every Apatura Iris within
+     a radius of twenty miles. So, if any collector who possesses
+     a little cythyl, even though it be in a sealed bottle in his
+     pocket--if such a collector does not find a single Apatura
+     Iris fluttering close about him within an hour, let him be
+     satisfied that the Apatura Iris does not inhabit his country.'"
+
+When I had finished reading this note I sat for a long while thinking
+hard. Then I examined the two jars. They were labelled "_Cythyl_." One
+was full, the other _nearly full_. "The rest must be on the corpse
+of the Red Admiral," I thought, "no matter if it is in a corked
+bottle----"
+
+I took all the things back to the chest, laid them carefully on the
+straw, and closed the lid. The gendarme sentinel at the gate saluted me
+respectfully as I crossed over to the Groix Inn. The Inn was surrounded
+by an excited crowd, and the hallway was choked with gendarmes and
+peasants. On every side they greeted me cordially, announcing that the
+real murderer was caught; but I pushed by them without a word and ran
+upstairs to find Lys. She opened her door when I knocked and threw both
+arms about my neck. I took her to my breast and kissed her. After a
+moment I asked her if she would obey me no matter what I commanded, and
+she said she would, with a proud humility that touched me.
+
+"Then go at once to Yvette in St. Julien," I said. "Ask her to harness
+the dog-cart and drive you to the convent in Quimperlé. Wait for me
+there. Will you do this without questioning me, my darling?"
+
+She raised her face to mine. "Kiss me," she said innocently; the next
+moment she had vanished.
+
+I walked deliberately into the Purple Emperor's room and peered into
+the gauze-covered box which had held the chrysalis of Apatura Iris. It
+was as I expected. The chrysalis was empty and transparent, and a great
+crack ran down the middle of its back, but, on the netting inside the
+box, a magnificent butterfly slowly waved its burnished purple wings;
+for the chrysalis had given up its silent tenant, the butterfly symbol
+of immortality. Then a great fear fell upon me. I know now that it was
+the fear of the Black Priest, but neither then nor for years after did
+I know that the Black Priest had ever lived on earth. As I bent over
+the box I heard a confused murmur outside the house which ended in
+a furious shout of "Parricide!" and I heard the gendarmes ride away
+behind a wagon which rattled sharply on the flinty highway. I went
+to the window. In the wagon sat Yves Terrec, bound and wild-eyed, two
+gendarmes at either side of him, and all around the wagon rode mounted
+gendarmes whose bared sabres scarcely kept the crowd away.
+
+"Parricide!" they howled. "Let him die!"
+
+I stepped back and opened the gauze-covered box. Very gently but firmly
+I took the splendid butterfly by its closed fore wings and lifted it
+unharmed between my thumb and forefinger. Then, holding it concealed
+behind my back, I went down into the café.
+
+Of all the crowd that had filled it, shouting for the death of Yves
+Terrec, only three persons remained seated in front of the huge empty
+fireplace. They were the Brigadier Durand, Max Fortin, the chemist
+of Quimperlé, and the Purple Emperor. The latter looked abashed when
+I entered, but I paid no attention to him and walked straight to the
+chemist.
+
+"Monsieur Fortin," I said, "do you know much about hydrocarbons?"
+
+"They are my specialty," he said astonished.
+
+"Have you ever heard of such a thing as cythyl?"
+
+"Schweineri's cythyl? Oh, yes! We use it in perfumery."
+
+"Good!" I said. "Has it an odour?"
+
+"No--and, yes. One is always aware of its presence, but really nobody
+can affirm it has an odour. It is curious," he continued, looking at
+me, "it is very curious you should have asked me that, for all day I
+have been imagining I detected the presence of cythyl."
+
+"Do you imagine so now?" I asked.
+
+"Yes, more than ever."
+
+I sprang to the front door and tossed out the butterfly. The splendid
+creature beat the air for a moment, flitted uncertainly hither
+and thither, and then, to my astonishment, sailed majestically
+back into the café and alighted on the hearthstone. For a moment
+I was nonplussed, but when my eyes rested on the Purple Emperor I
+comprehended in a flash.
+
+"Lift that hearthstone!" I cried to the Brigadier Durand; "pry it up
+with your scabbard!"
+
+The Purple Emperor suddenly fell forward in his chair, his face ghastly
+white, his jaw loose with terror.
+
+"What is cythyl?" I shouted, seizing him by the arm; but he plunged
+heavily from his chair, face downward on the floor, and at the same
+moment a cry from the chemist made me turn. There stood the Brigadier
+Durand, one hand supporting the hearthstone, one hand raised in horror.
+There stood Max Fortin, the chemist, rigid with excitement, and below,
+in the hollow bed where the hearthstone had rested, lay a crushed mass
+of bleeding human flesh, from the midst of which stared a cheap glass
+eye. I seized the Purple Emperor and dragged him to his feet.
+
+"Look!" I cried; "look at your old friend, the Red Admiral!" but he
+only smiled in a vacant way, and rolled his head muttering; "Bait for
+butterflies! Cythyl! Oh, no, no, no! You can't do it, Admiral, d'ye
+see. I alone own the Purple Emperor! I alone am the Purple Emperor!"
+
+And the same carriage that bore me to Quimperlé to claim my bride,
+carried him to Quimper, gagged and bound, a foaming, howling lunatic.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+This, then, is the story of the Purple Emperor. I might tell you a
+pleasanter story if I chose; but concerning the fish that I had hold
+of, whether it was a salmon, a grilse, or a sea trout, I may not say,
+because I have promised Lys, and she has promised me, that no power on
+earth shall wring from our lips the mortifying confession that the fish
+escaped.
+
+
+
+
+POMPE FUNÈBRE.
+
+
+            A wind-swept sky,
+  The waste of moorland stretching to the west;
+  The sea, low moaning in a strange unrest--
+            A seagull's cry.
+
+            Washed by the tide,
+  The rocks lie sullen in the waning light;
+  The foam breaks in long strips of hungry white,
+            Dissatisfied.
+
+                                        BATEMAN.
+
+
+
+
+POMPE FUNÈBRE.
+
+  In the days when the keepers of the house shall tremble.
+
+
+When I first saw the sexton he was standing motionless behind a stone.
+Presently he moved on again, pausing at times, and turning right and
+left with that nervous, jerky motion that always chills me.
+
+His path lay across the blighted moss and withered leaves scattered
+in moist layers along the bank of the little brown stream, and I,
+wondering what his errand might be, followed, passing silently over the
+rotting forest mould. Once or twice he heard me, for I saw him stop
+short, a blot of black and orange in the sombre woods; but he always
+started on again, hurrying at times as though the dead might grow
+impatient.
+
+For the sexton that I followed through the November forest was one
+of those small creatures that God has sent to bury little things that
+die alone in the world. Undertaker, sexton, mute, and gravedigger in
+one, this thing, robed in black and orange, buries all things that die
+unheeded by the world. And so they call it--this little beetle in black
+and orange--the "sexton."
+
+How he hurried! I looked up into the gray sky where ashen branches,
+interlaced, swayed in unfelt winds, and I heard the dry leaves rattle
+in the tree tops, and the thud of acorns on the mould. A sombre bird
+peered at me from a heap of brush, then ran pattering over the leaves.
+
+The sexton had reached a bit of broken ground, and was scuffling over
+sticks and gulleys toward a brown tuft of withered grass above. I dared
+not help him; besides, I could not bring myself to touch him, he was so
+horribly absorbed in his errand.
+
+I halted for a moment. The eagerness of this live creature to find his
+dead and handle it; the odour of death and decay in this little forest
+world, where I had waited for spring when Lys moved among the flowering
+gorse, singing like a throstle in the wind--all this troubled me, and
+I lagged behind.
+
+The sexton scrambled over the dead grass, raising his seared eyes at
+every wave of wind. The wind brought sadness with it, the scent of
+lifeless trees, the vague rustle of gorse buds, yellow and dry as paper
+flowers.
+
+Along the stream, rotting water plants, scorched and frost-blighted,
+lay massed above the mud. I saw their pallid stems swaying like worms
+in the listless current.
+
+The sexton had reached a mouldering stump, and now he seemed undecided.
+I sat down on a fallen tree, moist and bleached, that crumbled under
+my touch, leaving a stale odour in the air. Overhead a crow rose
+heavily and flapped out into the moorland; the wind rattled the stark
+blackthorns; a single drop of rain touched my cheek. I looked into the
+stream for some sign of life; there was nothing, except a shapeless
+creature that might have been a blindworm, lying belly upward on the
+mud bottom. I touched it with a stick. It was stiff and dead.
+
+The wind among the sham paperlike gorse buds filled the woods with a
+silken rustle. I put out my hand and touched a yellow blossom; it felt
+like an immortelle on a funeral pillow.
+
+The sexton had moved on again; something, perhaps a musty spider's web,
+had stuck to one leg, and he dragged it as he laboured on through the
+wood. Some little field mouse torn by weasel or kestrel, some crushed
+mole, some tiny dead pile of fur or feather, lay not far off, stricken
+by God or man or brother creature. And the sexton knew it--how, God
+knows! But he knew it, and hurried on to his tryst with the dead.
+
+His path now lay along the edge of a tidal inlet from the Groix River.
+I looked down at the gray water through the leafless branches, and I
+saw a small snake, head raised, swim from a submerged clot of weeds
+into the shadow of a rock. There was a curlew, too, somewhere in the
+black swamp, whose dreary, persistent call cursed the silence.
+
+I wondered when the sexton would fly; for he could fly if he chose; it
+is only when the dead are near, very near, that he creeps. The soiled
+mess of cobweb still stuck to him, and his progress was impeded by
+it. Once I saw a small brown and white spider, striped like a zebra,
+running swiftly in his tracks, but the sexton turned and raised his
+two clubbed forelegs in a horrid imploring attitude that still had
+something of menace under it. The spider backed away and sidled under
+a stone.
+
+When anything that is dying--sick and close to death--falls upon the
+face of the earth, something moves in the blue above, floating like
+a moat; then another, then others. These specks that grow out of the
+fathomless azure vault are jewelled flies. They come to wait for Death.
+
+The sexton also arranges rendezvous with Death, but never waits; Death
+must arrive the first.
+
+When the heavy clover is ablaze with painted wings, when bees hum and
+blunder among the white-thorn, or pass by like swift singing bullets,
+the sexton snaps open his black and orange wings and hums across the
+clover with the bees. Death in a scented garden, the tokens of the
+plague on a fair young breast, the gray flag of fear in the face of
+one who reels into the arms of Destruction, the sexton scrambling in
+the lap of spring, folding his sleek wings, unfolding them to ape the
+buzz of bees, passing over sweet clover tops to the putrid flesh that
+summons him--these things must be and will be to the end.
+
+The sexton was running now--running fast, trailing the cobweb over
+twigs and mud. The edge of the wood was near, for I could see the
+winter wheat, like green scenery in a theatre, stretching for miles
+across the cliffs, crude as painted grass. And as I crept through
+the brittle forest fringe, I saw a figure lying face downward in the
+wheat--a girl's slender form, limp, motionless.
+
+The sexton darted under her breast.
+
+Then I threw myself down beside her, crying, "Lys! Lys!" And as I
+cried, the icy rain burst out across the moors, and the trees dashed
+their stark limbs together till the whole spectral forest tossed and
+danced, and the wind roared among the cliffs.
+
+And through the Dance of Death Lys trembled in my arms, and sobbed and
+clung to me, murmuring that the Purple Emperor was dead; but the wind
+tore the words from her white lips, and flung them out across the sea,
+where the winter lightning lashed the stark heights of Groix.
+
+Then the fear of death was stilled in my soul, and I raised her from
+the ground, holding her close.
+
+And I saw the sexton, just beyond us, hurry across the ground and seek
+shelter under a little dead skylark, stiff-winged, muddy, lying alone
+in the rain.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+In the storm, above us, a bird hovered singing through the rain. It
+passed us twice, still singing, and as it passed again we saw the
+shadow it cast upon the world was whiter than snow.
+
+
+
+
+THE MESSENGER.
+
+
+  Little gray messenger,
+  Robed like painted Death,
+  Your robe is dust.
+  Whom do you seek
+  Among lilies and closed buds
+      At dusk?
+
+  Among lilies and closed buds
+      At dusk,
+  Whom do you seek,
+  Little gray messenger,
+  Robed in the awful panoply
+  Of painted Death?
+
+                                        R. W. C.
+
+
+
+
+THE MESSENGER.
+
+                All-wise,
+  Hast thou seen all there is to see with thy two eyes?
+    Dost thou know all there is to know, and so,
+                Omniscient,
+  Darest thou still to say thy brother lies?
+
+                                        R. W. C.
+
+"The bullet entered here," said Max Fortin, and he placed his middle
+finger over a smooth hole exactly in the centre of the forehead.
+
+I sat down upon a mound of dry seaweed and unslung my fowling piece.
+
+The little chemist cautiously felt the edges of the shot-hole, first
+with his middle finger, then with his thumb.
+
+"Let me see the skull again," said I.
+
+Max Fortin picked it up from the sod.
+
+"It's like all the others," he observed. I nodded, without offering to
+take it from him. After a moment he thoughtfully replaced it upon the
+grass at my feet.
+
+"It's like all the others," he repeated, wiping his glasses on his
+handkerchief. "I thought you might care to see one of the skulls, so
+I brought this over from the gravel pit. The men from Bannalec are
+digging yet. They ought to stop."
+
+"How many skulls are there altogether?" I inquired.
+
+"They found thirty-eight skulls; there are thirty-nine noted in the
+list. They lie piled up in the gravel pit on the edge of Le Bihan's
+wheat field. The men are at work yet. Le Bihan is going to stop them."
+
+"Let's go over," said I; and I picked up my gun and started across the
+cliffs, Fortin on one side, Môme on the other.
+
+"Who has the list?" I asked, lighting my pipe. "You say there is a
+list?"
+
+"The list was found rolled up in a brass cylinder," said the little
+chemist. He added: "You should not smoke here. You know that if a
+single spark drifted into the wheat----"
+
+"Ah, but I have a cover to my pipe," said I, smiling.
+
+Fortin watched me as I closed the pepper-box arrangement over the
+glowing bowl of the pipe. Then he continued:
+
+"The list was made out on thick yellow paper; the brass tube has
+preserved it. It is as fresh to-day as it was in 1760. You shall see
+it."
+
+"Is that the date?"
+
+"The list is dated 'April, 1760.' The Brigadier Durand has it. It is
+not written in French."
+
+"Not written in French!" I exclaimed.
+
+"No," replied Fortin solemnly, "it is written in Breton."
+
+"But," I protested, "the Breton language was never written or printed
+in 1760."
+
+"Except by priests," said the chemist.
+
+"I have heard of but one priest who ever wrote the Breton language," I
+began.
+
+Fortin stole a glance at my face.
+
+"You mean--the Black Priest?" he asked.
+
+I nodded.
+
+Fortin opened his mouth to speak again, hesitated, and finally shut his
+teeth obstinately over the wheat stem that he was chewing.
+
+"And the Black Priest?" I suggested encouragingly. But I knew it was
+useless; for it is easier to move the stars from their courses than
+to make an obstinate Breton talk. We walked on for a minute or two in
+silence.
+
+"Where is the Brigadier Durand?" I asked, motioning Môme to come out of
+the wheat, which he was trampling as though it were heather. As I spoke
+we came in sight of the farther edge of the wheat field and the dark,
+wet mass of cliffs beyond.
+
+"Durand is down there--you can see him; he stands just behind the Mayor
+of St. Gildas."
+
+"I see," said I; and we struck straight down, following a sun-baked
+cattle path across the heather.
+
+When we reached the edge of the wheat field, Le Bihan, the Mayor of St.
+Gildas, called to me, and I tucked my gun under my arm and skirted the
+wheat to where he stood.
+
+"Thirty-eight skulls," he said in his thin, high-pitched voice; "there
+is but one more, and I am opposed to further search. I suppose Fortin
+told you?"
+
+I shook hands with him, and returned the salute of the Brigadier Durand.
+
+"I am opposed to further search," repeated Le Bihan, nervously picking
+at the mass of silver buttons which covered the front of his velvet and
+broadcloth jacket like a breastplate of scale armour.
+
+Durand pursed up his lips, twisted his tremendous mustache, and hooked
+his thumbs in his sabre belt.
+
+"As for me," he said, "I am in favour of further search."
+
+"Further search for what--for the thirty-ninth skull?" I asked.
+
+Le Bihan nodded. Durand frowned at the sunlit sea, rocking like a bowl
+of molten gold from the cliffs to the horizon. I followed his eyes. On
+the dark glistening cliffs, silhouetted against the glare of the sea,
+sat a cormorant, black, motionless, its horrible head raised toward
+heaven.
+
+"Where is that list, Durand?" I asked.
+
+The gendarme rummaged in his despatch pouch and produced a brass
+cylinder about a foot long. Very gravely he unscrewed the head and
+dumped out a scroll of thick yellow paper closely covered with writing
+on both sides. At a nod from Le Bihan he handed me the scroll. But I
+could make nothing of the coarse writing, now faded to a dull brown.
+
+"Come, come, Le Bihan," I said impatiently, "translate it, won't you?
+You and Max Fortin make a lot of mystery out of nothing, it seems."
+
+Le Bihan went to the edge of the pit where the three Bannalec men were
+digging, gave an order or two in Breton, and turned to me.
+
+As I came to the edge of the pit the Bannalec men were removing
+a square piece of sail-cloth from what appeared to be a pile of
+cobblestones.
+
+"Look!" said Le Bihan shrilly. I looked. The pile below was a heap of
+skulls. After a moment I clambered down the gravel sides of the pit and
+walked over to the men of Bannalec. They saluted me gravely, leaning on
+their picks and shovels, and wiping their sweating faces with sunburned
+hands.
+
+"How many?" said I in Breton.
+
+"Thirty-eight," they replied.
+
+I glanced around. Beyond the heap of skulls lay two piles of human
+bones. Beside these was a mound of broken, rusted bits of iron and
+steel. Looking closer, I saw that this mound was composed of rusty
+bayonets, sabre blades, scythe blades, with here and there a tarnished
+buckle attached to a bit of leather hard as iron.
+
+I picked up a couple of buttons and a belt plate. The buttons bore the
+royal arms of England; the belt plate was emblazoned with the English
+arms, and also with the number "27."
+
+"I have heard my grandfather speak of the terrible English regiment,
+the 27th Foot, which landed and stormed the fort up there," said one of
+the Bannalec men.
+
+"Oh!" said I; "then these are the bones of English soldiers?"
+
+"Yes," said the men of Bannalec.
+
+Le Bihan was calling to me from the edge of the pit above, and I handed
+the belt plate and buttons to the men and climbed the side of the
+excavation.
+
+"Well," said I, trying to prevent Môme from leaping up and licking my
+face as I emerged from the pit, "I suppose you know what these bones
+are. What are you going to do with them?"
+
+"There was a man," said Le Bihan angrily, "an Englishman, who passed
+here in a dog-cart on his way to Quimper about an hour ago, and what do
+you suppose he wished to do?"
+
+"Buy the relics?" I asked, smiling.
+
+"Exactly--the pig!" piped the mayor of St. Gildas. "Jean Marie Tregunc,
+who found the bones, was standing there where Max Fortin stands, and do
+you know what he answered? He spat upon the ground, and said: 'Pig of
+an Englishman, do you take me for a desecrator of graves?'"
+
+I knew Tregunc, a sober, blue-eyed Breton, who lived from one year's
+end to the other without being able to afford a single bit of meat for
+a meal.
+
+"How much did the Englishman offer Tregunc?" I asked.
+
+"Two hundred francs for the skulls alone."
+
+I thought of the relic hunters and the relic buyers on the battlefields
+of our civil war.
+
+"Seventeen hundred and sixty is long ago," I said.
+
+"Respect for the dead can never die," said Fortin.
+
+"And the English soldiers came here to kill your fathers and burn your
+homes," I continued.
+
+"They were murderers and thieves, but--they are dead," said Tregunc,
+coming up from the beach below, his long sea rake balanced on his
+dripping jersey.
+
+"How much do you earn every year, Jean Marie?" I asked, turning to
+shake hands with him.
+
+"Two hundred and twenty francs, monsieur."
+
+"Forty-five dollars a year," I said. "Bah! you are worth more, Jean.
+Will you take care of my garden for me? My wife wished me to ask you.
+I think it would be worth one hundred francs a month to you and to me.
+Come on, Le Bihan--come along, Fortin--and you, Durand. I want somebody
+to translate that list into French for me."
+
+Tregunc stood gazing at me, his blue eyes dilated.
+
+"You may begin at once," I said, smiling, "if the salary suits you?"
+
+"It suits," said Tregunc, fumbling for his pipe in a silly way that
+annoyed Le Bihan.
+
+"Then go and begin your work," cried the mayor impatiently; and
+Tregunc started across the moors toward St. Gildas, taking off his
+velvet-ribboned cap to me and gripping his sea rake very hard.
+
+"You offer him more than my salary," said the mayor, after a moment's
+contemplation of his silver buttons.
+
+"Pooh!" said I, "what do you do for your salary except play dominoes
+with Max Fortin at the Groix Inn?"
+
+Le Bihan turned red, but Durand rattled his sabre and winked at Max
+Fortin, and I slipped my arm through the arm of the sulky magistrate,
+laughing.
+
+"There's a shady spot under the cliff," I said; "come on, Le Bihan, and
+read me what is in the scroll."
+
+In a few moments we reached the shadow of the cliff, and I threw myself
+upon the turf, chin on hand, to listen.
+
+The gendarme, Durand, also sat down, twisting his mustache into
+needlelike points. Fortin leaned against the cliff, polishing his
+glasses and examining us with vague, near-sighted eyes; and Le Bihan,
+the mayor, planted himself in our midst, rolling up the scroll and
+tucking it under his arm.
+
+"First of all," he began in a shrill voice, "I am going to light my
+pipe, and while lighting it I shall tell you what I have heard about
+the attack on the fort yonder. My father told me; his father told him."
+
+He jerked his head in the direction of the ruined fort, a small, square
+stone structure on the sea cliff, now nothing but crumbling walls. Then
+he slowly produced a tobacco pouch, a bit of flint and tinder, and a
+long-stemmed pipe fitted with a microscopical bowl of baked clay. To
+fill such a pipe requires ten minutes' close attention. To smoke it to
+a finish takes but four puffs. It is very Breton, this Breton pipe. It
+is the crystallization of everything Breton.
+
+"Go on," said I, lighting a cigarette.
+
+"The fort," said the mayor, "was built by Louis XIV, and was dismantled
+twice by the English. Louis XV restored it in 1739. In 1760 it was
+carried by assault by the English. They came across from the island
+of Groix--three shiploads--and they stormed the fort and sacked St.
+Julien yonder, and they started to burn St. Gildas--you can see the
+marks of their bullets on my house yet; but the men of Bannalec and the
+men of Lorient fell upon them with pike and scythe and blunderbuss,
+and those who did not run away lie there below in the gravel pit
+now--thirty-eight of them."
+
+"And the thirty-ninth skull?" I asked, finishing my cigarette.
+
+The mayor had succeeded in filling his pipe, and now he began to put
+his tobacco pouch away.
+
+"The thirty-ninth skull," he mumbled, holding the pipestem between his
+defective teeth--"the thirty-ninth skull is no business of mine. I have
+told the Bannalec men to cease digging."
+
+"But what is--whose is the missing skull?" I persisted curiously.
+
+The mayor was busy trying to strike a spark to his tinder. Presently he
+set it aglow, applied it to his pipe, took the prescribed four puffs,
+knocked the ashes out of the bowl, and gravely replaced the pipe in his
+pocket.
+
+"The missing skull?" he asked.
+
+"Yes," said I impatiently.
+
+The mayor slowly unrolled the scroll and began to read, translating
+from the Breton into French. And this is what he read:
+
+                                     "ON THE CLIFFS OF ST. GILDAS,
+
+                                            "_April 13, 1760_.
+
+     "On this day, by order of the Count of Soisic, general in
+     chief of the Breton forces now lying in Kerselec Forest, the
+     bodies of thirty-eight English soldiers of the 27th, 50th,
+     and 72d regiments of Foot were buried in this spot, together
+     with their arms and equipments."
+
+The mayor paused and glanced at me reflectively.
+
+"Go on, Le Bihan," I said.
+
+"With them," continued the mayor, turning the scroll and reading on the
+other side, "was buried the body of that vile traitor who betrayed the
+fort to the English. The manner of his death was as follows: By order
+of the most noble Count of Soisic, the traitor was first branded upon
+the forehead with the brand of an arrowhead. The iron burned through
+the flesh, and was pressed heavily so that the brand should even burn
+into the bone of the skull. The traitor was then led out and bidden to
+kneel. He admitted having guided the English from the island of Groix.
+Although a priest and a Frenchman, he had violated his priestly office
+to aid him in discovering the password to the fort. This password he
+extorted during confession from a young Breton girl who was in the
+habit of rowing across from the island of Groix to visit her husband
+in the fort. When the fort fell, this young girl, crazed by the death
+of her husband, sought the Count of Soisic and told how the priest had
+forced her to confess to him all she knew about the fort. The priest
+was arrested at St. Gildas as he was about to cross the river to
+Lorient. When arrested he cursed the girl, Marie Trevec----"
+
+"What!" I exclaimed, "Marie Trevec!"
+
+"Marie Trevec," repeated Le Bihan; "the priest cursed Marie Trevec, and
+all her family and descendants. He was shot as he knelt, having a mask
+of leather over his face, because the Bretons who composed the squad of
+execution refused to fire at a priest unless his face was concealed.
+The priest was l'Abbé Sorgue, commonly known as the Black Priest on
+account of his dark face and swarthy eyebrows. He was buried with a
+stake through his heart."
+
+Le Bihan paused, hesitated, looked at me, and handed the manuscript
+back to Durand. The gendarme took it and slipped it into the brass
+cylinder.
+
+"So," said I, "the thirty-ninth skull is the skull of the Black Priest."
+
+"Yes," said Fortin. "I hope they won't find it."
+
+"I have forbidden them to proceed," said the mayor querulously. "You
+heard me, Max Fortin."
+
+I rose and picked up my gun. Môme came and pushed his head into my hand.
+
+"That's a fine dog," observed Durand, also rising.
+
+"Why don't you wish to find his skull?" I asked Le Bihan. "It would be
+curious to see whether the arrow brand really burned into the bone."
+
+"There is something in that scroll that I didn't read to you," said the
+mayor grimly. "Do you wish to know what it is?"
+
+"Of course," I replied in surprise.
+
+"Give me the scroll again, Durand," he said; then he read from
+the bottom: "I, l'Abbé Sorgue, forced to write the above by my
+executioners, have written it in my own blood; and with it I leave my
+curse. My curse on St. Gildas, on Marie Trevec, and on her descendants.
+I will come back to St. Gildas when my remains are disturbed. Woe to
+that Englishman whom my branded skull shall touch!"
+
+"What rot!" I said. "Do you believe it was really written in his own
+blood?"
+
+"I am going to test it," said Fortin, "at the request of Monsieur le
+Maire. I am not anxious for the job, however."
+
+"See," said Le Bihan, holding out the scroll to me, "it is signed,
+'l'Abbé Sorgue.'"
+
+I glanced curiously over the paper.
+
+"It must be the Black Priest," I said. "He was the only man who wrote
+in the Breton language. This is a wonderfully interesting discovery,
+for now, at last, the mystery of the Black Priest's disappearance is
+cleared up. You will, of course, send this scroll to Paris, Le Bihan?"
+
+"No," said the mayor obstinately, "it shall be buried in the pit below
+where the rest of the Black Priest lies."
+
+I looked at him and recognised that argument would be useless. But
+still I said, "It will be a loss to history, Monsieur Le Bihan."
+
+"All the worse for history, then," said the enlightened Mayor of St.
+Gildas.
+
+We had sauntered back to the gravel pit while speaking. The men of
+Bannalec were carrying the bones of the English soldiers toward the
+St. Gildas cemetery, on the cliffs to the east, where already a knot of
+white-coiffed women stood in attitudes of prayer; and I saw the sombre
+robe of a priest among the crosses of the little graveyard.
+
+"They were thieves and assassins; they are dead now," muttered Max
+Fortin.
+
+"Respect the dead," repeated the Mayor of St. Gildas, looking after the
+Bannalec men.
+
+"It was written in that scroll that Marie Trevec, of Groix Island, was
+cursed by the priest--she and her descendants," I said, touching Le
+Bihan on the arm. "There was a Marie Trevec who married an Yves Trevec
+of St. Gildas----"
+
+"It is the same," said Le Bihan, looking at me obliquely.
+
+"Oh!" said I; "then they were ancestors of my wife."
+
+"Do you fear the curse?" asked Le Bihan.
+
+"What?" I laughed.
+
+"There was the case of the Purple Emperor," said Max Fortin timidly.
+
+Startled for a moment, I faced him, then shrugged my shoulders and
+kicked at a smooth bit of rock which lay near the edge of the pit,
+almost embedded in gravel.
+
+"Do you suppose the Purple Emperor drank himself crazy because he was
+descended from Marie Trevec?" I asked contemptuously.
+
+"Of course not," said Max Fortin hastily.
+
+"Of course not," piped the mayor. "I only---- Hello! what's that you're
+kicking?"
+
+"What?" said I, glancing down, at the same time involuntarily giving
+another kick. The smooth bit of rock dislodged itself and rolled out of
+the loosened gravel at my feet.
+
+"The thirty-ninth skull!" I exclaimed. "By jingo, its the noddle of the
+Black Priest! See! there is the arrowhead branded on the front!"
+
+The mayor stepped back. Max Fortin also retreated. There was a pause,
+during which I looked at them, and they looked anywhere but at me.
+
+"I don't like it," said the mayor at last, in a husky, high voice. "I
+don't like it! The scroll says he will come back to St. Gildas when his
+remains are disturbed. I--I don't like it, Monsieur Darrel----"
+
+"Bosh!" said I; "the poor wicked devil is where he can't get out. For
+Heaven's sake, Le Bihan, what is this stuff you are talking in the year
+of grace 1896?"
+
+The mayor gave me a look.
+
+"And he says 'Englishman.' You are an Englishman, Monsieur Darrel," he
+announced.
+
+"You know better. You know I'm an American."
+
+"It's all the same," said the Mayor of St. Gildas, obstinately.
+
+"No, it isn't!" I answered, much exasperated, and deliberately pushed
+the skull till it rolled into the bottom of the gravel pit below.
+
+"Cover it up," said I; "bury the scroll with it too, if you insist, but
+I think you ought to send it to Paris. Don't look so gloomy, Fortin,
+unless you believe in were-wolves and ghosts. Hey! what the--what
+the devil's the matter with you, anyway? What are you staring at, Le
+Bihan?"
+
+"Come, come," muttered the mayor in a low, tremulous voice, "it's time
+we got out of this. Did you see? Did you see, Fortin?"
+
+"I saw," whispered Max Fortin, pallid with fright.
+
+The two men were almost running across the sunny pasture now, and I
+hastened after them, demanding to know what was the matter.
+
+"Matter!" chattered the mayor, gasping with exasperation and terror.
+"The skull is rolling uphill again!" and he burst into a terrified
+gallop. Max Fortin followed close behind.
+
+I watched them stampeding across the pasture, then turned toward the
+gravel pit, mystified, incredulous. The skull was lying on the edge
+of the pit, exactly where it had been before I pushed it over the
+edge. For a second I stared at it; a singular chilly feeling crept up
+my spinal column, and I turned and walked away, sweat starting from
+the root of every hair on my head. Before I had gone twenty paces the
+absurdity of the whole thing struck me. I halted, hot with shame and
+annoyance, and retraced my steps.
+
+There lay the skull.
+
+"I rolled a stone down instead of the skull," I muttered to myself.
+Then with the butt of my gun I pushed the skull over the edge of the
+pit and watched it roll to the bottom; and as it struck the bottom
+of the pit, Môme, my dog, suddenly whipped his tail between his legs,
+whimpered, and made off across the moor.
+
+"Môme!" I shouted, angry and astonished; but the dog only fled the
+faster, and I ceased calling from sheer surprise.
+
+"What the mischief is the matter with that dog!" I thought. He had
+never before played me such a trick.
+
+Mechanically I glanced into the pit, but I could not see the skull. I
+looked down. The skull lay at my feet again, touching them.
+
+"Good heavens!" I stammered, and struck at it blindly with my gunstock.
+The ghastly thing flew into the air, whirling over and over, and rolled
+again down the sides of the pit to the bottom. Breathlessly I stared at
+it, then, confused and scarcely comprehending, I stepped back from the
+pit, still facing it, one, ten, twenty paces, my eyes almost starting
+from my head, as though I expected to see the thing roll up from the
+bottom of the pit under my very gaze. At last I turned my back to the
+pit and strode out across the gorse-covered moorland toward my home. As
+I reached the road that winds from St. Gildas to St. Julien I gave one
+hasty glance at the pit over my shoulder. The sun shone hot on the sod
+about the excavation. There was something white and bare and round on
+the turf at the edge of the pit. It might have been a stone; there were
+plenty of them lying about.
+
+
+II.
+
+When I entered my garden I saw Môme sprawling on the stone doorstep. He
+eyed me sideways and flopped his tail.
+
+"Are you not mortified, you idiot dog?" I said, looking about the upper
+windows for Lys.
+
+Môme rolled over on his back and raised one deprecating forepaw, as
+though to ward off calamity.
+
+"Don't act as though I was in the habit of beating you to death," I
+said, disgusted. I had never in my life raised whip to the brute. "But
+you are a fool dog," I continued. "No, you needn't come to be babied
+and wept over; Lys can do that, if she insists, but I am ashamed of
+you, and you can go to the devil."
+
+Môme slunk off into the house, and I followed, mounting directly to my
+wife's boudoir. It was empty.
+
+"Where has she gone?" I said, looking hard at Môme, who had followed
+me. "Oh! I see you don't know. Don't pretend you do. Come off that
+lounge! Do you think Lys wants tan-coloured hairs all over her lounge?"
+
+I rang the bell for Catherine and 'Fine, but they didn't know where
+"madame" had gone; so I went into my room, bathed, exchanged my
+somewhat grimy shooting clothes for a suit of warm, soft knickerbockers,
+and, after lingering some extra moments over my toilet--for I was
+particular, now that I had married Lys--I went down to the garden and
+took a chair out under the fig-trees.
+
+"Where can she be?" I wondered. Môme came sneaking out to be comforted,
+and I forgave him for Lys's sake, whereupon he frisked.
+
+"You bounding cur," said I, "now what on earth started you off across
+the moor? If you do it again I'll push you along with a charge of dust
+shot."
+
+As yet I had scarcely dared think about the ghastly hallucination of
+which I had been a victim, but now I faced it squarely, flushing a
+little with mortification at the thought of my hasty retreat from the
+gravel pit.
+
+"To think," I said aloud, "that those old woman's tales of Max Fortin
+and Le Bihan should have actually made me see what didn't exist at all!
+I lost my nerve like a schoolboy in a dark bedroom." For I knew now
+that I had mistaken a round stone for a skull each time, and had pushed
+a couple of big pebbles into the pit instead of the skull itself.
+
+"By jingo!" said I, "I'm nervous; my liver must be in a devil of a
+condition if I see such things when I'm awake! Lys will know what to
+give me."
+
+I felt mortified and irritated and sulky, and thought disgustedly of Le
+Bihan and Max Fortin.
+
+But after a while I ceased speculating, dismissed the mayor, the
+chemist, and the skull from my mind, and smoked pensively, watching the
+sun low dipping in the western ocean. As the twilight fell for a moment
+over ocean and moorland, a wistful, restless happiness filled my heart,
+the happiness that all men know--all men who have loved.
+
+Slowly the purple mist crept out over the sea; the cliffs darkened; the
+forest was shrouded.
+
+Suddenly the sky above burned with the afterglow, and the world was
+alight again.
+
+Cloud after cloud caught the rose dye; the cliffs were tinted with
+it; moor and pasture, heather and forest burned and pulsated with the
+gentle flush. I saw the gulls turning and tossing above the sand bar,
+their snowy wings tipped with pink; I saw the sea swallows sheering
+the surface of the still river, stained to its placid depths with warm
+reflections of the clouds. The twitter of drowsy hedge birds broke out
+in the stillness; a salmon rolled its shining side above tide-water.
+
+The interminable monotone of the ocean intensified the silence. I
+sat motionless, holding my breath as one who listens to the first low
+rumour of an organ. All at once the pure whistle of a nightingale cut
+the silence, and the first moonbeam silvered the wastes of mist-hung
+waters.
+
+I raised my head.
+
+Lys stood before me in the garden.
+
+When we had kissed each other, we linked arms and moved up and down
+the gravel walks, watching the moonbeams sparkle on the sand bar as
+the tide ebbed and ebbed. The broad beds of white pinks about us were
+atremble with hovering white moths; the October roses hung all abloom,
+perfuming the salt wind.
+
+"Sweetheart," I said, "where is Yvonne? Has she promised to spend
+Christmas with us?"
+
+"Yes, Dick; she drove me down from Plougat this afternoon. She sent her
+love to you. I am not jealous. What did you shoot?"
+
+"A hare and four partridges. They are in the gun room. I told Catherine
+not to touch them until you had seen them."
+
+Now I suppose I knew that Lys could not be particularly enthusiastic
+over game or guns; but she pretended she was, and always scornfully
+denied that it was for my sake and not for the pure love of sport. So
+she dragged me off to inspect the rather meagre game bag, and she paid
+me pretty compliments and gave a little cry of delight and pity as I
+lifted the enormous hare out of the sack by his ears.
+
+"He'll eat no more of our lettuce," I said, attempting to justify the
+assassination.
+
+"Unhappy little bunny--and what a beauty! O Dick, you are a splendid
+shot, are you not?"
+
+I evaded the question and hauled out a partridge.
+
+"Poor little dead things!" said Lys in a whisper; "it seems a
+pity--doesn't it, Dick? But then you are so clever----"
+
+"We'll have them broiled," I said guardedly; "tell Catherine."
+
+Catherine came in to take away the game, and presently 'Fine Lelocard,
+Lys's maid, announced dinner, and Lys tripped away to her boudoir.
+
+I stood an instant contemplating her blissfully, thinking, "My boy,
+you're the happiest fellow in the world--you're in love with your
+wife!"
+
+I walked into the dining room, beamed at the plates, walked out again;
+met Tregunc in the hallway, beamed on him; glanced into the kitchen,
+beamed at Catherine, and went up stairs, still beaming.
+
+Before I could knock at Lys's door it opened, and Lys came hastily out.
+When she saw me she gave a little cry of relief, and nestled close to
+my breast.
+
+"There is something peering in at my window," she said.
+
+"What!" I cried angrily.
+
+"A man, I think, disguised as a priest, and he has a mask on. He must
+have climbed up by the bay tree."
+
+I was down the stairs and out of doors in no time. The moonlit garden
+was absolutely deserted. Tregunc came up, and together we searched the
+hedge and shrubbery around the house and out to the road.
+
+"Jean Marie," said I at length, "loose my bulldog--he knows you--and
+take your supper on the porch where you can watch. My wife says the
+fellow is disguised as a priest, and wears a mask."
+
+Tregunc showed his white teeth in a smile. "He will not care to venture
+in here again, I think, Monsieur Darrel."
+
+I went back and found Lys seated quietly at the table.
+
+"The soup is ready, dear," she said. "Don't worry; it was only some
+foolish lout from Bannalec. No one in St. Gildas or St. Julien would do
+such a thing."
+
+I was too much exasperated to reply at first, but Lys treated it as a
+stupid joke, and after a while I began to look at it in that light.
+
+Lys told me about Yvonne, and reminded me of my promise to have Herbert
+Stuart down to meet her.
+
+"You wicked diplomat!" I protested. "Herbert is in Paris, and hard at
+work for the Salon."
+
+"Don't you think he might spare a week to flirt with the prettiest girl
+in Finistère?" inquired Lys innocently.
+
+"Prettiest girl! Not much!" I said.
+
+"Who is, then?" urged Lys.
+
+I laughed a trifle sheepishly.
+
+"I suppose you mean me, Dick," said Lys, colouring up.
+
+"Now I bore you, don't I?"
+
+"Bore me? Ah, no, Dick."
+
+After coffee and cigarettes were served I spoke about Tregunc, and Lys
+approved.
+
+"Poor Jean! he will be glad, won't he? What a dear fellow you are!"
+
+"Nonsense," said I; "we need a gardener; you said so yourself, Lys."
+
+But Lys leaned over and kissed me, and then bent down and hugged Môme,
+who whistled through his nose in sentimental appreciation.
+
+"I am a very happy woman," said Lys.
+
+"Môme was a very bad dog to-day," I observed.
+
+"Poor Môme!" said Lys, smiling.
+
+When dinner was over and Môme lay snoring before the blaze--for the
+October nights are often chilly in Finistère--Lys curled up in the
+chimney corner with her embroidery, and gave me a swift glance from
+under her drooping lashes.
+
+"You look like a schoolgirl, Lys," I said teasingly. "I don't believe
+you are sixteen yet."
+
+She pushed back her heavy burnished hair thoughtfully. Her wrist was as
+white as surf foam.
+
+"Have we been married four years? I don't believe it," I said.
+
+She gave me another swift glance and touched the embroidery on her
+knee, smiling faintly.
+
+"I see," said I, also smiling at the embroidered garment. "Do you think
+it will fit?"
+
+"Fit?" repeated Lys. Then she laughed.
+
+"And," I persisted, "are you perfectly sure that you--er--we shall need
+it?"
+
+"Perfectly," said Lys. A delicate colour touched her cheeks and neck.
+She held up the little garment, all fluffy with misty lace and wrought
+with quaint embroidery.
+
+"It is very gorgeous," said I; "don't use your eyes too much, dearest.
+May I smoke a pipe?"
+
+"Of course," she said, selecting a skein of pale blue silk.
+
+For a while I sat and smoked in silence, watching her slender fingers
+among the tinted silks and thread of gold.
+
+Presently she spoke: "What did you say your crest is, Dick?"
+
+"My crest? Oh, something or other rampant on a something or other----"
+
+"Dick!"
+
+"Dearest?"
+
+"Don't be flippant."
+
+"But I really forget. It's an ordinary crest; everybody in New York has
+them. No family should be without 'em."
+
+"You are disagreeable, Dick. Send Josephine upstairs for my album."
+
+"Are you going to put that crest on the--the--whatever it is?"
+
+"I am; and my own crest, too."
+
+I thought of the Purple Emperor and wondered a little.
+
+"You didn't know I had one, did you?" she smiled.
+
+"What is it?" I replied evasively.
+
+"You shall see. Ring for Josephine."
+
+I rang, and, when 'Fine appeared, Lys gave her some orders in a low
+voice, and Josephine trotted away, bobbing her white-coiffed head with
+a "Bien, madame!"
+
+After a few minutes she returned, bearing a tattered, musty volume,
+from which the gold and blue had mostly disappeared.
+
+I took the book in my hands and examined the ancient emblazoned covers.
+
+"Lilies!" I exclaimed.
+
+"Fleur-de-lis," said my wife demurely.
+
+"Oh!" said I, astonished, and opened the book.
+
+"You have never before seen this book?" asked Lys, with a touch of
+malice in her eyes.
+
+"You know I haven't. Hello! what's this? Oho! So there should be a
+_de_ before Trevec? Lys de Trevec? Then why in the world did the Purple
+Emperor----"
+
+"Dick!" cried Lys.
+
+"All right," said I. "Shall I read about the Sieur de Trevec who
+rode to Saladin's tent alone to seek for medicine for St. Louis? or
+shall I read about--what is it? Oh, here it is, all down in black and
+white--about the Marquis de Trevec who drowned himself before Alva's
+eyes rather than surrender the banner of the fleur-de-lis to Spain?
+It's all written here. But, dear, how about that soldier named Trevec
+who was killed in the old fort on the cliff yonder?"
+
+"He dropped the _de_, and the Trevecs since then have been
+Republicans," said Lys--"all except me."
+
+"That's quite right," said I; "it is time that we Republicans should
+agree upon some feudal system. My dear, I drink to the king!" and I
+raised my wine-glass and looked at Lys.
+
+"To the king," said Lys, flushing. She smoothed out the tiny garment
+on her knees; she touched the glass with her lips; her eyes were very
+sweet. I drained the glass to the king.
+
+After a silence I said: "I will tell the king stories. His Majesty
+shall be amused."
+
+"His Majesty," repeated Lys softly.
+
+"Or hers," I laughed. "Who knows?"
+
+"Who knows?" murmured Lys, with a gentle sigh.
+
+"I know some stories about Jack the Giant-Killer," I announced. "Do
+you, Lys?"
+
+"I? No, not about a giant-killer, but I know all about the were-wolf,
+and Jeanne-la-Flamme, and the Man in Purple Tatters, and--O dear me! I
+know lots more."
+
+"You are very wise," said I. "I shall teach his Majesty English."
+
+"And I Breton," cried Lys jealously.
+
+"I shall bring playthings to the king," said I--"big green lizards from
+the gorse, little gray mullets to swim in glass globes, baby rabbits
+from the forest of Kerselec----"
+
+"And I," said Lys, "will bring the first primrose, the first branch of
+aubepine, the first jonquil, to the king--my king."
+
+"Our king," said I; and there was peace in Finistère.
+
+I lay back, idly turning the leaves of the curious old volume.
+
+"I am looking," said I, "for the crest."
+
+"The crest, dear? It is a priest's head with an arrow-shaped mark on
+the forehead, on a field----"
+
+I sat up and stared at my wife.
+
+"Dick, whatever is the matter?" she smiled. "The story is there in that
+book. Do you care to read it? No? Shall I tell it to you? Well, then:
+It happened in the third crusade. There was a monk whom men called the
+Black Priest. He turned apostate, and sold himself to the enemies of
+Christ. A Sieur de Trevec burst into the Saracen camp, at the head of
+only one hundred lances, and carried the Black Priest away out of the
+very midst of their army."
+
+"So that is how you come by the crest," I said quietly; but I thought
+of the branded skull in the gravel pit, and wondered.
+
+"Yes," said Lys. "The Sieur de Trevec cut the Black Priest's head off,
+but first he branded him with an arrow mark on the forehead. The book
+says it was a pious action, and the Sieur de Trevec got great merit by
+it. But I think it was cruel, the branding," she sighed.
+
+"Did you ever hear of any other Black Priest?"
+
+"Yes. There was one in the last century, here in St. Gildas. He cast a
+white shadow in the sun. He wrote in the Breton language. Chronicles,
+too, I believe. I never saw them. His name was the same as that of
+the old chronicler, and of the other priest, Jacques Sorgue. Some said
+he was a lineal descendant of the traitor. Of course the first Black
+Priest was bad enough for anything. But if he did have a child, it need
+not have been the ancestor of the last Jacques Sorgue. They say this
+one was a holy man. They say he was so good he was not allowed to die,
+but was caught up to heaven one day," added Lys, with believing eyes.
+
+I smiled.
+
+"But he disappeared," persisted Lys.
+
+"I'm afraid his journey was in another direction," I said jestingly,
+and thoughtlessly told her the story of the morning. I had utterly
+forgotten the masked man at her window, but before I finished I
+remembered him fast enough, and realized what I had done as I saw her
+face whiten.
+
+"Lys," I urged tenderly, "that was only some clumsy clown's trick. You
+said so yourself. You are not superstitious, my dear?"
+
+Her eyes were on mine. She slowly drew the little gold cross from her
+bosom and kissed it. But her lips trembled as they pressed the symbol
+of faith.
+
+
+III.
+
+About nine o'clock the next morning I walked into the Groix Inn and sat
+down at the long discoloured oaken table, nodding good-day to Marianne
+Bruyère, who in turn bobbed her white coiffe at me.
+
+"My clever Bannalec maid," said I, "what is good for a stirrup-cup at
+the Groix Inn?"
+
+"Schist?" she inquired in Breton.
+
+"With a dash of red wine, then," I replied.
+
+She brought the delicious Quimperlé cider, and I poured a little
+Bordeaux into it. Marianne watched me with laughing black eyes.
+
+"What makes your cheeks so red, Marianne?" I asked. "Has Jean Marie
+been here?"
+
+"We are to be married, Monsieur Darrel," she laughed.
+
+"Ah! Since when has Jean Marie Tregunc lost his head?"
+
+"His head? Oh, Monsieur Darrel--his heart, you mean!"
+
+"So I do," said I. "Jean Marie is a practical fellow."
+
+"It is all due to your kindness----" began the girl, but I raised my
+hand and held up the glass.
+
+"It's due to himself. To your happiness, Marianne;" and I took a hearty
+draught of the schist. "Now," said I, "tell me where I can find Le
+Bihan and Max Fortin."
+
+"Monsieur Le Bihan and Monsieur Fortin are above in the broad room. I
+believe they are examining the Red Admiral's effects."
+
+"To send them to Paris? Oh, I know. May I go up, Marianne?"
+
+"And God go with you," smiled the girl.
+
+When I knocked at the door of the broad room above little Max Fortin
+opened it. Dust covered his spectacles and nose; his hat, with the tiny
+velvet ribbons fluttering, was all awry.
+
+"Come in, Monsieur Darrel," he said; "the mayor and I are packing up
+the effects of the Purple Emperor and of the poor Red Admiral."
+
+"The collections?" I asked, entering the room. "You must be very
+careful in packing those butterfly cases; the slightest jar might break
+wings and antennæ, you know."
+
+Le Bihan shook hands with me and pointed to the great pile of boxes.
+
+"They're all cork lined," he said, "but Fortin and I are putting felt
+around each box. The Entomological Society of Paris pays the freight."
+
+The combined collections of the Red Admiral and the Purple Emperor made
+a magnificent display.
+
+I lifted and inspected case after case set with gorgeous butterflies
+and moths, each specimen carefully labelled with the name in Latin.
+There were cases filled with crimson tiger moths all aflame with
+colour; cases devoted to the common yellow butterflies; symphonies in
+orange and pale yellow; cases of soft gray and dun-coloured sphinx
+moths; and cases of garish nettle-bred butterflies of the numerous
+family of _Vanessa_.
+
+All alone in a great case by itself was pinned the purple emperor, the
+Apatura Iris, that fatal specimen that had given the Purple Emperor his
+name and quietus.
+
+I remembered the butterfly, and stood looking at it with bent eyebrows.
+
+Le Bihan glanced up from the floor where he was nailing down the lid of
+a box full of cases.
+
+"It is settled, then," said he, "that madame, your wife, gives the
+Purple Emperor's entire collection to the city of Paris?"
+
+I nodded.
+
+"Without accepting anything for it?"
+
+"It is a gift," I said.
+
+"Including the purple emperor there in the case? That butterfly is
+worth a great deal of money," persisted Le Bihan.
+
+"You don't suppose that we would wish to sell that specimen, do you?"
+I answered a trifle sharply.
+
+"If I were you I should destroy it," said the mayor in his high-pitched
+voice.
+
+"That would be nonsense," said I--"like your burying the brass cylinder
+and scroll yesterday."
+
+"It was not nonsense," said Le Bihan doggedly, "and I should prefer not
+to discuss the subject of the scroll."
+
+I looked at Max Fortin, who immediately avoided my eyes.
+
+"You are a pair of superstitious old women," said I, digging my hands
+into my pockets; "you swallow every nursery tale that is invented."
+
+"What of it?" said Le Bihan sulkily; "there's more truth than lies in
+most of 'em."
+
+"Oh!" I sneered, "does the Mayor of St. Gildas and St. Julien believe
+in the Loup-garou?"
+
+"No, not in the Loup-garou."
+
+"In what, then--Jeanne-la-Flamme?"
+
+"That," said Le Bihan with conviction, "is history."
+
+"The devil it is!" said I; "and perhaps, monsieur the mayor, your faith
+in giants is unimpaired?"
+
+"There were giants--everybody knows it," growled Max Fortin.
+
+"And you a chemist!" I observed scornfully.
+
+"Listen, Monsieur Darrel," squeaked Le Bihan; "you know yourself that
+the Purple Emperor was a scientific man. Now suppose I should tell
+you that he always refused to include in his collection a Death's
+Messenger?"
+
+"A what?" I exclaimed.
+
+"You know what I mean--that moth that flies by night; some call it the
+Death's Head, but in St. Gildas we call it 'Death's Messenger.'"
+
+"Oh!" said I, "you mean that big sphinx moth that is commonly known as
+the 'death's-head moth.' Why the mischief should the people here call
+it death's messenger?"
+
+"For hundreds of years it has been known as death's messenger in
+St. Gildas," said Max Fortin. "Even Froissart speaks of it in his
+commentaries on Jacques Sorgue's Chronicles. The book is in your
+library."
+
+"Sorgue? And who was Jacques Sorgue? I never read his book."
+
+"Jacques Sorgue was the son of some unfrocked priest--I forget. It was
+during the crusades."
+
+"Good Heavens!" I burst out, "I've been hearing of nothing but crusades
+and priests and death and sorcery ever since I kicked that skull into
+the gravel pit, and I am tired of it, I tell you frankly. One would
+think we lived in the dark ages. Do you know what year of our Lord it
+is, Le Bihan?"
+
+"Eighteen hundred and ninety-six," replied the mayor.
+
+"And yet you two hulking men are afraid of a death's-head moth."
+
+"I don't care to have one fly into the window," said Max Fortin; "it
+means evil to the house and the people in it."
+
+"God alone knows why he marked one of his creatures with a yellow
+death's head on the back," observed Le Bihan piously, "but I take it
+that he meant it as a warning; and I propose to profit by it," he added
+triumphantly.
+
+"See here, Le Bihan," I said; "by a stretch of imagination one can make
+out a skull on the thorax of a certain big sphinx moth. What of it?"
+
+"It is a bad thing to touch," said the mayor, wagging his head.
+
+"It squeaks when handled," added Max Fortin.
+
+"Some creatures squeak all the time," I observed, looking hard at Le
+Bihan.
+
+"Pigs," added the mayor.
+
+"Yes, and asses," I replied. "Listen, Le Bihan: do you mean to tell me
+that you saw that skull roll uphill yesterday?"
+
+The mayor shut his mouth tightly and picked up his hammer.
+
+"Don't be obstinate," I said; "I asked you a question."
+
+"And I refuse to answer," snapped Le Bihan. "Fortin saw what I saw; let
+him talk about it."
+
+I looked searchingly at the little chemist.
+
+"I don't say that I saw it actually roll up out of the pit, all by
+itself," said Fortin with a shiver, "but--but then, how did it come up
+out of the pit, if it didn't roll up all by itself?"
+
+"It didn't come up at all; that was a yellow cobblestone that you
+mistook for the skull again," I replied. "You were nervous, Max."
+
+"A--a very curious cobblestone, Monsieur Darrel," said Fortin.
+
+"I also was a victim to the same hallucination," I continued, "and I
+regret to say that I took the trouble to roll two innocent cobblestones
+into the gravel pit, imagining each time that it was the skull I was
+rolling."
+
+"It was," observed Le Bihan with a morose shrug.
+
+"It just shows," said I, ignoring the mayor's remark, "how easy it is
+to fix up a train of coincidences so that the result seems to savour
+of the supernatural. Now, last night my wife imagined that she saw a
+priest in a mask peer in at her window----"
+
+Fortin and Le Bihan scrambled hastily from their knees, dropping hammer
+and nails.
+
+"W-h-a-t--what's that?" demanded the mayor.
+
+I repeated what I had said. Max Fortin turned livid.
+
+"My God!" muttered Le Bihan, "the Black Priest is in St. Gildas!"
+
+"D-don't you--you know the old prophecy?" stammered Fortin; "Froissart
+quotes it from Jacques Sorgue:
+
+  'When the Black Priest rises from the dead,
+  St. Gildas folk shall shriek in bed;
+  When the Black Priest rises from his grave,
+  May the good God St. Gildas save!'"
+
+"Aristide Le Bihan," I said angrily, "and you, Max Fortin, I've got
+enough of this nonsense! Some foolish lout from Bannalec has been in
+St. Gildas playing tricks to frighten old fools like you. If you have
+nothing better to talk about than nursery legends I'll wait until you
+come to your senses. Good-morning." And I walked out, more disturbed
+than I cared to acknowledge to myself.
+
+The day had become misty and overcast. Heavy, wet clouds hung in the
+east. I heard the surf thundering against the cliffs, and the gray
+gulls squealed as they tossed and turned high in the sky. The tide
+was creeping across the river sands, higher, higher, and I saw the
+seaweed floating on the beach, and the _lançons_ springing from the
+foam, silvery thread-like flashes in the gloom. Curlew were flying up
+the river in twos and threes; the timid sea swallows skimmed across the
+moors toward some quiet, lonely pool, safe from the coming tempest. In
+every hedge field birds were gathering, huddling together, twittering
+restlessly.
+
+When I reached the cliffs I sat down, resting my chin on my clenched
+hands. Already a vast curtain of rain, sweeping across the ocean miles
+away, hid the island of Groix. To the east, behind the white semaphore
+on the hills, black clouds crowded up over the horizon. After a little
+the thunder boomed, dull, distant, and slender skeins of lightning
+unravelled across the crest of the coming storm. Under the cliff at my
+feet the surf rushed foaming over the shore, and the _lançons_ jumped
+and skipped and quivered until they seemed to be but the reflections of
+the meshed lightning.
+
+I turned to the east. It was raining over Groix, it was raining at
+Sainte Barbe, it was raining now at the semaphore. High in the storm
+whirl a few gulls pitched; a nearer cloud trailed veils of rain in its
+wake; the sky was spattered with lightning; the thunder boomed.
+
+As I rose to go, a cold raindrop fell upon the back of my hand, and
+another, and yet another on my face. I gave a last glance at the sea,
+where the waves were bursting into strange white shapes that seemed to
+fling out menacing arms toward me. Then something moved on the cliff,
+something black as the black rock it clutched--a filthy cormorant,
+craning its hideous head at the sky.
+
+Slowly I plodded homeward across the sombre moorland, where the
+gorse stems glimmered with a dull metallic green, and the heather,
+no longer violet and purple, hung drenched and dun-coloured among
+the dreary rocks. The wet turf creaked under my heavy boots, the
+black-thorn scraped and grated against knee and elbow. Over all lay
+a strange light, pallid, ghastly, where the sea spray whirled across
+the landscape and drove into my face until it grew numb with the cold.
+In broad bands, rank after rank, billow on billow, the rain burst out
+across the endless moors, and yet there was no wind to drive it at such
+a pace.
+
+Lys stood at the door as I turned into the garden, motioning me to
+hasten; and then for the first time I became conscious that I was
+soaked to the skin.
+
+"How ever in the world did you come to stay out when such a storm
+threatened?" she said. "Oh, you are dripping! Go quickly and change; I
+have laid your warm underwear on the bed, Dick."
+
+I kissed my wife, and went upstairs to change my dripping clothes for
+something more comfortable.
+
+When I returned to the morning room there was a driftwood fire on the
+hearth, and Lys sat in the chimney corner embroidering.
+
+"Catherine tells me that the fishing fleet from Lorient is out. Do you
+think they are in danger, dear?" asked Lys, raising her blue eyes to
+mine as I entered.
+
+"There is no wind, and there will be no sea," said I, looking out of
+the window. Far across the moor I could see the black cliffs looming in
+the mist.
+
+"How it rains!" murmured Lys; "come to the fire, Dick."
+
+I threw myself on the fur rug, my hands in my pockets, my head on Lys's
+knees.
+
+"Tell me a story," I said. "I feel like a boy of ten."
+
+Lys raised a finger to her scarlet lips. I always waited for her to do
+that.
+
+"Will you be very still, then?" she said.
+
+"Still as death."
+
+"Death," echoed a voice, very softly.
+
+"Did you speak, Lys?" I asked, turning so that I could see her face.
+
+"No; did you, Dick?"
+
+"Who said 'death'?" I asked, startled.
+
+"Death," echoed a voice, softly.
+
+I sprang up and looked about. Lys rose too, her needles and embroidery
+falling to the floor. She seemed about to faint, leaning heavily on me,
+and I led her to the window and opened it a little way to give her air.
+As I did so the chain lightning split the zenith, the thunder crashed,
+and a sheet of rain swept into the room, driving with it something that
+fluttered--something that flapped, and squeaked, and beat upon the rug
+with soft, moist wings.
+
+We bent over it together, Lys clinging to me, and we saw that it was a
+death's-head moth drenched with rain.
+
+The dark day passed slowly as we sat beside the fire, hand in hand,
+her head against my breast, speaking of sorrow and mystery and death.
+For Lys believed that there were things on earth that none might
+understand, things that must be nameless forever and ever, until God
+rolls up the scroll of life and all is ended. We spoke of hope and fear
+and faith, and the mystery of the saints; we spoke of the beginning and
+the end, of the shadow of sin, of omens, and of love. The moth still
+lay on the floor, quivering its sombre wings in the warmth of the fire,
+the skull and ribs clearly etched upon its neck and body.
+
+"If it is a messenger of death to this house," I said, "why should we
+fear, Lys?"
+
+"Death should be welcome to those who love God," murmured Lys, and she
+drew the cross from her breast and kissed it.
+
+"The moth might die if I threw it out into the storm," I said after a
+silence.
+
+"Let it remain," sighed Lys.
+
+Late that night my wife lay sleeping, and I sat beside her bed and read
+in the Chronicle of Jacques Sorgue. I shaded the candle, but Lys grew
+restless, and finally I took the book down into the morning room, where
+the ashes of the fire rustled and whitened on the hearth.
+
+The death's-head moth lay on the rug before the fire where I had left
+it. At first I thought it was dead, but, when I looked closer I saw
+a lambent fire in its amber eyes. The straight white shadow it cast
+across the floor wavered as the candle flickered.
+
+The pages of the Chronicle of Jacques Sorgue were damp and sticky; the
+illuminated gold and blue initials left flakes of azure and gilt where
+my hand brushed them.
+
+"It is not paper at all; it is thin parchment," I said to myself;
+and I held the discoloured page close to the candle flame and read,
+translating laboriously:
+
+"I, Jacques Sorgue, saw all these things. And I saw the Black Mass
+celebrated in the chapel of St. Gildas-on-the-Cliff. And it was said by
+the Abbé Sorgue, my kinsman: for which deadly sin the apostate priest
+was seized by the most noble Marquis of Plougastel and by him condemned
+to be burned with hot irons, until his seared soul quit its body and
+fly to its master the devil. But when the Black Priest lay in the crypt
+of Plougastel, his master Satan came at night and set him free, and
+carried him across land and sea to Mahmoud, which is Soldan or Saladin.
+And I, Jacques Sorgue, travelling afterward by sea, beheld with my own
+eyes my kinsman, the Black Priest of St. Gildas, borne along in the
+air upon a vast black wing, which was the wing of his master Satan. And
+this was seen also by two men of the crew."
+
+I turned the page. The wings of the moth on the floor began to quiver.
+I read on and on, my eyes blurring under the shifting candle flame.
+I read of battles and of saints, and I learned how the great Soldan
+made his pact with Satan, and then I came to the Sieur de Trevec, and
+read how he seized the Black Priest in the midst of Saladin's tents
+and carried him away and cut off his head, first branding him on the
+forehead. "And before he suffered," said the Chronicle, "he cursed the
+Sieur de Trevec and his descendants, and he said he would surely return
+to St. Gildas. 'For the violence you do to me, I will do violence to
+you. For the evil I suffer at your hands, I will work evil on you and
+your descendants. Woe to your children, Sieur de Trevec!'" There was
+a whirr, a beating of strong wings, and my candle flashed up as in a
+sudden breeze. A humming filled the room; the great moth darted hither
+and thither, beating, buzzing, on ceiling and wall. I flung down my
+book and stepped forward. Now it lay fluttering upon the window sill,
+and for a moment I had it under my hand, but the thing squeaked and
+I shrank back. Then suddenly it darted across the candle flame; the
+light flared and went out, and at the same moment a shadow moved in
+the darkness outside. I raised my eyes to the window. A masked face was
+peering in at me.
+
+Quick as thought I whipped out my revolver and fired every cartridge,
+but the face advanced beyond the window, the glass melting away before
+it like mist, and through the smoke of my revolver I saw something
+creep swiftly into the room. Then I tried to cry out, but the thing was
+at my throat, and I fell backward among the ashes of the hearth.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+When my eyes unclosed I was lying on the hearth, my head among the cold
+ashes. Slowly I got on my knees, rose painfully, and groped my way
+to a chair. On the floor lay my revolver, shining in the pale light
+of early morning. My mind clearing by degrees, I looked, shuddering,
+at the window. The glass was unbroken. I stooped stiffly, picked up
+my revolver and opened the cylinder. Every cartridge had been fired.
+Mechanically I closed the cylinder and placed the revolver in my
+pocket. The book, the Chronicles of Jacques Sorgue, lay on the table
+beside me, and as I started to close it I glanced at the page. It was
+all splashed with rain, and the lettering had run, so that the page was
+merely a confused blur of gold and red and black. As I stumbled toward
+the door I cast a fearful glance over my shoulder. The death's-head
+moth crawled shivering on the rug.
+
+
+IV.
+
+The sun was about three hours high. I must have slept, for I was
+aroused by the sudden gallop of horses under our window. People were
+shouting and calling in the road. I sprang up and opened the sash.
+Le Bihan was there, an image of helplessness, and Max Fortin stood
+beside him, polishing his glasses. Some gendarmes had just arrived
+from Quimperlé, and I could hear them around the corner of the house,
+stamping, and rattling their sabres and carbines, as they led their
+horses into my stable.
+
+Lys sat up, murmuring half-sleepy, half-anxious questions.
+
+"I don't know," I answered. "I am going out to see what it means."
+
+"It is like the day they came to arrest you," Lys said, giving me a
+troubled look. But I kissed her, and laughed at her until she smiled
+too. Then I flung on coat and cap and hurried down the stairs.
+
+The first person I saw standing in the road was the Brigadier Durand.
+
+"Hello!" said I, "have you come to arrest me again? What the devil is
+all this fuss about, anyway?"
+
+"We were telegraphed for an hour ago," said Durand briskly, "and for a
+sufficient reason, I think. Look there, Monsieur Darrel!"
+
+He pointed to the ground almost under my feet.
+
+"Good heavens!" I cried, "where did that puddle of blood come from?"
+
+"That's what I want to know, Monsieur Darrel. Max Fortin found it at
+daybreak. See, it's splashed all over the grass, too. A trail of it
+leads into your garden, across the flower beds to your very window, the
+one that opens from the morning room. There is another trail leading
+from this spot across the road to the cliffs, then to the gravel pit,
+and thence across the moor to the forest of Kerselec. We are going to
+mount in a minute and search the bosquets. Will you join us? Bon Dieu!
+but the fellow bled like an ox. Max Fortin says it's human blood, or I
+should not have believed it."
+
+The little chemist of Quimperlé came up at that moment, rubbing his
+glasses with a coloured handkerchief.
+
+"Yes, it is human blood," he said, "but one thing puzzles me: the
+corpuscles are yellow. I never saw any human blood before with yellow
+corpuscles. But your English Doctor Thompson asserts that he has----"
+
+"Well, it's human blood, anyway--isn't it?" insisted Durand,
+impatiently.
+
+"Ye-es," admitted Max Fortin.
+
+"Then it's my business to trail it," said the big gendarme, and he
+called his men and gave the order to mount.
+
+"Did you hear anything last night?" asked Durand of me.
+
+"I heard the rain. I wonder the rain did not wash away these traces."
+
+"They must have come after the rain ceased. See this thick splash, how
+it lies over and weighs down the wet grass blades. Pah!"
+
+It was a heavy, evil-looking clot, and I stepped back from it, my
+throat closing in disgust.
+
+"My theory," said the brigadier, "is this: Some of those Biribi
+fishermen, probably the Icelanders, got an extra glass of cognac into
+their hides and quarrelled on the road. Some of them were slashed, and
+staggered to your house. But there is only one trail, and yet--and yet,
+how could all that blood come from only one person? Well, the wounded
+man, let us say, staggered first to your house and then back here, and
+he wandered off, drunk and dying, God knows where. That's my theory."
+
+"A very good one," said I calmly. "And you are going to trail him?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"When?"
+
+"At once. Will you come?"
+
+"Not now. I'll gallop over by-and-bye. You are going to the edge of the
+Kerselec forest?"
+
+"Yes; you will hear us calling. Are you coming, Max Fortin? And you, Le
+Bihan? Good; take the dog-cart."
+
+The big gendarme tramped around the corner to the stable and presently
+returned mounted on a strong gray horse; his sabre shone on his saddle;
+his pale yellow and white facings were spotless. The little crowd of
+white-coiffed women with their children fell back, as Durand touched
+spurs and clattered away followed by his two troopers. Soon after Le
+Bihan and Max Fortin also departed in the mayor's dingy dog-cart.
+
+"Are you coming?" piped Le Bihan shrilly.
+
+"In a quarter of an hour," I replied, and went back to the house.
+
+When I opened the door of the morning room the death's-head moth was
+beating its strong wings against the window. For a second I hesitated,
+then walked over and opened the sash. The creature fluttered out,
+whirred over the flower beds a moment, then darted across the moorland
+toward the sea. I called the servants together and questioned them.
+Josephine, Catherine, Jean Marie Tregunc, not one of them had heard
+the slightest disturbance during the night. Then I told Jean Marie to
+saddle my horse, and while I was speaking Lys came down.
+
+"Dearest," I began, going to her.
+
+"You must tell me everything you know, Dick," she interrupted, looking
+me earnestly in the face.
+
+"But there is nothing to tell--only a drunken brawl, and some one
+wounded."
+
+"And you are going to ride--where, Dick?"
+
+"Well, over to the edge of Kerselec forest. Durand and the mayor, and
+Max Fortin, have gone on, following a--a trail."
+
+"What trail?"
+
+"Some blood."
+
+"Where did they find it?"
+
+"Out in the road there." Lys crossed herself.
+
+"Does it come near our house?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"How near?"
+
+"It comes up to the morning-room window," said I, giving in.
+
+Her hand on my arm grew heavy. "I dreamed last night----"
+
+"So did I----" but I thought of the empty cartridges in my revolver,
+and stopped.
+
+"I dreamed that you were in great danger, and I could not move hand or
+foot to save you; but you had your revolver, and I called out to you to
+fire----"
+
+"I did fire!" I cried excitedly.
+
+"You--you fired?"
+
+I took her in my arms. "My darling," I said, "something strange has
+happened--something that I can not understand as yet. But, of course,
+there is an explanation. Last night I thought I fired at the Black
+Priest."
+
+"Ah!" gasped Lys.
+
+"Is that what you dreamed?"
+
+"Yes, yes, that was it! I begged you to fire----"
+
+"And I did."
+
+Her heart was beating against my breast. I held her close in silence.
+
+"Dick," she said at length, "perhaps you killed the--the thing."
+
+"If it was human I did not miss," I answered grimly. "And it was
+human," I went on, pulling myself together, ashamed of having so nearly
+gone to pieces. "Of course it was human! The whole affair is plain
+enough. Not a drunken brawl, as Durand thinks; it was a drunken lout's
+practical joke, for which he has suffered. I suppose I must have filled
+him pretty full of bullets, and he has crawled away to die in Kerselec
+forest. It's a terrible affair; I'm sorry I fired so hastily; but that
+idiot Le Bihan and Max Fortin have been working on my nerves till I am
+as hysterical as a schoolgirl," I ended angrily.
+
+"You fired--but the window glass was not shattered," said Lys in a low
+voice.
+
+"Well, the window was open, then. And as for the--the rest--I've got
+nervous indigestion, and a doctor will settle the Black Priest for me,
+Lys."
+
+I glanced out of the window at Tregunc waiting with my horse at the
+gate.
+
+"Dearest, I think I had better go to join Durand and the others."
+
+"I will go too."
+
+"Oh, no!"
+
+"Yes, Dick."
+
+"Don't, Lys."
+
+"I shall suffer every moment you are away."
+
+"The ride is too fatiguing, and we can't tell what unpleasant sight
+you may come upon. Lys, you don't really think there is anything
+supernatural in this affair?"
+
+"Dick," she answered gently, "I am a Bretonne." With both arms around
+my neck, my wife said, "Death is the gift of God. I do not fear it when
+we are together. But alone--oh, my husband, I should fear a God who
+could take you away from me!"
+
+We kissed each other soberly, simply, like two children. Then Lys
+hurried away to change her gown, and I paced up and down the garden
+waiting for her.
+
+She came, drawing on her slender gauntlets. I swung her into the
+saddle, gave a hasty order to Jean Marie, and mounted.
+
+Now, to quail under thoughts of terror on a morning like this, with Lys
+in the saddle beside me, no matter what had happened or might happen,
+was impossible. Moreover, Môme came sneaking after us. I asked Tregunc
+to catch him, for I was afraid he might be brained by our horses' hoofs
+if he followed, but the wily puppy dodged and bolted after Lys, who
+was trotting along the high-road. "Never mind," I thought; "if he's hit
+he'll live, for he has no brains to lose."
+
+Lys was waiting for me in the road beside the Shrine of Our Lady of St.
+Gildas when I joined her. She crossed herself, I doffed my cap, then we
+shook out our bridles and galloped toward the forest of Kerselec.
+
+We said very little as we rode. I always loved to watch Lys in the
+saddle. Her exquisite figure and lovely face were the incarnation of
+youth and grace; her curling hair glistened like threaded gold.
+
+Out of the corner of my eye I saw the spoiled puppy Môme come bounding
+cheerfully alongside, oblivious of our horses' heels. Our road swung
+close to the cliffs. A filthy cormorant rose from the black rocks and
+flapped heavily across our path. Lys's horse reared, but she pulled him
+down, and pointed at the bird with her riding crop.
+
+"I see," said I; "it seems to be going our way. Curious to see a
+cormorant in a forest, isn't it?"
+
+"It is a bad sign," said Lys. "You know the Morbihan proverb: 'When
+the cormorant turns from the sea, Death laughs in the forest, and wise
+woodsmen build boats.'"
+
+"I wish," said I sincerely, "that there were fewer proverbs in
+Brittany."
+
+We were in sight of the forest now; across the gorse I could see
+the sparkle of gendarmes' trappings, and the glitter of Le Bihan's
+silver-buttoned jacket. The hedge was low and we took it without
+difficulty, and trotted across the moor to where Le Bihan and Durand
+stood gesticulating.
+
+They bowed ceremoniously to Lys as we rode up.
+
+"The trail is horrible--it is a river," said the mayor in his squeaky
+voice. "Monsieur Darrel, I think perhaps madame would scarcely care to
+come any nearer."
+
+Lys drew bridle and looked at me.
+
+"It is horrible!" said Durand, walking up beside me; "it looks as
+though a bleeding regiment had passed this way. The trail winds and
+winds about there in the thickets; we lose it at times, but we always
+find it again. I can't understand how one man--no, nor twenty--could
+bleed like that!"
+
+A halloo, answered by another, sounded from the depths of the forest.
+
+"It's my men; they are following the trail," muttered the brigadier.
+"God alone knows what is at the end!"
+
+"Shall we gallop back, Lys?" I asked.
+
+"No; let us ride along the western edge of the woods and dismount. The
+sun is so hot now, and I should like to rest for a moment," she said.
+
+"The western forest is clear of anything disagreeable," said Durand.
+
+"Very well," I answered; "call me, Le Bihan, if you find anything."
+
+Lys wheeled her mare, and I followed across the springy heather, Môme
+trotting cheerfully in the rear.
+
+We entered the sunny woods about a quarter of a kilometre from where
+we left Durand. I took Lys from her horse, flung both bridles over a
+limb, and, giving my wife my arm, aided her to a flat mossy rock which
+overhung a shallow brook gurgling among the beech trees. Lys sat down
+and drew off her gauntlets. Môme pushed his head into her lap, received
+an undeserved caress, and came doubtfully toward me. I was weak enough
+to condone his offence, but I made him lie down at my feet, greatly to
+his disgust.
+
+I rested my head on Lys's knees, looking up at the sky through the
+crossed branches of the trees.
+
+"I suppose I have killed him," I said. "It shocks me terribly, Lys."
+
+"You could not have known, dear. He may have been a robber,
+and--if--not---- Did--have you ever fired your revolver since that day
+four years ago, when the Red Admiral's son tried to kill you? But I
+know you have not."
+
+"No," said I, wondering. "It's a fact, I have not. Why?"
+
+"And don't you remember that I asked you to let me load it for you the
+day when Yves went off, swearing to kill you and his father?"
+
+"Yes, I do remember. Well?"
+
+"Well, I--I took the cartridges first to St. Gildas chapel and dipped
+them in holy water. You must not laugh, Dick," said Lys gently, laying
+her cool hands on my lips.
+
+"Laugh, my darling!"
+
+Overhead the October sky was pale amethyst, and the sunlight burned
+like orange flame through the yellow leaves of beech and oak. Gnats
+and midges danced and wavered overhead; a spider dropped from a twig
+halfway to the ground and hung suspended on the end of his gossamer
+thread.
+
+"Are you sleepy, dear?" asked Lys, bending over me.
+
+"I am--a little; I scarcely slept two hours last night," I answered.
+
+"You may sleep, if you wish," said Lys, and touched my eyes caressingly.
+
+"Is my head heavy on your knees?"
+
+"No, Dick."
+
+I was already in a half doze; still I heard the brook babbling under
+the beeches and the humming of forest flies overhead. Presently even
+these were stilled.
+
+The next thing I knew I was sitting bolt upright, my ears ringing with
+a scream, and I saw Lys cowering beside me, covering her white face
+with both hands.
+
+As I sprang to my feet she cried again and clung to my knees. I saw my
+dog rush growling into a thicket, then I heard him whimper, and he came
+backing out, whining, ears flat, tail down. I stooped and disengaged
+Lys's hand.
+
+"Don't go, Dick!" she cried. "O God, it's the Black Priest!"
+
+In a moment I had leaped across the brook and pushed my way into the
+thicket. It was empty. I stared about me; I scanned every tree trunk,
+every bush. Suddenly I saw him. He was seated on a fallen log, his head
+resting in his hands, his rusty black robe gathered around him. For
+a moment my hair stirred under my cap; sweat started on forehead and
+cheek-bone; then I recovered my reason, and understood that the man was
+human and was probably wounded to death. Ay, to death; for there, at my
+feet, lay the wet trail of blood, over leaves and stones, down into the
+little hollow, across to the figure in black resting silently under the
+trees.
+
+I saw that he could not escape even if he had the strength, for before
+him, almost at his very feet, lay a deep, shining swamp.
+
+As I stepped forward my foot broke a twig. At the sound the figure
+started a little, then its head fell forward again. Its face was
+masked. Walking up to the man, I bade him tell where he was wounded.
+Durand and the others broke through the thicket at the same moment and
+hurried to my side.
+
+"Who are you who hide a masked face in a priest's robe?" said the
+gendarme loudly.
+
+There was no answer.
+
+"See--see the stiff blood all over his robe!" muttered Le Bihan to
+Fortin.
+
+"He will not speak," said I.
+
+"He may be too badly wounded," whispered Le Bihan.
+
+"I saw him raise his head," I said; "my wife saw him creep up here."
+
+Durand stepped forward and touched the figure.
+
+"Speak!" he said.
+
+"Speak!" quavered Fortin.
+
+Durand waited a moment, then with a sudden upward movement he stripped
+off the mask and threw back the man's head. We were looking into the
+eye sockets of a skull. Durand stood rigid; the mayor shrieked. The
+skeleton burst out from its rotting robes and collapsed on the ground
+before us. From between the staring ribs and the grinning teeth spurted
+a torrent of black blood, showering the shrinking grasses; then the
+thing shuddered, and fell over into the black ooze of the bog. Little
+bubbles of iridescent air appeared from the mud; the bones were slowly
+engulfed, and, as the last fragments sank out of sight, up from the
+depths and along the bank crept a creature, shiny, shivering, quivering
+its wings.
+
+It was a death's-head moth.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+I wish I had time to tell you how Lys outgrew superstitions--for she
+never knew the truth about the affair, and she never will know, since
+she has promised not to read this book. I wish I might tell you about
+the king and his coronation, and how the coronation robe fitted. I wish
+that I were able to write how Yvonne and Herbert Stuart rode to a boar
+hunt in Quimperlé, and how the hounds raced the quarry right through
+the town, overturning three gendarmes, the notary, and an old woman.
+But I am becoming garrulous, and Lys is calling me to come and hear the
+king say that he is sleepy. And his Highness shall not be kept waiting.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+  THE KING'S CRADLE SONG.
+
+      Seal with a seal of gold
+      The scroll of a life unrolled;
+    Swathe him deep in his purple stole;
+    Ashes of diamonds, crystalled coal,
+      Drops of gold in each scented fold.
+
+    Crimson wings of the Little Death,
+    Stir his hair with your silken breath;
+    Flaming wings of sins to be,
+    Splendid pinions of prophecy,
+      Smother his eyes with hues and dyes,
+  While the white moon spins and the winds arise,
+      And the stars drip through the skies.
+
+      Wave, O wings of the Little Death!
+      Seal his sight and stifle his breath,
+    Cover his breast with the gemmed shroud pressed;
+    From north to north, from west to west,
+      Wave, O wings of the Little Death!
+  Till the white moon reels in the cracking skies,
+      And the ghosts of God arise.
+
+
+
+
+THE WHITE SHADOW.
+
+
+  We are no other than a moving row
+  Of magic shadow-shapes, that come and go
+    Round with this sun-illumined lantern, held
+  In midnight by the master of the show.
+
+  A moment's halt--a momentary taste
+  Of being from the well amid the waste--
+    And lo! the phantom caravan has reached
+  The nothing it set out from. Oh, make haste!
+
+  Ah, Love! could you and I with him conspire
+  To grasp this sorry scheme of things entire,
+    Would not we shatter it to bits--and then
+  Remould it nearer to the heart's desire!
+
+                                        FITZGERALD.
+
+
+
+
+THE WHITE SHADOW.
+
+  Listen, then, love, and with your white hand clear
+  Your forehead from its cloudy hair.
+
+
+I.
+
+"Three great hulking cousins," said she, closing her gray eyes
+disdainfully.
+
+We accepted the rebuke in astonished silence. Presently she opened her
+eyes, and seemed surprised to see us there yet.
+
+"O," she said, "if you think I am going to stay here until you make up
+your minds----"
+
+"I've made up mine," said Donald. "We will go to the links. You may
+come."
+
+"I shall not," she announced. "Walter, what do you propose?"
+
+Walter looked at his cartridge belt and then at the little
+breech-loader standing in a corner of the arbour.
+
+"Oh, I know," she said, "but I won't! I won't! I won't!"
+
+The uncles and aunts on the piazza turned to look at us; her mother
+arose from a steamer-chair and came across the lawn.
+
+"Won't what, Sweetheart?" she asked, placing both hands on her
+daughter's shoulders.
+
+"Mamma, Walter wants me to shoot, and Don wants me to play golf, and
+I--won't!"
+
+"She doesn't know what she wants," said I.
+
+"Don't I?" she said, flushing with displeasure.
+
+"Her mother might suggest something," hazarded Donald. We looked at our
+aunt.
+
+"Sweetheart is spoiled," said that lady decisively. "If you children
+don't go away at once and have a good time, I shall find employment for
+her."
+
+"Algebra?" I asked maliciously.
+
+"How dare you!" cried Sweetheart, sitting up. "Oh, isn't he mean! isn't
+he ignoble!--and I've done my algebra; haven't I, mamma?"
+
+"But your French?" I began.
+
+Donald laughed, and so did Walter. As for Sweetheart, she arose in all
+the dignity of sixteen years, closed her eyes with superb insolence,
+and, clasping her mother's waist with one round white arm, marched out
+of the arbour.
+
+"We tease her too much," said Donald.
+
+"She's growing up fast; we ought not to call her 'Sweetheart' when she
+puts her hair up," added Walter.
+
+"She's going to put it up in October, when she goes back to school,"
+said Donald. "Jack, she will hate you if you keep reminding her of her
+algebra and French."
+
+"Then I'll stop," said I, suddenly conscious what an awful thing it
+would be if she hated me.
+
+Donald's two pointers came frisking across the lawn from the kennels,
+and Donald picked up his gun.
+
+"Here we go again," said I. "Donny's going to the coverts after grouse,
+Walter's going up on the hill with his dust-shot and arsenic, and I'm
+going across the fields after butterflies. Why the deuce can't we all
+go together, just for once?"
+
+"And take Sweetheart? She would like it if we all went together," said
+Walter; "she is tired of seeing Jack net butterflies."
+
+"Collecting birds and shooting grouse are two different things," began
+Donald. "You spoil my dogs by shooting your confounded owls and humming
+birds."
+
+"Oh, your precious dogs!" I cried. "Shut up, Donny, and give Sweetheart
+a good day's tramp. It's a pity if three cousins can't pool their
+pleasures for once."
+
+Donald nodded uncertainly.
+
+"Come on," said Walter, "we'll find Sweetheart. Jack, you get your
+butterfly togs and come back here."
+
+I nodded, and watched my two cousins sauntering across the lawn--big,
+clean-cut fellows, resembling each other enough to be brothers instead
+of cousins.
+
+We all resembled each other more or less, Donald, Walter, and I. As for
+Sweetheart, she looked like none of us.
+
+It was all very well for her mother to call her Sweetheart, and for
+her aunts to echo it in chorus, but the time was coming when we saw we
+should have to stop. A girl of sixteen with such a name is ridiculous,
+and Sweetheart was nearly seventeen; and her hair was "going up" and
+her gowns were "coming down" in October.
+
+Her own name was pretty enough. I don't know that I ought to tell it,
+but I will: it was the same as her mother's. We called her Sweetheart
+sometimes, sometimes "The Aspen Beauty." Donald had given her that name
+from a butterfly in my collection, the Vanessa Pandora, commonly known
+as the Aspen beauty, from its never having been captured in America
+except in our village of Aspen.
+
+Here, in the north of New York State, we four cousins spent our summers
+in the family house. There was not much to do in Aspen. We used the
+links, we galloped over the sandy roads, we also trotted our several
+hobbies, Donald, Walter, and I. Sweetheart had no hobby; to make up for
+this, however, she owned a magnificent team of bêtes-noires--Algebra
+and French.
+
+As for me, my butterfly collection languished. I had specimens of
+nearly every butterfly in New York State, and I rather longed for new
+states to conquer. Anyway, there were plenty of Aspen beauties--I mean
+the butterflies--flying about the roads and balm-of-Gilead trees, and
+perhaps that is why I lingered there long enough to collect hundreds of
+duplicates for exchange. And perhaps it wasn't.
+
+I thought of these things as I sat in the sun-flecked arbour, watching
+the yellow elm leaves flutter down from the branches. I thought, too,
+of Sweetheart, and wondered how she would look with her hair up. And
+while I sat there smoking, watching the yellow leaves drifting across
+the lawn, a sharp explosion startled me and I raised my head.
+
+Sweetheart was standing on the lawn, gazing dreamily at the smoking
+débris of a large firecracker.
+
+"What's that for?" I asked.
+
+"It proclaims my independence," said Sweetheart--"my independence
+forever. Hereafter my cousins will ask to accompany me on my walks;
+they need no longer charitably permit me to accompany them. Are you
+three boys going to ride your hobbies?"
+
+"We are," I said.
+
+"Then good-bye. I am going to walk."
+
+"Can't we come too?" I asked, laughing.
+
+"Oh," she said graciously, "if you put it in that way I could not
+refuse."
+
+"May we bring our guns?" asked Donald from the piazza.
+
+"May I bring my net?" I added, half amused, half annoyed.
+
+She made a gesture, indifferent, condescending.
+
+"Dear me!" murmured the aunts in chorus from the piazza as we trooped
+after the Aspen beauty, "Sweetheart is growing very fast."
+
+I smiled vaguely at Sweetheart. I was wondering how she would look in
+long frocks and coiled hair.
+
+
+II.
+
+In the fall of the year the meadows of Aspen glimmer in the sunlight
+like crumpled sheets of beaten gold; for Aspen is the land of
+golden-rod, of yellow earth and gilded fern.
+
+There the crisp oaks rustle, every leaf a blot of yellow; there the
+burnished pines sound, sound, tremble, and resound, like gilt-stringed
+harps aquiver in the wind.
+
+Sweet fern, sun-dried, bronzed, fills all the hills with incense, vague
+and delicate as the white down drifting from the frothy milkweed.
+
+And where the meadow brook prattled, limpid, filtered with sunlight,
+Sweetheart stood knee-deep in fragrant mint, watching the aimless
+minnows swimming in circles. On a distant hill, dark against the blue,
+Donald moved with his dogs, and I saw the sun-glint on his gun, and I
+heard the distant "Hi--on! Hi--on!" long after he disappeared below the
+brown hill's brow.
+
+Walter, too, had gone, leaving us there by the brook together,
+Sweetheart and I; and I saw the crows flapping and circling far over
+the woods, and I heard the soft report of his dust-shot shells among
+the trees.
+
+"The ruling passion, Sweetheart," I said. "Donny chases the phantom of
+pleasure with his dogs. The phantom flies from Walter, and he follows
+with his dust-shot."
+
+"Then," said Sweetheart, "follow your phantom also; there are
+butterflies everywhere." She raised both arms and turned from the
+brook. "Everywhere flying I see butterflies--phantoms of pleasure; and,
+Jack, you do not follow with your net."
+
+"No," said I, "the world to-day is too fair to--slay in. I even doubt
+that the happiness of empires hinges on the discovery of a new species
+of anything. Do I bore you?"
+
+"A little," said Sweetheart, touching the powdered gold of the blossoms
+about her. She laid the tip of her third finger on her lips and then
+on the golden-rod. "I shall not pick it; the world is too fair to-day,"
+she said. "What are you going to do, Jack?"
+
+"I could doze," I said. "Could you?"
+
+"Yes--if you told me stories."
+
+I contemplated her in silence for a moment. After a while she sat down
+under an oak and clasped her hands.
+
+"I am growing so old," she sighed, "I no longer take pleasure
+in childish things--Donald's dogs, Walter's humming birds, your
+butterflies. Jack?"
+
+"What?"
+
+"Sit down on the grass."
+
+"What for?"
+
+"Because I ask you."
+
+I sat down.
+
+Presently she said: "I am as tall as mamma. Why should I study algebra?"
+
+"Because," I answered evasively.
+
+"Your answer is as rude as though I were twenty, instead of sixteen,"
+said Sweetheart. "If you treat me as a child from this moment, I shall
+hate you."
+
+"Me--Sweetheart?"
+
+"And that name!--it is good for children and kittens."
+
+I looked at her seriously. "It is good for women, too--when it is
+time," I said. "I prophesy that one day you will hear it again. As for
+me, I shall not call you by that name if you dislike it."
+
+"I am a woman--now," she said.
+
+"Oh! at sixteen."
+
+"To-morrow I am to be seventeen."
+
+Presently, looking off at the blue hills, I said: "For a long time
+I have recognised that that subtle, indefinable attitude--we call
+it deference--due from men to women is due from us to you. Donny and
+Walter are slower to accept this. You know what you have been to us
+as a child; we can't bear to lose you--to meet you in another way--to
+reckon with you as we reckon with a woman. But it is true: our little
+Sweetheart has vanished, and--_you_ are here!"
+
+The oak leaves began to rustle in the hill winds; the crows cawed from
+the woods.
+
+"Oui c'est moi," she said at length.
+
+"I shall never call you Sweetheart again," I said, smiling.
+
+"Who knows?" she laughed, and leaned over to pick a blade of wild
+wheat. She coloured faintly a moment later, and said: "I didn't mean
+that, Jack."
+
+And so Sweetheart took her first step across that threshold of mystery,
+the Temple of Idols. And of the gilded idols within the temple, one
+shall turn to living flesh at the sound of a voice. And lo! where
+a child had entered, a woman returned with the key to the Temple of
+Gilded Idols.
+
+"Jack," said Sweetheart, "you are wrong. No day is too fair to kill in.
+I shall pick my arms full--full of flowers."
+
+Over the yellow fields, red with the stalks of the buckwheat, crowned
+with a glimmering cloud of the dusty gold of the golden-rod, Sweetheart
+passed, pensive, sedate, awed by the burden of sixteen years.
+
+I followed.
+
+Over the curling fern and wind-stirred grasses the silken milkweed
+seeds sailed, sailed, and the great red-brown butterflies drifted
+above, ruddy as autumn leaves aglow in the sun.
+
+"On the sand-cliff there are marigolds," said Sweetheart.
+
+I looked at the mass of wild flowers in her arms; her white polished
+skin reflected the blaze of colour, warming like ivory under their
+glow.
+
+"Marigolds," I repeated; "we will get some."
+
+"The sand slides on the face of the cliff; you must be careful," she
+said.
+
+"And I may see one of those rare cliff butterflies. I haven't any good
+examples."
+
+I fancy she was not listening; the crows were clamouring above the
+beech woods; the hill winds filled our ears with a sound like the sound
+of the sea on shoals. Her gray eyes, touched with the sky's deep blue
+and the blue of the misty hills, looked out across the miles of woods
+and fields, and saw a world; not a world old, scarred, rock-ribbed, and
+salt with tears, but a new world, youthful, ripe, sunny, hazy with the
+splendour of wonders hidden behind the horizon--a world jewelled with
+gems, spanned by rose-mist rainbows--a world of sixteen years.
+
+"We are already at the cliff's edge," I said.
+
+She stepped to the edge and looked over. I drew her back. The sand
+started among the rocks, running, running with a sound like silver
+water.
+
+"Then you shall not go either," she said. "I do not care for marigolds."
+
+But I was already on the edge, stooping for a blossom. The next instant
+I fell.
+
+There was a whistle of sand, a flurry and a rush of wind, a blur of
+rock, fern, dead grasses--a cry!
+
+For I remember as I fell, falling I called, "Sweetheart!" and again
+"Sweetheart!" Then my body struck the rocks below.
+
+
+III.
+
+Of all the seconds that tick the whole year through, of all the seconds
+that have slipped onward marking the beat of time since time was
+loosed, there is one, one brief moment, steeped in magic and heavy with
+oblivion, that sometimes lingers in the soul of man, annihilating space
+and time. If, at the feet of God, a year is a second passed unnoted,
+this magic second, afloat on the tide of time, moves on and on till,
+caught in the vortex of some life's whirl, it sinks into the soul of a
+being near to death.
+
+And in that soul the magic second glows and lingers, stretching into
+minutes, hours, days--aye, days and days, till, if the magic hold, the
+calm years crowd on one by one; and yet it all is but a second--that
+magic moment that comes on the tide of time--that came to me and was
+caught up in my life's whirl as I fell, dropping there between sky and
+earth.
+
+And so that magic moment grew to minutes, to hours; and when my body,
+whirling, pitching, struck and lay flung out on the earth, the magic
+second grew until the crystal days fell from my life, as beads, one by
+one, fall from the rosaries that saints tell kneeling.
+
+Those days of a life that I have lived, those years that linger still
+aglow in the sun behind me, dim yet splendid as dust-dimmed jewels,
+they also have ended, not in vague night, but in the sunburst of
+another second--such a second as ticks from my watch as I write, quick,
+sharp, joyous, irrevocable! So, of that magic second, or day, or year,
+I shall tell--I, as I was, standing beside my body flung there across
+the earth.
+
+I looked at my body, lying in a heap, then turned to the sand cliff
+smiling.
+
+"Sweetheart!" I called.
+
+But she was already at my side.
+
+We walked on through fragrant pastures, watching the long shadows
+stretch from field to field, speaking of what had been and of all that
+was to be. It was so simple--everything was clear before us. Had there
+been doubts, fears, sudden alarms, startled heartbeats?
+
+If there had been, now they were ended forever.
+
+"Not forever," said Sweetheart; "who knows how long the magic second
+may last?"
+
+"But we--what difference can that make?" I asked.
+
+"To us?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"None," said Sweetheart decisively.
+
+We looked out into the west. The sun turned to a mound of cinders; the
+hills loomed in opalescent steam.
+
+"But--but--your shadow!" said Sweetheart.
+
+I bent my head, thrilled with happiness.
+
+"And yours," I whispered.
+
+The shadows we cast were whiter than snow.
+
+I still heard the hill winds, soft in my ears as breaking surf; a
+bird-note came from the dusky woodland; a star broke out overhead.
+
+"What is your pleasure, Sweetheart, now all is said?" I asked.
+
+"The world is all so fair," she sighed; "is it fairer beyond the hills,
+Jack?"
+
+"It is fair where you pass by, north, south, and from west to west
+again. In France the poplars are as yellow as our oaks. In Morbihan the
+gorse gilds all the hills, yellow as golden-rod. Shall we go?"
+
+"But in the spring--let us wait until spring."
+
+"Where?"
+
+"Here."
+
+"Until spring?"
+
+"It is written that Time shall pass as a shadow across the sea. What
+is that book there under your feet--that iron-bound book, half embedded
+like a stone in the grass."
+
+"I did not see it!"
+
+"Bring it to me."
+
+I raised the book; it left a bare mark in the sod as a stone that is
+turned. Then, holding it on my knees, I opened it, and Sweetheart,
+leaning on my shoulder, read. The tall stars flared like candles,
+flooding the page with diamond light; the earth, perfumed with
+blossoms, stirred with the vague vibration of countless sounds, tiny
+voices swaying breathless in the hidden surge of an endless harmony.
+
+"The white shadow is the shadow of the soul," she read. Even the winds
+were hushed as her sweet lips moved.
+
+"And what shall make thee to understand what hell is?... When the
+sun shall be folded up as a garment that is laid away; when the stars
+fall, and the seas boil, and when souls shall be joined again to their
+bodies; and when the girl who hath been buried alive shall be asked
+for what crime; when books shall be laid open, when hell shall burn
+fiercely, and when paradise shall be brought very near:
+
+"Every soul shall know what it hath wrought!"
+
+I closed my eyes; the splendour of the starlight on the page was more
+than my eyes could bear.
+
+But she read on; for what can dim her eyes?
+
+"O man, verily, labouring, thou labourest to meet thy LORD.
+
+"And thou shalt meet HIM!
+
+"When the earth shall be stretched like a skin, and shall cast forth
+that which is therein;
+
+"By the heaven adorned with signs, by the witness and the witnessed;
+
+"By that which appeareth by night; by the daybreak and the ten
+nights--the ten nights;
+
+"The night of Al Kadr is better than a thousand months.
+
+"Praise be to God, the Lord of all creatures; the Most Merciful, the
+King of the Day of Judgment. Thee do we worship, and of thee do we beg
+assistance. Direct us in the right way, in the way of those to whom
+thou hast been gracious; not of those against whom thou art incensed,
+nor of those who go astray!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+In the sudden silence that spread across earth and heaven I heard the
+sound of a voice under the earth, calling, calling, calling.
+
+"It is already spring," said Sweetheart; and she rose, placing her
+white hands in mine. "Shall we go?"
+
+"But we are already there," I stammered, turning my eyes fearfully; for
+the tall pines dwindled and clustered and rose again cool and gray in
+the morning air, all turned to stone, fretted and carved like lacework;
+and where the pines had faded, the twin towers of a cathedral loomed;
+and where the hills swept across the horizon, the roofs of a white city
+glimmered in the morning sun. Bridges and quays and streets and domes
+and the hum of traffic and rattle of arms; and over all, the veil of
+haze and the twin gray towers of Notre Dame!
+
+"Sweetheart!" I faltered.
+
+But we were already in my studio.
+
+
+IV.
+
+The studio had not changed. The sun flooded it.
+
+Sweetheart sat in the broken armchair and watched me struggle with the
+packing. Every now and then she made an impulsive movement toward the
+heap of clothes on the floor, which I checked with a "Thanks! I can fix
+it all alone, Sweetheart."
+
+Clifford seemed to extract amusement from it all, and said as much to
+Rowden, who was as usual ruining my zitherine by trying to play it like
+a banjo.
+
+Elliott, knowing he could be of no use to us, had the decency to
+sit outside the studio on one of the garden benches. He appeared at
+intervals at the studio door, saying, "Come along, Clifford; they don't
+want you messing about. Drop that banjo, Rowden, or Jack will break
+your head with it--won't you, Jack?"
+
+I said I would, but not with the zitherine.
+
+Clifford flatly refused to move unless Sweetheart would take him
+out into our garden and show him the solitary goldfish which lurked
+in the fountain under the almond trees. But Sweetheart, apparently
+fascinated by the mysteries of packing, turned a deaf ear to Clifford's
+blandishments and Rowden's discords.
+
+"I imagined," said Clifford, somewhat hurt, "that you would delight in
+taking upon yourself the duties of a hostess. I should be pleased to
+believe that I am not an unwelcome guest."
+
+"So should I," echoed Rowden; "I'd be pleased too."
+
+"What a shame for you to bother, Jack!" she said. "Mr. Clifford shall
+go and make some tea directly. Mr. Rowden, you may take a table out by
+the fountain--and stay there."
+
+Clifford, motioning Elliott to take the other end of the Japanese
+table, backed with it through the hallway and out to the gravel walk,
+expostulating.
+
+"The sugar is there in that tin box by the model stand," she said, when
+he reappeared, "and the extra spoons are lying in a long box on Jack's
+big easel."
+
+When Rowden, reluctantly relinquishing the zitherine, followed
+Clifford, bearing the cups and alcohol lamp, I raised my head and
+wiped the dust from my forehead. I believe I swore a little in French.
+Sweetheart looked startled. She knew more French than I supposed she
+did.
+
+"What is it, Jack?"
+
+"Mais--rien, ça m'embête--cette espèce de malle----"
+
+"Then why won't you let me help you, Jack? I can at least put in my
+gowns."
+
+"But I must pack my colour box first, and the gun case, and the
+box of reels, and the pastel case, and our shooting boots, and the
+water-colour box, and the cartridge belt, and your golf shoes, and----"
+
+"O dear!" said Sweetheart with a shudder.
+
+I stood up and scowled at the trunk.
+
+"To look at you, Jack," murmured Sweetheart, "one might think you
+unhappy."
+
+Unhappy! At the thought our eyes met across the table.
+
+"Unhappy!" I whispered.
+
+Then Clifford came stumbling in, wearing a pair of Joseph's sabots,
+and, imitating that faithful domestic in voice and manner, invited us
+to tea under the lilacs and almond blossoms.
+
+"In a moment," cried Sweetheart impatiently. "Go and pour the tea."
+
+Clifford looked aghast. "No, no!" he cried; "it's impossible--I won't
+believe that you two are deliberately getting rid of me so you can be
+alone to spoon! And your honeymoon already a year old, and----"
+
+Sweetheart frowned, and tapped her foot.
+
+Clifford retired indignant.
+
+Then she raised her eyes to mine, and a delicate colour stained her
+cheeks and neck.
+
+"Yes," I said, "we have been married nearly a year, Sweetheart."
+
+We looked at our white shadows on the floor.
+
+
+V.
+
+Sweetheart sat under the lilac blossoms pouring out tea for Clifford,
+Elliott, and Rowden. She was gracious to Clifford, gentle to Elliott,
+and she took Rowden under her wing in the sweetest way possible, to
+which Clifford stated his objections.
+
+"Mr. Rowden is younger than you are," she said gravely. "Monsieur
+Clifford, I do not wish you to torment him."
+
+"Rowden's no baby; he's as old as Jack is, and Jack doesn't murder
+music."
+
+"I am glad to see you acknowledge Jack's superiority in all matters,"
+said Sweetheart with a dangerous smile.
+
+"I don't," cried Clifford laughing; "and I don't see what you find
+to care about in a man who clips his hair like a gendarme and paints
+everything purple."
+
+"Everything is purple--if Jack paints it so," said Sweetheart, smiling
+at her reflected face in the water. She stood at the rim of the little
+stone fountain with her hands clasped behind her back. Elliott and
+Clifford were poking about in the water plants to dislodge the solitary
+goldfish, while Rowden gathered dewy clusters of lilacs as an offering.
+
+"There he goes!" said Elliott.
+
+"Poor fellow, living there all alone!" said Sweetheart. "Jack must
+leave word with Joseph to get him a little lady fish to pay his court
+to."
+
+"Better put in another gentleman fish, then, if you're following
+Nature," said Clifford, with an attempt at cynicism which drew the
+merriest laugh from Sweetheart.
+
+"Oh, how funny is Monsieur Clifford when he wants to be like
+Frenchmen!" she murmured.
+
+"Jack," said Elliott, as I came from the studio and picked up a cup of
+tea grown cold, "Clifford's doing the world-worn disenchanted roué."
+
+"And--and I fear he will next make love to me!" cried Sweetheart.
+
+"You'd better look out, Jack," said Clifford darkly, and pretended to
+sulk until Sweetheart sent him off to buy the bonbons she would need
+for the train.
+
+"They're packed," I said, "every trunk of them!"
+
+Sweetheart was enchanted. "All my new gowns, and the shoes
+from Rix's--O Jack, you didn't forget the shoes--and the bath
+robes--and----"
+
+"All packed," I said, swallowing the tea with a wry face.
+
+"Oh," she cried reproachfully, "don't drink that! Here, I will have
+some hot tea in a moment," and she ran over and perched on the arm of
+the garden bench while I lighted the alcohol lamp and then a cigarette.
+
+Rowden came up with his offering of lilacs, and she decorated each of
+us with a spray.
+
+It was growing late. The long shadows fell across the gravel walks and
+flecked the white walls of the sculptor's studio opposite.
+
+"It's the nine-o'clock train, isn't it?" said Elliott.
+
+"We will meet you at the station at eight-thirty," added Rowden.
+
+"You don't mind, do you, our dining alone?" said Sweetheart shyly;
+"it's our last day--Jack's and mine--in the old studio."
+
+"Not the last, I hope," said Elliott sincerely.
+
+We all sat silent for a moment.
+
+"O Paris, Paris--how I fear it!" murmured Sweetheart to me; and in the
+same breath, "No, no, we must love it, you and I."
+
+Then Elliott said aloud, "I suppose you have no idea when you will
+return?"
+
+"No," I replied, thinking of the magic second that had become a year.
+
+And so we dined alone, Sweetheart and I, in the old studio.
+
+At half-past eight o'clock the cab stood at the gate with all our traps
+piled on top, and Joseph and his wife and the two brats were crying,
+"Au revoir, madame! au revoir, monsieur! We will keep the studio well
+dusted. Bon voyage! bon voyage!" and all of a sudden my arm was caught
+by Sweetheart's little gloved hand, and she drew me back through
+the long ivy-covered alley to the garden where the studio stood, its
+doorway closed and silent, the hollow windows black and grim. Truly the
+light had passed away with the passing of Sweetheart. Her hand slipped
+from my arm, and she went and knelt down at the threshold and kissed
+it.
+
+"I first knew happiness when I first crossed it," she said; "it breaks
+my heart to leave it. Only that magic second! but it seems years that
+we have lived here."
+
+"It was you who brought happiness to it," I said.
+
+"Good-bye! good-bye, dear, dear, old studio!" she cried. "Oh, if Jack
+is always the same to me as he has been here--if he will be faithful
+and true in that new home!"
+
+The new home was to be in a strange land. Sweetheart was a little
+frightened, but was dying to go there. Sweetheart had never seen the
+golden gorse ablaze on the moors of Morbihan.
+
+
+VI.
+
+I went inside the brass railing and waited my turn to buy the tickets.
+When it came, I took two first class to Quimperlé, for it was to be
+an all-night ride, and there was no sleeping car. Clifford had taken
+charge of the baggage, and I went with him to have it registered,
+leaving Sweetheart with Elliott and Rowden. All the traps were
+there--the big trunks, the big valises, my sketching kit, the zitherine
+in a leather case, two handbags, a bundle of umbrellas and canes, and a
+huge package of canvases. The toilet case and the rugs and waterproofs
+we took with us into the compartment.
+
+The compartment was empty. Sweetheart nestled into one corner, and
+when I had placed our traps in the racks overhead I sat down opposite,
+while Clifford handed in our sandwiches, a bottle of red wine, and
+Sweetheart's box of bonbons.
+
+We didn't say much; most had been said before starting. Clifford was
+more affected than he cared to show--I know by the way he grasped my
+hand. They are dear fellows, every one. We did not realize that we were
+actually going--going, perhaps, forever. She laughed, and chatted, and
+made fun of Clifford, and teased Rowden, aided and abetted by Elliott,
+until the starting gong clanged and a warning whistle sounded along the
+gaslit platform.
+
+"Jack," cried Clifford, leaning in the window, "God bless you! God
+bless you both!"
+
+Elliott touched her hand and wrung mine, and Rowden risked his neck to
+give us both one last cordial grasp.
+
+"Count on me--on us," cried Clifford, speaking in English, "if you
+are--troubled!"
+
+By what, my poor Clifford? Can you, with all your gay courage, turn
+back the hands of the dials? Can you, with all your warm devotion, add
+one second to the magic second and make it two? The shadows we cast are
+white.
+
+The train stole out into the night, and I saw them grouped on the
+platform, silhouettes in the glare of the yellow signals. I drew in my
+head and shut the window. Sweetheart's face had grown very serious, but
+now she smiled across from her corner.
+
+"Aren't you coming over by me, Jack?"
+
+
+VII.
+
+We must have been moving very swiftly, for the car rocked and trembled,
+and it was probably that which awoke me. I looked across at Sweetheart.
+She was lying on her side, one cheek resting on her gloved hand, her
+travelling cap pushed back, her eyes shut. I smoothed away the curly
+strands of hair which straggled across her cheeks, and tucked another
+rug well about her feet. Her feet were small as a child's. I speak as
+if she were not a child. She was eighteen then.
+
+The next time I awoke we lay in a long gaslit station. Some soldiers
+were disembarking from the forward carriages, and a gendarme stalked up
+and down the platform.
+
+I looked sleepily about for the name of the station. It was painted
+in blue over the buffet--"Petit St. Yves." "Is it possible we are in
+Brittany?" I thought. Then the voices of the station hands, who were
+hoisting a small boat upon the forward carriage, settled my doubts.
+"Allons! tire hardiment, Jean Louis! mets le cannotte deboutte."
+
+"Arrête toi Yves! doucement! doucement! Sacrée garce!"
+
+Somewhere in the darkness a mellow bell tolled. I settled back to
+slumber, my eyes on Sweetheart.
+
+She slept.
+
+
+VIII.
+
+I awoke in a flood of brightest sunshine. From our window I could look
+into the centre of a most enchanting little town, all built of white
+limestone and granite. The June sunshine slanted on thatched roof and
+painted gable, and fairly blazed on the little river slipping by under
+the stone bridge in the square.
+
+The streets and the square were alive with rosy-faced women in white
+head-dresses. Everywhere the constant motion of blue skirts and
+spotless coiffes, the twinkle of varnished socks, the clump! clump! of
+sabots.
+
+Like a black shadow a priest stole across the square. Above him the
+cross on the church glowed like a live cinder, flashing its reflection
+along the purple-slated roof from the eaves of which a cloud of
+ash-gray pigeons drifted into the gutter below. I turned from the
+window to encounter Sweetheart's eyes. Her lips moved a little, her
+long lashes heavy with slumber drooped lower, then with a little sigh
+she sat bolt upright. When I laughed, as I always did, she smiled,
+a little confused, a little ashamed, murmuring: "Bonjour, mon chéri!
+Quelle heure est-il?" That was always the way Sweetheart awoke.
+
+"O dear, I am so rumpled!" she said. "Jack, get me the satchel this
+minute, and don't look at me until I ask you to."
+
+I unlocked the satchel, and then turning to the window again threw it
+wide open. Oh, how sweet came the morning air from the meadows! Some
+young fellows below on the bank of the stream were poking long cane
+fishing-rods under the arches of the bridge.
+
+"Sweetheart," I said over my shoulder, "I believe there are trout in
+this stream."
+
+"Mr. Elliott says that whenever you see a puddle you always say that,"
+she replied.
+
+"What does he know about it?" I answered, for I am touchy on the
+subject; "he doesn't know a catfish from a--a dogfish."
+
+"Neither do I, Jack dear, but I'm going to learn. Don't be cross."
+
+She had finished her toilet and came over to the window, leaning out
+over my shoulder.
+
+"Where are we?" she cried in startled wonder at the little white town
+and the acres of swaying clover. "Oh, Jack, is--is this the country?"
+
+A man in uniform passing under our window looked up surprised.
+
+"What are you doing here?" he demanded; then, seeing Sweetheart, he
+took off his gold-laced cap, and added, with a bow: "This carriage goes
+no farther, monsieur--madame----"
+
+"Merci!" exclaimed Sweetheart, "we wish to go to Quimperlé!"
+
+"And we have tickets for Quimperlé," I insisted.
+
+"But," smiled the official, "this is Quimperlé."
+
+It was true. There was the name written over the end of the station;
+and, looking ahead, I saw that our car had been detached and was
+standing in stately seclusion under the freight shed. How long it had
+been standing so Heaven alone knows; but they evidently had neglected
+to call us, and there we were inhabiting a detached carriage in the
+heart of Quimperlé. I managed to get a couple of porters, and presently
+we found all our traps piled up on the platform, and a lumbering
+vehicle with a Breton driver waiting to convey us to the hotel.
+
+"Which," said I to the docile Breton, "is the best hotel in Quimperlé?"
+
+"The Hôtel Lion d'Or," he replied.
+
+"How do you know?" I demanded.
+
+"Because," said he mildly, "it is the only hotel in Quimperlé."
+
+Sweetheart observed that this ought to be convincing, even to me,
+and she tormented me all the way to the square, where I got even by
+pretending to be horrified at her dishevelled condition incident to a
+night's railway ride in a stuffy compartment.
+
+"Don't, Jack! people will look at us."
+
+"Let 'em."
+
+"Oh, this is cruel! Oh, I'll pay you for this!"
+
+And they did look at us--or rather at her; for from the time Sweetheart
+and I had cast our lots together, I noticed that I seemed to escape the
+observation of passers-by. When I lived alone in Paris I attracted a
+fair share of observation from the world as it wagged on its Parisian
+way. It was pleasant to meet a pretty girl's eyes now and then in the
+throng which flowed through the park and boulevard. I really never
+flattered myself that it was because of my personal beauty; but in
+Paris, any young fellow who is dressed in the manner of Albion, hatted
+and gloved in the same style, is not entirely a cipher. But now it was
+not the same, by a long shot.
+
+Sweetheart's beauty simply put me in my place as an unnoticed but
+perhaps correct supplement to her.
+
+She knew she was a beauty, and was delighted when she looked into her
+mirror. Nothing escaped her. The soft hair threaded with sunshine,
+which, when loosened, curled to her knees; the clear white forehead and
+straight brows; the nose delicate and a trifle upturned; the scarlet
+lips and fine cut chin--she knew the value of each of these. She was
+pleased with the soft, full curve of her throat, the little ears, and
+the colour which came and went in her cheeks.
+
+But her eyes were the first thing one noticed. They were the most
+beautiful gray eyes that ever opened under silken lashes. She approved
+of my telling her this, which duty I fulfilled daily. Perhaps it may be
+superfluous to say that we were very much in love. Did I say _were_?
+
+I think that, as I am chanting the graces of Sweetheart, it might not
+be amiss to say that she is just an inch shorter than I am, and that
+no Parisienne carried a pretty gown with more perfection than she
+did. I have seen gowns that looked like the devil on the manikin, but
+when Sweetheart wore them they were the astonishment and admiration of
+myself. And I do know when a woman is well dressed, though I am an art
+critic.
+
+Sweetheart regarded her beauty as an intimate affair between ourselves,
+a precious gift for our mutual benefit, to be carefully treasured and
+petted. Her attitude toward the world was unmistakable. The world might
+look--she was indifferent. With our intimate friends she was above
+being flattered. Clifford said to me once: "She carries her beauty as
+a princess would carry the Koh-i-noor--she knows she is worthy of it,
+and hopes it is worthy of her."
+
+"We ought to be so happy that I am beautiful!" she would say to me.
+"Just think, supposing I were not!"
+
+I used to try to make her believe that it would have made no difference.
+
+"Oh, not now," she would say gravely. "I know that if I lost it it
+would be the same to us both, now; but you can't make me believe that,
+at first, when you used to lean over the terrace of the Luxembourg and
+wait patiently for hours just to see me walk out of the Odeon."
+
+"I didn't," I would always explain; "I was there by accident."
+
+"Oh, what a funny accident to happen every day for two months!"
+
+"Stop teasing! Of course, after the first week----"
+
+"And what a funny accident that I should pass the same way every day
+for two months, when before I always went by the Rue de Seine!"
+
+There was once such an accident, and such a girl. I never knew her; she
+is dead. I wondered sometimes that Sweetheart knew, and believed it was
+she herself. Yet the other woman's shadow was black.
+
+Sweetheart had a most peculiar and unworldly habit of not embellishing
+facts. She presently displayed it when we arrived at the Hôtel Lion
+d'Or.
+
+"Jack," said she nervously, "the cinders have made your face
+unpleasant. I am ashamed. They may not believe you are my husband."
+
+"As monsieur and madame," I said, "we may have dirty faces and be
+honest."
+
+"Do you suppose they--they will believe it? These queer people----"
+
+"They'd better!" I said fiercely.
+
+"I--I hadn't thought of that," she said. "You see, in our own little
+place in Paris everybody knew it, but here----"
+
+I said, "Dearest, what nonsense!" and we marched unceremoniously up
+to the register, where I wrote our names. Then, with a hasty little
+squeeze of her gloved hand, she turned to the maid and tripped off to
+inspect our quarters. While I was pumping the fat-headed old proprietor
+about the trout fishing in the vicinity, the maid returned with the
+request that I mount to the room above. I followed her along the tiled
+passages and found Sweetheart sitting on a trunk.
+
+"It's charming! charming!" she said. "Just look at the roses outside,
+and the square, and the river! and oh, Jack, the funny little Breton
+cattle, and the old man with knee-breeches! It's charming! and"--here
+she caught sight of the enraptured and fascinated maid--"and you are
+charming, with your red cheeks and white coiffe," she said. "Oh, how
+pretty!"
+
+"Oh, madame!" murmured the servant in dire confusion.
+
+I said, "Dearest, that will do. Nobody speaks of my peculiar charms,
+and I wish to be noticed."
+
+The presence of the maid prevented Sweetheart from making amends, so we
+told her we were satisfied, and we would spare her life if she prepared
+breakfast in seventeen seconds.
+
+She accepted the gift of existence with a dazed courtsey, and vanished.
+
+It was refreshing to get hold of a sponge and cold water after fourteen
+hours in a cramped compartment. Hunger drove us to hurry--a thing we
+rarely did in the morning--and the way we splashed cold water about
+would have been fatal to any but a tiled floor.
+
+"Dear," I said, "you have not yet seen me in my Tyrolese knickerbockers
+and beautiful shooting jacket. You have never beheld my legs clothed in
+Tyrolese stockings, at twenty francs a pair."
+
+"The legs?" she inquired from the depths of a bath robe.
+
+I ignored the question, and parted my hair with care. Then I sat down
+on the window and whistled.
+
+Of course I was ready first. Sweetheart's hair had got into a tangle
+and needed to be all combed out.
+
+"Oh, I know you are impatient, because you're whistling the Chant du
+Départ," she said from the door of her toilet room.
+
+"As usual," I said, "I am ready first."
+
+"If you say that again----" she threatened.
+
+I said it, and dodged a sponge. Presently I was requested to open the
+trunk and select a gown for her. Dear little Sweetheart! she loved
+to pretend that she had so many it needed long consultation to decide
+which.
+
+"The dark blue?" I inquired.
+
+"Don't you think it is too warm?"
+
+"The pale blue, then--or the pink and white?"
+
+"Why not the white, with the cuffs à l'Anglaise, and the canoe hat?"
+
+I hauled it out.
+
+Then, of course, she changed her mind.
+
+"I think the gray is better for the morning; then I can wear the big
+chip hat."
+
+I fished up the gray. It was light, almost silvery, and had white spots
+on it.
+
+"Jack, dear," she said, coming out with her hair tucked up in a knot,
+drawing the bath robe up to her chin with both hands, "I think that the
+white cloth would be better, and that I can wear the béret."
+
+By this time the trunk was in a pretty mess, which amused her; but at
+last I ferreted out the white cloth dress, and, refusing to listen to
+further discussion, sat down on the window seat. Sweetheart enjoyed it.
+
+"Stop telling me to hurry," she said; "I can't, if you keep saying it
+all the time."
+
+After a while she called me to fasten her corsage, which hooked with
+about ten hundred hooks along the side and collar. I hated to do it,
+and my finger ends stung for hours after, but, as Sweetheart very
+rightly says, "When we are rich enough to have a maid you needn't," I
+submitted with an air which delighted her. Her tormenting "Thank you,
+Jack," was the last straw, so I calmly picked her up and carried her
+out, and almost to the dining room, where I set her down just in time
+to avoid the proprietor and three domestics issuing from the office.
+
+Sweetheart was half inclined to laugh, half indignant, and wholly
+scandalized. But she did not dare say anything, for we were at the
+dining-room door.
+
+There were some people there, but except for a slight inclination we
+did not notice each other. We had a small table to ourselves by the
+rose-bowered window.
+
+We were very hungry. Breakfast began with fresh sardines just caught,
+and ended with little Breton cakes and a demi-tasse. I finished first;
+I always do, because the wretched habit of bolting my food, contracted
+while studying under Bouguereau at Julian's, clings to me yet. Oh,
+I shall have a merry time paying for it when I am forty! I began, as
+usual, to tease Sweetheart.
+
+"If you continue to eat like this, dear, you will never be able to wear
+your new frocks. This one seems a trifle too tight now."
+
+Sweetheart, who prided herself as much on her figure as on her lovely
+face, repelled the insult with disdain and nibbled her Breton biscuit
+defiantly. When at last she condescended to rise, we strolled out
+under the trees in front of the hotel, and sat down on the low stone
+wall surrounding the garden. The noon sun hung in the zenith, flooding
+the town with a dazzling downpour. Sunbeams glanced and danced on
+the water; sunbeams filtered through the foliage; sunbeams stole
+under Sweetheart's big straw hat, searching the depths of the gray
+eyes. Sunbeams played merry mischief with my ears and neck, which
+were beginning to sting in the first sunburn of the year. Through the
+square the white-coiffed women passed and repassed; small urchins with
+silver-buckled hatbands roamed about the bridge and market-place until
+collected and trooped off to school by a black-robed Jesuit frère;
+and in the shade of the trees a dozen sprawling men in Breton costume
+smoked their microscopical pipes and watched the water.
+
+"They are an industrious race," said I with fine irony, watching a
+happy inebriate pursuing a serpentine course toward the café opposite.
+
+Sweetheart, who was as patriotic a little girl as ever hummed the
+Marseillaise, and adopted France as long as she lived in it, was up in
+arms in an instant.
+
+"I have read," she said with conviction, "that the Bretons are a brave,
+industrious race. They are French."
+
+"They speak a different language," I said--"not a word of French in it."
+
+"They are French," repeated Sweetheart, with an inflection which
+decided me to shun the subject until I could unpack my guide-book.
+
+We sat a little while longer under the trees, until we both began
+nodding and mutually accused each other. Then Sweetheart went up to
+the room to take a nap, and I, scorning such weakness, lay down in a
+steamer chair under our window and fell fast asleep in no time.
+
+I was aroused by a big pink rose which hit me squarely on the mouth.
+Sweetheart was perched in the window seat above, and as I looked up she
+sent a shower of blossoms down upon me.
+
+"Jack, you lazy creature, it's five o'clock, and I'm dressed and ready
+for a walk!"
+
+"So am I," I said, jumping up.
+
+"But not like that. You must come up and make yourself nice for dinner."
+
+"Nice? What's the matter with these tweeds? Aren't these new stockings
+presentable?"
+
+"Look at your hair!" she said evasively. "Come up this minute and brush
+it."
+
+I went, and was compelled to climb into a white collar and shirt, and
+trousers of an English cut. But before we had gone far along the great
+military road that climbed the heights above the little river, I took
+Sweetheart's hand in mine and imparted to her my views and intentions
+upon the subject of my costume for the future.
+
+"You see, dearest, we are here in Brittany for three reasons. The
+first is, that I should paint outdoors. The second is, that we should
+economize like the deuce. The third is, our shadows----"
+
+"I know," she interrupted faintly. "Never mind, Jack, dear."
+
+We walked silently for a while, hand clasping hand very tightly, for we
+were both thinking of the third reason.
+
+I broke the silence first, speaking cheerfully, and she looked up with
+a quick smile while the shadow fell from her brow.
+
+"You see, dear, in this place, where we are going, there are no people
+but peasants. Your frocks are all right for a place like this; we
+must both wear our free-and-easy togs--I for painting, and you for
+scrambling about after your wild flowers or fishing with me. If you get
+tired of seeing me in corduroys or tweeds, I'll dress for you when you
+think you can't stand it any longer."
+
+"Oh, Jack, I do like your knickerbockers----"
+
+"And you shall wear your most gorgeous gown for me----"
+
+"Indeed I won't," she laughed, adding impulsively, "indeed I
+will--every day, if you wish it!"
+
+At the top of the hill stood an ancient Ursuline convent surrounded
+by a high wall, which also inclosed the broad acres of the wealthy
+sisterhood. We sat down by the roadside hedge and looked across the
+valley, where the hurrying river had ceased to hasten and now lingered
+in placid pools and long, deep reaches. The sun had set behind the
+forest, and the sky threw a purple light over woods and meadow. The
+grassy pools below were swept by flocks of whistling martins and
+swallows. One or two white gulls flapped slowly toward the tide water
+below, and a young curlew, speeding high overhead, uttered a lonesome
+cry. The grass--the brilliant green grass of Brittany--had turned a
+deep metallic blue in the twilight. A pale primrose light grew and died
+in the sky, and the forest changed from rose to ashes. Then a dull red
+bar shot across the parting clouds in the west, the forest smouldered
+an instant, and the pools glowed crimson. Slowly the red bar melted
+away, the light died out among the branches, the pools turned sombre.
+Looking up, we saw the new moon flashing in the sky above our heads.
+Sweetheart sighed in perfect contentment.
+
+"It's beautiful!" I said, with another sigh.
+
+"Ah, yes," she murmured, "beautiful to you, and to me--to me, Jack, who
+have never before seen this land of Morbihan."
+
+After a while she said, "And the ocean--oh, how I long to see it! Is it
+near us, Jack?"
+
+"The river runs into it twenty kilometres below. We feel the tide at
+Quimperlé." I did not add, "Baedeker."
+
+"I wonder," I said presently, "what are the feelings of a little
+American who sees this country--the real country--for the first time?"
+
+"I suppose you mean me," she said. "I don't know--I don't think I
+understand it yet, but I know I shall love it, and never want to go
+back."
+
+"Perhaps we never shall," I said. "The magic second may stretch into
+years that end at last as all ends."
+
+Then our hands met in that sudden nervous clasp which seemed to help
+and steady us when we were thinking of the real world, so long, so long
+forgotten.
+
+
+IX.
+
+I was awakened next morning by a spongeful of cold water in the face,
+which I hate. I started up to wreak vengeance upon Sweetheart, but she
+fled to the toilet room and locked herself in. From this retreat she
+taunted me until further sleep was out of the question, and I bowed
+to the inevitable--indignantly, when I saw my watch pointed to five
+o'clock.
+
+Sweetheart was perfectly possessed to row; so when I had bolted my
+coffee and sat watching her placidly sip hers, we decided to go down to
+the bank of the little stream and hire a boat. The boat was a wretched,
+shapeless affair, with two enormous oars and the remnants of rowlocks.
+It was the best boat in town, so we took it. I managed to get away
+from the bank, and, conscious of Sweetheart's open admiration, pulled
+boldly down the stream. It was easy work, for the tide was ebbing. The
+river up to the bridge was tidal, but above the bridge it leaped and
+flowed, a regular salmon stream. Sweetheart was so impatient to take
+the oars that I relinquished them and picked up my rod. The boat swung
+down the stream and under the high stone viaduct, where I insisted
+on anchoring and whipping the promising-looking water. The water was
+likely enough, and the sudden splash of a leaping grilse added to its
+likelihood. I was in hopes a grilse might become entangled with one of
+the flies, but though a big one shot up out of the water within five
+feet of Sweetheart, causing her to utter a suppressed scream, neither
+grilse nor trout rose to the beautiful lures I trailed about, and I
+only hooked two or three enormous dace, which came up like logs and
+covered the bottom of the boat with their coarse scales.
+
+Sweetheart had never seen a French trout uncooked, and scarcely shared
+my disappointment.
+
+"They are splendid fish," she repeated; "you are unreasonable."
+
+There was an ancient Breton squatting on the bank; from his sulky
+attitude I took him to be a poacher visiting his infernal set lines and
+snares; but I hailed him pleasantly with a bonjour, which he returned
+civilly enough.
+
+"Are there trout in this stream?"
+
+"About the bridge," he replied cautiously.
+
+"Have you caught any?"
+
+"I ain't fishing," he said, much alarmed.
+
+"What's that?" I demanded, pointing to as plump a trout as ever I saw,
+floating on the end of a string under the bank.
+
+"Where?" he asked, looking about him with affected concern.
+
+"There!"
+
+He looked around, everywhere except where I pointed. He examined the
+horizon, and the tree tops, as though he expected a fish on every twig.
+I poled the boat up to the bank and pointed out the fish.
+
+"Ma doui!" he exclaimed, "there _is_ a fish!"
+
+"Yes, a trout," I said.
+
+"Trout?" He burst into a forced laugh. "Trout! Ha! ha! Why, monsieur,
+that is a dace--a poor little dace!" He hastily jerked it up with a
+long homemade gaff which lay--of course quite by accident--at his feet.
+
+"A poor little dace!" he mumbled. "Of course, monsieur would not care
+to claim such a poor, coarse little fish; but I am only too glad to eat
+it--ah, yes, only too glad!"
+
+"You see," said Sweetheart impulsively, "that you are wrong. Give him
+our fish; that will make four dace for the poor fellow."
+
+I placed the three dace across the blade of my oar and held it out to
+the poacher. He took them as if he were really glad to get them. Then
+I said, "These are dace, and they don't have red spots."
+
+He stood as if ready to bolt, but I laughed, and settled back on my
+oars, saying: "You're a poacher; but I don't care a continental, and
+you can poach all day in this confounded country, where there is about
+one trout to the kilometre. Don't look scared. What do I care? Only
+don't tell me I'm unable to distinguish a trout when I can see the tip
+of his nose."
+
+I then sailed majestically out into the stream.
+
+Sweetheart wanted to know whether that was really a real poacher.
+She had read about them. Her ideal poacher was a young, stalwart,
+eagle-eyed giant, with a tangle of hair and a disposition toward
+assassination. The reality shocked her.
+
+"Anyway," she said, "you frightened the poor old thing. How rough men
+are!"
+
+We returned to the landing place with difficulty, for the tide was
+still on the ebb, and we got aground more than once. My hands were in
+a fine condition when at last I drove that wretched scow into the mud
+and lifted Sweetheart out to the firm bank. The evil-eyed old man who
+rented us the boat glanced sardonically at my rod and blistered hands,
+and I was glad enough to pay him all he asked and break away for the
+hotel.
+
+We had an hour to lunch in, pack, and be ready for the trap which
+was to bear us to our destination--the distant village of Faöuet, in
+Morbihan.
+
+
+X.
+
+A long drive on a smooth white road, acres of gorse and broom, beech
+woods and oak thickets, and the "Heu! heu! Allo! Allons! en route!" of
+the Breton driver, these are my recollections of the ride to Faöuet.
+There are others, too--the hedges heavy with bloom, the perfume of the
+wild honeysuckle, the continual bird chorus from every grove and every
+bramble patch--and Sweetheart's veil flying into my face.
+
+We have spoken of it since together, but she has few recollections
+of that journey. She only remembers it as her first steps into our
+heritage.
+
+And so we entered into our heritage, Sweetheart and I; and our heritage
+was very fair, for it lay everywhere about us. It was a world which
+we alone inhabited. Men said, "This land is Gloanec's," "This is
+Gurnalec's," "This is Kerdec's"; they spoke of "my woods" and "his
+meadows" and "their pastures." And how we laughed; for when we passed
+together through their lands, around us, far as the eye could reach,
+our heritage lay in the sunshine.
+
+
+XI.
+
+One day, when Sweetheart had been weeping--for we were thinking of the
+end to the magic second--I spoke of our heritage which swept far as the
+eye could reach across the moors of Faöuet.
+
+She said: "The past is ours, Jack; the present is ours; the future----"
+
+We tried to smile, but our hearts were like lead. Yet we know that the
+future will also be ours. I know it as I write.
+
+
+XII.
+
+The letter from St. Gildas, bringing with it a breath of salt air, lay
+on the table before us. Sweetheart clasped her hands and looked at me.
+
+"I'm in favour of going at once," I said for the third time. Over by
+the wall were piled my canvases, the result of three months in Faöuet.
+
+The first was a study of Sweetheart under the trees of the ancient
+orchard in the convent grounds. What trouble I had had with that
+canvas! I remembered the morning that the old gardener came over
+and stood behind me as I painted; and when I had replied to his
+"Good-morning," I recalled the pang his next words gave me:
+
+"I am so sorry, monsieur, but it is forbidden to enter the convent
+grounds."
+
+My canvas was almost finished, and, as the romancers have it, "my
+despair was great!" A month's work for nothing--or next to nothing!
+
+Sweetheart rose from her pose on the low bough of the apple tree and
+came over to my side. "Never mind, Jack; I shall go and ask the Mother
+Superior about it."
+
+I knew that she would win over the Mother Superior; and when, that
+evening, she came back radiant, crying, "She is lovely!--she says you
+may finish the picture, and I think you ought to go and thank her," I
+put on my cap, and stepping across the street, we rang at the gate.
+
+The old gardener let us in, and in a moment I stood before the latticed
+windows behind which some one was moving. In a low voice the invisible
+nun told us that the Superior granted to us the privilege of working in
+the orchard, but we must be careful of the grass, because it was almost
+time to cut it.
+
+"I am sure we may have confidence in you," she said.
+
+"We will not trample the grass, my sister, and I thank you for us both."
+
+The lattice trembled, was raised a little, and then fell.
+
+"You are English," said the hidden nun.
+
+"I am American, my sister."
+
+I looked at the lattice a moment, then dropped my eyes. I may have been
+mistaken, but I think she sighed.
+
+Sweetheart came closer to the lattice and murmured her thanks.
+
+There was a pause.
+
+Then came the voice again, sweet and gentle: "May Our Lady of Saint
+Gildas protect you"; and we went out by the little iron wicket.
+
+The next picture was another study of Sweetheart in the woods; the
+next, another study of Sweetheart; and the others were studies of the
+same young lady.
+
+The light in the room had grown dim, and I walked to the window which
+overlooked the convent chapel. The chapel windows were open; within,
+the nuns stood or knelt chanting. Three white-veiled figures were
+advancing to the altar, and the others, draped in black now knelt
+behind. I didn't think I had any business to look at them, so I did
+not. After all, they were cloistered nuns, and it was only on hot
+nights that they opened the chapel windows. Sweetheart was speaking
+beside my shoulder.
+
+"Poor things! The ones in white, they are the novices; they will never
+see parents or friends again. When they enter the gates they never
+leave--never; they are buried there."
+
+I said: "After all, we are much like them. We have left all; we have
+nothing now but each other, for the world is dead, and we are bound by
+vows which keep us within the narrow confines of our heritage."
+
+"But our heritage is everywhere--as far as we can see."
+
+"Ah, yes, but we can only see to the horizon. There is a world beyond."
+
+"I have renounced it," said Sweetheart faintly.
+
+
+XIII.
+
+The letter from St. Gildas had been lying on our table for a week
+before I thought of answering it, and even then it was Sweetheart who
+wrote:
+
+     "DEAR MR. STUART:
+
+     "Jack is too lazy to answer your kind note, so, in pure shame
+     for his discourtesy, I hasten to reply to your questions.
+
+     "First: Yes; we have been working very hard, and Jack's
+     pictures are charming, though he growls over them all day.
+
+     "Second: Yes; we intend to stay in Brittany this winter for
+     lots of reasons--one being economy, and another, Jack's
+     outdoor painting.
+
+     "Third: Yes; we are coming to St. Gildas.
+
+     "Fourth: To-morrow.
+
+     "Fifth: No; we had not heard of Mr. Clifford's affair with
+     the policeman; and oh, I am so sorry he was locked up and
+     fined! Jack laughs. I suspect he, too, was as wicked as you
+     all when he was a student, alone in Paris.
+
+     "Sixth: I know you are Jack's oldest and most intimate friend,
+     so I allow you more liberty than I do Messieurs Clifford and
+     Elliott; therefore I will answer your question as to whether
+     the honeymoon is not on the wane. No! no! no! There are three
+     answers to one question. See how generous I can be!"
+
+Sweetheart called me to see whether or not I approved. I did, and added
+my answer to Stuart's last question as follows: "No, you idiot!" Then
+I signed the note, and Sweetheart sealed and directed it.
+
+So we left for St. Gildas next morning before sunrise and in the rain.
+This leaving at such an unearthly hour was not my doing, but Sweetheart
+was determined, and rose by candlelight in spite of desperate
+opposition on my part. It was cold, and the rain beat against the
+windows.
+
+It was many kilometres to St. Gildas, but before we had gone six, the
+rain had ceased and the eastern sky flushed to a pale rose.
+
+"Thank goodness!" I said, "we shall have the sun."
+
+Then the daily repeated miracle of the coming of dawn was wrought
+before our eyes. The heavens glowed in rainbow tints; the shredded mist
+rising along the river was touched with purple and gold, and acres
+of meadow and pasture dripped precious stones. Shreds of the fading
+night-mist drifted among the tree tops, now tipped with fire, while in
+the forest depths faint sparkles came from some lost ray of morning
+light falling on wet leaves. Then of a sudden up shot the sun, and
+against it, black and gigantic, a peasant towered, leaning upon his
+spade.
+
+
+XIV.
+
+We were fast nearing the end of our long journey. The sun blazed on
+us from the zenith, and the wheels creaked with the heat of the white
+road. The driver leaned back, saying, "We enter Finistère here by this
+granite post." Presently he added, "The ocean!"
+
+There it lay, a basin of silver and blue. Sweetheart had started to her
+feet, speechless, one hand holding to my shoulder, the other clasped
+to her breast. And now, as the road wound through the hills and down
+to the coast, long stretches of white sand skirted the distant cliffs,
+and over the cliffs waved miles and miles of yellow gorse. A cluster of
+white and gray houses lay in the hollow to the left almost at the mouth
+of the river, and beyond, the waves were beating in the bar--beating
+the same rhythm which we were to hear so long there together, day and
+night. There was not a boat to be seen, not a creature, nor was there
+any sign of life save for the smoke curling from a cottage chimney
+below. The ocean lay sparkling beneath, and beyond its deeper blue
+melted into the haze on the horizon.
+
+Suddenly, in the road below, the figure of a man appeared, and at the
+same moment a pointer pup came gambolling up beside us in an ecstasy
+of self-abnegation and apology. I sprang out of the lumbering vehicle
+and lifted Sweetheart to the ground, and in an instant we were shaking
+hands with a stalwart young fellow in knickerbockers and jersey, who
+said we were a pretty pair not to have come sooner, and told Sweetheart
+he pitied her lot--meaning me.
+
+Then we walked arm in arm down a fragrant lane to the river bank, where
+the dearest old lady toddled out of the granite house to welcome us and
+show us our rooms. Sweetheart went with her, while I stopped an instant
+to chat with Stuart.
+
+"That is Madame Ylven," he said. "She is the most stunning peasant
+woman in Finistère, and you will want for nothing." Then, after a
+moment, "Good heavens! Jack, what a beauty your wife----" He stopped
+short, but added, "What a delicious little beauty Sweetheart has grown
+to be!"
+
+A white-coiffed maid came to the door, and said, "Will monsieur have
+the goodness to come? Madame wishes him to see the rooms."
+
+The wind blew from the south, and the thunder of the sea was in my ears
+as I mounted the stairs to our new quarters.
+
+Sweetheart met me at the door, saying, "It seems almost too much
+happiness to bear, but I feel that we are at home at last--alone
+together for all time."
+
+Alone together? The ocean at our threshold, the moors and forests at
+our back, and a good slate roof above us. Before me through the open
+door I could see the great old-fashioned room, warm in the afternoon
+sunlight--the room we were to live in so long, the room in which we
+were to pass the happiest and bitterest moments of our lives.
+
+She hesitated an instant before the threshold. I think we knew that we
+stood upon the threshold of our destiny. Then I said, half in earnest:
+"Are you afraid to cross with me into the unknown future? See, the room
+is filled with sunshine. Are you afraid?"
+
+She sprang across the threshold, and, turning to me, held out both
+hands.
+
+
+XV.
+
+The sun slipped lower and lower into the sea, until a distant tossing
+wave washed it out against the sky. Light died in the room, and shadows
+closed around us; yet it was in the darkness and shadows that we drew
+nearer to each other, then and after.
+
+
+XVI.
+
+Stuart stood under our window and yelled up at me, "Oh, Jack! I say,
+Jack!"
+
+Sweetheart, who was fussing over the half-unpacked trunk, went to the
+window and threw open the panes.
+
+"You don't mean to say you have had your coffee?" she said. "Jack isn't
+up yet."
+
+"Jack is up," I explained, coming to the window in pajamas. "Hello!"
+
+"I only wanted to say that I haven't had my coffee," he explained, "and
+I'm going to take it with you when you're ready."
+
+Sweetheart picked up her béret, and, passing a hatpin through it,
+turned to me with a warning, "I shall eat all the breakfast, monsieur!"
+and vanished down the stairs. A moment later I heard her clear voice
+below:
+
+  Sonnez le chœur,
+    Chasseur!
+  Sonnez la mort!
+
+Before I had finished dressing, Sweetheart tripped in with my coffee
+and toast.
+
+"Of course I've finished," she said, "and you don't deserve this.
+Mr. Stuart has gone off with his canvases, and says he'll see you at
+lunch."
+
+I swallowed the coffee and browsed on little squares of toast which
+she condescendingly buttered for me, and then, lighting a cigarette, I
+announced my intention of commanding an exploring expedition consisting
+of Sweetheart and myself. A scratching at the door and a patter of feet
+announced that I had been overheard.
+
+Sweetheart unlatched the door, and the pointer pup of the evening
+before charged into the room and covered us with boisterous caresses,
+which we took to indicate that he not only approved of the expedition,
+but intended to undertake the general supervision of it himself. I
+resigned the leadership at once.
+
+"His name," said Sweetheart in the tone of one who presents a
+distinguished guest, "is 'Luff.'"
+
+I gravely acknowledged the honour by patting his head.
+
+"I'm afraid," I said to Sweetheart, "that there is a bar sinister
+upon his escutcheon, but possibly it is only the indelible mark of the
+conquering British foxhound."
+
+Sweetheart said, "Nonsense!" and the expedition moved, Luff leading
+with a series of ear-splitting orders in the dog language which we
+perfectly understood.
+
+In ten minutes we stood on the cliffs, the salt wind whipping our
+faces. Saint-Gildas-des-Prés lay at our feet.
+
+"I know," observed Sweetheart calmly, "all about this place. Captain
+Ylven told me at breakfast."
+
+"Well," said I, "what's that island on the horizon?"
+
+Then she overwhelmed me with erudition, until I longed for Baedeker and
+revenge.
+
+"That is the Isle de Groix, and all about us is the Bay of Biscay. This
+little hamlet on the cliff is St. Julien, and if we follow the coast
+far enough we come to Lorient."
+
+"Follow the coast? Which way?"
+
+Sweetheart had forgotten, and I triumphed in silence, until she stamped
+her foot and marched off to assist Luff in investigating a suspicious
+hole in the cliff.
+
+I went to the edge of the plateau and looked over. The surf thundered
+against the rocks, tossing long strands of seaweed over the pebbly
+beach. A man with a wooden rake stood in the water up to his knees. He
+raked the seaweed from the breakers as a farmer rakes weeds from the
+lawn. The salt wind began to sting my lips and eyes. My throat felt dry
+and salty. I turned toward the hamlet of St. Gildas. I had not imagined
+it so small. Besides our house there were but three others clustered
+under the river bank. Behind it stretched woods and grain fields broken
+by patches of yellow gorse. Across the river stood a stone chapel
+almost lost in the miles of moorland. To the east and west the downs
+covered with gorse and heather rolled to the horizon. Here and there
+along the cliffs stood what appeared to be the ruins of ancient forts,
+and on a rock, just where the river sweeps out into the sea, rose a
+dirty white signal tower. The tower was low and squatty and wet. It
+looked like some saline excrescence which had slowly exuded from the
+brine-soaked rock. On the bar hundreds of white gulls rose and settled
+as the tide encroached; curlew were running along the foam-splashed
+shore under the eastern cliffs across the river.
+
+On our side of the river the cliffs were covered with blackthorn and
+hawthorn, with here and there a stunted oak, probably so placed by
+Providence as general rendezvous for all the small twittering birds of
+Finistère. Birds were everywhere. From the clouds came the ceaseless
+carol of skylarks; from the grain fields and the flowering gorse rose
+an unbroken chorus, taken up and repeated by flocks of microscopical
+songsters among the blackthorns on the cliffs.
+
+"This is paradise, this wilderness," I thought.
+
+Then, as I heard Sweetheart's mocking voice from the cliff:
+
+  O frère Jacques,
+  Dormez vous!
+
+"I'm not asleep!" I cried in answer. "What is it?"
+
+"Luff has unearthed a poor little mole, but I won't allow him to hurt
+it."
+
+"Jack, dear," she said, as I came up, "couldn't we keep it as a pet?
+See, the poor little thing is blind."
+
+As it was blind we called it "Love," which later was changed to
+"Cupid," and finally, when we discovered it true gormandizing
+character, for "Cupid" we substituted "Cupidity," by which name it
+flourished and fattened.
+
+"What a change," said Sweetheart sadly, "from Blind Love to Blind
+Greed!"
+
+The mole grew very fat.
+
+
+XVII.
+
+When the winds stir the leaves among the poplars, and the long shadows
+fall athwart the fields; when the winds rise at night, and the branches
+scrape and crack above the moonlit snow; when in the long hot days
+the earth is bathed in fragrance, and all the little creatures of
+the fields are silent; when in the still evenings the flowers perfume
+the air, and the gravel walks shine white in the moonlight; when the
+breezes quicken from the distant coast; when the sand shakes beneath
+the shock of the breakers, and every wave is plumed with white; when
+the calm eye of the beacon turns to mine, lingers, and turn away, and
+the surf is yeasty and thick; when I start at the sound of a voice from
+the cliffs, and my eyes are raised in vain; when the white gulls toss
+and drift in the storm-clouds, and the water hurries out in the black
+ebb tide; when I rise and look from the window; when I dress; when I
+work with pen and colour; when I rest; when I walk; when I sleep--there
+is one face before my eyes, one name on my lips. For the white shadow
+is turning gray, and God alone knows the end.
+
+
+XVIII.
+
+And God alone knows the end, for the mists are crowding, brooding
+like angry-browed clouds, and I hear the whistle of unseen winds, and
+my life-flame wavers and sinks and flares, blown hither and thither,
+tossing, fading, leaping, but fading, always fading.
+
+In a flash, like a printed picture on a screen, illuminated, keenly
+etched in the white glare, I see the bed, and the people around me,
+the black gowns, the pale eyes of the doctor, the sponge and basin, the
+rolls of lint.
+
+Voices, minute but clean-cut and clear as picked harp-strings, tinkle
+in my ears; the voice of the doctor, other voices, but always the
+voice of the doctor--"The splinter of bone on the brain; the splinter
+pressing on the tissues; the depression."
+
+The doctor! That is the man! That is the man who comes to my side, who
+follows, follows where I go, who seeks me throughout the world! I saw
+him as I lay flung on the turf, limp, unconscious, below the cliffs
+on the Aspen hills; I felt his presence in the studio; I heard him
+creeping at my heels across the gorse thickets of St. Gildas. And now
+he has come to cut short the magic second, to turn back time--back,
+back, into the old worn channels, rock-ribbed and salt with tears.
+
+As a leaf of written paper torn in two, so shall my life be torn in
+two; and the long tear shall mangle the chapter written in rose and
+gold.
+
+Then, too, my shadow, already turned from white to gray, shall fall
+with a deeper stain wherever I pass; and I shall see the yellow gorse
+glimmer and turn to golden-rod, and the poplars turn to oaks; and the
+twin towers of Notre Dame, filmy, lace-carved, and gray with centuries,
+shall dwindle as I look--dwindle and sway and turn to pines, singing
+pines that murmur to the winds, blowing across the Aspen hills.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+All that is fair shall pass away; all that I love, all that I fear
+for--these shall the doctor take away, lifting them from my memory on
+the point of a steel blade. What has he to give in return? A hell of
+vapour, distorting sight; a hell of sound, drowning the soul.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Gigantic apparitions arise across the world of water, wavering like
+shadows on the clouds. Steel-clad, clothed in skins, casqued in steel,
+their winged heads bend and nod and move against the clouds. And even
+they are changing as clouds change shape. I see steel limbs turn red
+and naked. I see winged casques trail to the earth, feathered, painted
+in colours of earth.
+
+Ihó! Inâh! Etó! E-hó!
+
+The bridge of stars spans the vast lake of air; the sun and the moon
+travel over it.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+My shadow is turning dark; I can scarcely see the doctor, but now--God
+have mercy!--_I can touch him._
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+All the high spectres are stooping from the clouds, bending above me to
+watch. I know them and their eyes of shadow--I know them now; Hârpen
+that was to Chaské what Hárpstinâ shall be to Hapéda; and Hârka shall
+come after all with the voice of winter winds:
+
+"Aké u, aké u, aké u!"
+
+But the magic second shall never return.
+
+"Mâ cânté maséca!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Now they leave my bed, the people who crowded there under the shadowy
+forms of the spectres; now the doctor bends over; I see and feel him.
+His hands are tangled in the threads of time; he is cutting a thread;
+he----
+
+
+XIX.
+
+When I spoke to him first I spoke in the French language. Before he
+answered, the scream of a blue jay in the elms outside set my nerves
+aquiver, and I called for Donald and Walter.
+
+As I lay there I could see the Aspen hills from the window, heaps
+of crumpled gold bathed in sunshine. Over them sailed the froth from
+the silken milkweed; over them drifted the big brown-red butterflies,
+luminous as richest autumn leaves.
+
+Some one closed the door softly. The doctor had gone.
+
+The sunlight poured into the window, etching my shadow on the wall
+behind. Lying very still there I saw it motionless beside me. _The
+shadow was black._
+
+Somebody said in the next room, "Will he die?"
+
+"Die?" I said aloud.
+
+A bird twittered outside my window.
+
+The door opened again, noiselessly.
+
+"Sweetheart?" I whispered.
+
+"Yes, Jack."
+
+After a moment I said, "When do you go back to school?"
+
+"I? I finished school a year ago."
+
+"Come nearer."
+
+"I am here, Jack."
+
+"Time stopped a year ago."
+
+"A year ago to-day."
+
+The same gray eyes, the same face, paler, perhaps.
+
+"We have journeyed far," I sighed, "always together, but in those days
+our shadows were white as snow. Am I going to die? There are tears in
+your eyes."
+
+They fell on my cheek; her arms fell too, closer, closer, around my
+neck.
+
+"Life has begun," she said.
+
+"Life? What was the year that ends to-day? The magic second of life?"
+
+"A year of death, to me!"
+
+Ah, but her soul knows of a life in death! And she shall know it,
+too, when her shadow turns whiter than snow. For the Temple of Idols
+has closed its doors at the sound of a voice, and an idol of gilt has
+turned to flesh and blood.
+
+I-hó!
+
+So shall she know of the life in death when her soul and her body are
+one.
+
+
+
+
+PASSEUR.
+
+
+  O friends, I've served ye food and bed;
+    O friends, the mist is rising wet;
+  Then bide a moment, O my dead,
+    Where, lonely, I must linger yet!
+
+
+
+
+PASSEUR.
+
+  Because man goeth to his long home,
+  And the mourners go about the streets.
+
+
+When he had finished his pipe he tapped the brier bowl against the
+chimney until the ashes powdered the charred log smouldering across
+the andirons. Then he sank back in his chair, absently touching the hot
+pipe-bowl with the tip of each finger until it grew cool enough to be
+dropped into his coat pocket.
+
+Twice he raised his eyes to the little American clock ticking upon the
+mantel. He had half an hour to wait.
+
+The three candles that lighted the room might be trimmed to advantage;
+this would give him something to do. A pair of scissors lay open
+upon the bureau, and he rose and picked them up. For a while he stood
+dreamily shutting and opening the scissors, his eyes roaming about the
+room. There was an easel in the corner, and a pile of dusty canvases
+behind it; behind the canvases there was a shadow--that gray, menacing
+shadow that never moved.
+
+When he had trimmed each candle he wiped the smoky scissors on a paint
+rag and flung them on the bureau again. The clock pointed to ten; he
+had been occupied exactly three minutes.
+
+The bureau was littered with neckties, pipes, combs and brushes,
+matches, reels and fly-books, collars, shirt studs, a new pair of
+Scotch shooting stockings, and a woman's workbasket.
+
+He picked out all the neckties, folded them once, and hung them over
+a bit of twine that stretched across the looking-glass; the shirt
+studs he shovelled into the top drawer along with brushes, combs, and
+stockings; the reels and fly-books he dusted with his handkerchief
+and placed methodically along the mantel shelf. Twice he stretched out
+his hand toward the woman's workbasket, but his hand fell to his side
+again, and he turned away into the room staring at the dying fire.
+
+Outside the snow-sealed window a shutter broke loose and banged
+monotonously, until he flung open the panes and fastened it. The soft,
+wet snow, that had choked the window-panes all day, was frozen hard
+now, and he had to break the polished crust before he could find the
+rusty shutter hinge.
+
+He leaned out for a moment, his numbed hands resting on the snow, the
+roar of a rising snow-squall in his ears; and out across the desolate
+garden and stark hedgerow he saw the flat black river spreading through
+the gloom.
+
+A candle sputtered and snapped behind him; a sheet of drawing-paper
+fluttered across the floor, and he closed the panes and turned back
+into the room, both hands in his worn pockets.
+
+The little American clock on the mantel ticked and ticked, but the
+hands lagged, for he had not been occupied five minutes in all. He went
+up to the mantel and watched the hands of the clock. A minute--longer
+than a year to him--crept by.
+
+Around the room the furniture stood ranged--a chair or two of yellow
+pine, a table, the easel, and in one corner the broad curtained bed;
+and behind each lay shadows, menacing shadows that never moved.
+
+A little pale flame started up from the smoking log on the andirons;
+the room sang with the sudden hiss of escaping wood gases. After a
+little the back of the log caught fire; jets of blue flared up here and
+there with mellow sounds like the lighting of gas-burners in a row, and
+in a moment a thin sheet of yellow flame wrapped the whole charred log.
+
+Then the shadows moved; not the shadows behind the furniture--they
+never moved--but other shadows, thin, gray, confusing, that came and
+spread their slim patterns all around him, and trembled and trembled.
+
+He dared not step or tread upon them, they were too real; they meshed
+the floor around his feet, they ensnared his knees, they fell across
+his breast like ropes. Some night, in the silence of the moors, when
+wind and river were still, he feared these strands of shadow might
+tighten--creep higher around his throat and tighten. But even then he
+knew that those other shadows would never move, those gray shapes that
+knelt crouching in every corner.
+
+When he looked up at the clock again ten minutes had straggled past.
+Time was disturbed in the room; the strands of shadow seemed entangled
+among the hands of the clock, dragging them back from their rotation.
+He wondered if the shadows would strangle Time, some still night when
+the wind and the flat river were silent.
+
+There grew a sudden chill across the floor; the cracks of the boards
+let it in. He leaned down and drew his sabots toward him from their
+place near the andirons, and slipped them over his chaussons; and as he
+straightened up, his eyes mechanically sought the mantel above, where
+in the dusk another pair of sabots stood, little, slender, delicate
+sabots, carved from red beech. A year's dust grayed their surface; a
+year's rust dulled the silver band across the instep. He said this to
+himself aloud, knowing that it was within a few minutes of the year.
+
+His own sabots came from Mort-Dieu; they were shaved square and banded
+with steel. But in days past he had thought that no sabot in Mort-Dieu
+was delicate enough to touch the instep of the Mort-Dieu passeur. So he
+sent to the shore lighthouse, and they sent to Lorient, where the women
+are coquettish and show their hair under the coiffe, and wear dainty
+sabots; and in this town, where vanity corrupts and there is much lace
+on coiffe and collarette, a pair of delicate sabots was found, banded
+with silver and chiselled in red beech. The sabots stood on the mantel
+above the fire now, dusty and tarnished.
+
+There was a sound from the window, the soft murmur of snow blotting
+glass panes. The wind, too, muttered under the roof eaves. Presently it
+would begin to whisper to him from the chimney--he knew it--and he held
+his hands over his ears and stared at the clock.
+
+In the hamlet of Mort-Dieu the pines sing all day of the sea secrets,
+but in the night the ghosts of little gray birds fill the branches,
+singing of the sunshine of past years. He heard the song as he sat,
+and he crushed his hands over his ears; but the gray birds joined with
+the wind in the chimney, and he heard all that he dared not hear, and
+he thought all that he dared not hope or think, and the swift tears
+scalded his eyes.
+
+In Mort-Dieu the nights are longer than anywhere on earth; he knew
+it--why should he not know? This had been so for a year; it was
+different before. There were so many things different before; days and
+nights vanished like minutes then; the pines told no secrets of the
+sea, and the gray birds had not yet come to Mort-Dieu. Also, there was
+Jeanne, passeur at the Carmes.
+
+When he first saw her she was poling the square, flat-bottomed ferry
+skiff from the Carmes to Mort-Dieu, a red handkerchief bound across her
+silky black hair, a red skirt fluttering just below her knees. The next
+time he saw her he had to call to her across the placid river, "Ohé!
+Ohé, passeur!" She came, poling the flat skiff, her deep blue eyes
+fixed pensively on him, the scarlet skirt and kerchief idly flapping in
+the April wind. Then day followed day when the far call "Passeur!" grew
+clearer and more joyous, and the faint answering cry, "I come!" rippled
+across the water like music tinged with laughter. Then spring came,
+and with spring came love--love, carried free across the ferry from the
+Carmes to Mort-Dieu.
+
+The flame above the charred log whistled, flickered, and went out in
+a jet of wood vapour, only to play like lightning above the gas and
+relight again. The clock ticked more loudly, and the song from the
+pines filled the room. But in his straining eyes a summer landscape was
+reflected, where white clouds sailed and white foam curled under the
+square bow of a little skiff. And he pressed his numbed hands tighter
+to his ears to drown the cry, "Passeur! Passeur!"
+
+And now for a moment the clock ceased ticking. It was time to go--who
+but he should know it, he who went out into the night swinging his
+lantern? And he went. He had gone each night from the first--from that
+first strange winter evening when a strange voice had answered him
+across the river, the voice of the new passeur. He had never heard
+_her_ voice again.
+
+So he passed down the windy wooden stairs, lantern hanging lighted in
+his hand, and stepped out into the storm. Through sheets of drifting
+snow, over heaps of frozen seaweed and icy drift he moved, shifting his
+lantern right and left, until its glimmer on the water warned him. Then
+he called out into the night, "Passeur!" The frozen spray spattered
+his face and crusted the lantern; he heard the distant boom of breakers
+beyond the bar, and the noise of mighty winds among the seaward cliffs.
+
+"Passeur!"
+
+Across the broad flat river, black as a sea of pitch, a tiny light
+sparkled a moment. Again he cried, "Passeur!"
+
+"I come!"
+
+He turned ghastly white, for it was her voice--or was he crazy?--and
+he sprang waist deep into the icy current and cried out again, but his
+voice ended in a sob.
+
+Slowly through the snow the flat skiff took shape, creeping nearer
+and nearer. But she was not at the pole--he saw that; there was only a
+tall, thin man, shrouded to the eyes in oilskin; and he leaped into the
+boat and bade the ferryman hasten.
+
+Halfway across he rose in the skiff, and called, "Jeanne!" But the roar
+of the storm and the thrashing of icy waves drowned his voice. Yet he
+heard her again, and she called to him by name.
+
+When at last the boat grated upon the invisible shore, he lifted his
+lantern, trembling, stumbling among the rocks, and calling to her, as
+though his voice could silence the voice that had spoken a year ago
+that night. And it could not. He sank shivering upon his knees, and
+looked out into the darkness, where an ocean rolled across a world.
+Then his stiff lips moved, and he repeated her name; but the hand of
+the ferryman fell gently upon his head.
+
+And when he raised his eyes he saw that the ferryman was Death.
+
+
+
+
+THE KEY TO GRIEF.
+
+  The moving finger writes, and, having writ,
+    Moves on; nor all your piety nor wit
+  Shall lure it back to cancel half a line,
+    Nor all your tears wash out a word of it.
+
+                                        FITZGERALD.
+
+
+
+
+THE KEY TO GRIEF.
+
+  The wild hawk to the wind-swept sky
+    The deer to the wholesome wold,
+  And the heart of a man to the heart of a maid,
+    As it was in the days of old.
+
+                                        KIPLING.
+
+
+I.
+
+They were doing their work very badly. They got the rope around his
+neck, and tied his wrists with moose-bush withes, but again he fell,
+sprawling, turning, twisting over the leaves, tearing up everything
+around him like a trapped panther.
+
+He got the rope away from them; he clung to it with bleeding fists; he
+set his white teeth in it, until the jute strands relaxed, unravelled,
+and snapped, gnawed through by his white teeth.
+
+Twice Tully struck him with a gum hook. The dull blows fell on flesh
+rigid as stone.
+
+Panting, foul with forest mould and rotten leaves, hands and face
+smeared with blood, he sat up on the ground, glaring at the circle of
+men around him.
+
+"Shoot him!" gasped Tully, dashing the sweat from his bronzed brow; and
+Bates, breathing heavily, sat down on a log and dragged a revolver from
+his rear pocket. The man on the ground watched him; there was froth in
+the corners of his mouth.
+
+"Git back!" whispered Bates, but his voice and hand trembled. "Kent,"
+he stammered, "won't ye hang?"
+
+The man on the ground glared.
+
+"Ye've got to die, Kent," he urged; "they all say so. Ask Lefty
+Sawyer; ask Dyce; ask Carrots.--He's got to swing fur it--ain't he,
+Tully?--Kent, fur God's sake, swing fur these here gents!"
+
+The man on the ground panted; his bright eyes never moved.
+
+After a moment Tully sprang on him again. There was a flurry of leaves,
+a crackle, a gasp and a grunt, then the thumping and thrashing of two
+bodies writhing in the brush. Dyce and Carrots jumped on the prostrate
+men. Lefty Sawyer caught the rope again, but the jute strands gave
+way and he stumbled. Tully began to scream, "He's chokin' me!" Dyce
+staggered out into the open, moaning over a broken wrist.
+
+"Shoot!" shouted Lefty Sawyer, and dragged Tully aside. "Shoot, Jim
+Bates! Shoot straight, b' God!"
+
+"Git back!" gasped Bates, rising from the fallen log.
+
+The crowd parted right and left; a quick report rang
+out--another--another. Then from the whirl of smoke a tall form
+staggered, dealing blows--blows that sounded sharp as the crack of a
+whip.
+
+"He's off! Shoot straight!" they cried.
+
+There was a gallop of heavy boots in the woods. Bates, faint and dazed,
+turned his head.
+
+"Shoot!" shrieked Tully.
+
+But Bates was sick; his smoking revolver fell to the ground; his white
+face and pale eyes contracted. It lasted only a moment; he started
+after the others, plunging, wallowing through thickets of osier and
+hemlock underbrush.
+
+Far ahead he heard Kent crashing on like a young moose in November,
+and he knew he was making for the shore. The others knew too. Already
+the gray gleam of the sea cut a straight line along the forest edge;
+already the soft clash of the surf on the rocks broke faintly through
+the forest silence.
+
+"He's got a canoe there!" bawled Tully. "He'll be into it!"
+
+And he was into it, kneeling in the bow, driving his paddle to the
+handle. The rising sun gleamed like red lightning on the flashing
+blade; the canoe shot to the crest of a wave, hung, bows dripping in
+the wind, dropped into the depths, glided, tipped, rolled, shot up
+again, staggered, and plunged on.
+
+Tully ran straight out into the cove surf; the water broke against his
+chest, bare and wet with sweat. Bates sat down on a worn black rock and
+watched the canoe listlessly.
+
+The canoe dwindled to a speck of gray and silver; and when Carrots, who
+had run back to the gum camp for a rifle, returned, the speck on the
+water might have been easier to hit than a loon's head at twilight. So
+Carrots, being thrifty by nature, fired once, and was satisfied to save
+the other cartridges. The canoe was still visible, making for the open
+sea. Somewhere beyond the horizon lay the keys, a string of rocks bare
+as skulls, black and slimy where the sea cut their base, white on the
+crests with the excrement of sea birds.
+
+"He's makin' fur the Key to Grief!" whispered Bates to Dyce.
+
+Dyce, moaning, and nursing his broken wrist, turned a sick face out to
+sea.
+
+The last rock seaward was the Key to Grief, a splintered pinnacle
+polished by the sea. From the Key to Grief, seaward a day's paddle, if
+a man dared, lay the long wooded island in the ocean known as Grief on
+the charts of the bleak coast.
+
+In the history of the coast, two men had made the voyage to the Key to
+Grief, and from there to the island. One of these was a rum-crazed pelt
+hunter, who lived to come back; the other was a college youth; they
+found his battered canoe at sea, and a day later his battered body was
+flung up in the cove.
+
+So, when Bates whispered to Dyce, and when Dyce called to the others,
+they knew that the end was not far off for Kent and his canoe; and they
+turned away into the forest, sullen, but satisfied that Kent would get
+his dues when the devil got his.
+
+Lefty spoke vaguely of the wages of sin. Carrots, with an eye to
+thrift, suggested a plan for an equitable division of Kent's property.
+
+When they reached the gum camp they piled Kent's personal effects on a
+blanket.
+
+Carrots took the inventory: a revolver, two gum hooks, a fur cap, a
+nickel-plated watch, a pipe, a pack of new cards, a gum sack, forty
+pounds of spruce gum, and a frying pan.
+
+Carrots shuffled the cards, picked out the joker, and flipped it
+pensively into the fire. Then he dealt cold decks all around.
+
+When the goods and chattels of their late companion had been divided by
+chance--for there was no chance to cheat--somebody remembered Tully.
+
+"He's down there on the coast, starin' after the canoe," said Bates
+huskily.
+
+He rose and walked toward a heap on the ground covered by a blanket. He
+started to lift the blanket, hesitated, and finally turned away. Under
+the blanket lay Tully's brother, shot the night before by Kent.
+
+"Guess we'd better wait till Tully comes," said Carrots uneasily. Bates
+and Kent had been campmates. An hour later Tully walked into camp.
+
+He spoke to no one that day. In the morning Bates found him down on
+the coast digging, and said: "Hello, Tully! Guess we ain't much hell on
+lynchin'!"
+
+"Naw," said Tully. "Git a spade."
+
+"Goin' to plant him there?"
+
+"Yep."
+
+"Where he kin hear them waves?"
+
+"Yep."
+
+"Purty spot."
+
+"Yep."
+
+"Which way will he face?"
+
+"Where he kin watch fur that damned canoe!" cried Tully fiercely.
+
+"He--he can't see," ventured Bates uneasily. "He's dead, ain't he?"
+
+"He'll heave up that there sand when the canoe comes back! An' it's
+a-comin'! An' Bud Kent'll be in it, dead or alive! Git a spade!"
+
+The pale light of superstition flickered in Bates's eyes. He hesitated.
+
+"The--the dead can't see," he began; "kin they?"
+
+Tully turned a distorted face toward him.
+
+"Yer lie!" he roared. "My brother kin see, dead or livin'! An' he'll
+see the hangin' of Bud Kent! An' he'll git up outer the grave fur to
+see it, Bill Bates! I'm tellin' ye! I'm tellin' ye! Deep as I'll plant
+him, he'll heave that there sand and call to me, when the canoe comes
+in! I'll hear him; I'll be here! An' we'll live to see the hangin' of
+Bud Kent!"
+
+About sundown they planted Tully's brother, face to the sea.
+
+
+II.
+
+On the Key to Grief the green waves rub all day. White at the summit,
+black at the base, the shafted rocks rear splintered pinnacles,
+slanting like channel buoys. On the polished pillars sea birds
+brood--white-winged, bright-eyed sea birds, that nestle and preen and
+flap and clatter their orange-coloured beaks when the sifted spray
+drives and drifts across the reef.
+
+As the sun rose, painting crimson streaks criss-cross over the waters,
+the sea birds sidled together, huddling row on row, steeped in downy
+drowse.
+
+Where the sun of noon burnished the sea, an opal wave washed, listless,
+noiseless; a sea bird stretched one listless wing.
+
+And into the silence of the waters a canoe glided, bronzed by the
+sunlight, jewelled by the salt drops stringing from prow to thwart,
+seaweed a-trail in the diamond-flashing wake, and in the bow a man
+dripping with sweat.
+
+Up rose the gulls, sweeping in circles, turning, turning over rock and
+sea, and their clamour filled the sky, starting little rippling echoes
+among the rocks.
+
+The canoe grated on a shelf of ebony; the seaweed rocked and washed;
+the little sea crabs sheered sideways, down, down into limpid depths of
+greenest shadows. Such was the coming of Bud Kent to the Key to Grief.
+
+He drew the canoe halfway up the shelf of rock and sat down, breathing
+heavily, one brown arm across the bow. For an hour he sat there. The
+sweat dried under his eyes. The sea birds came back, filling the air
+with soft querulous notes.
+
+There was a livid mark around his neck, a red, raw circle. The salt
+wind stung it; the sun burned it into his flesh like a collar of
+red-hot steel. He touched it at times; once he washed it with cold salt
+water.
+
+Far in the north a curtain of mist hung on the sea, dense, motionless
+as the fog on the Grand Banks. He never moved his eyes from it; he knew
+what it was. Behind it lay the Island of Grief.
+
+All the year round the Island of Grief is hidden by the banks of mist,
+ramparts of dead white fog encircling it on every side. Ships give it
+wide berth. Some speak of warm springs on the island whose waters flow
+far out to sea, rising in steam eternally.
+
+The pelt hunter had come back with tales of forests and deer and
+flowers everywhere; but he had been drinking much, and much was
+forgiven him.
+
+The body of the college youth tossed up in the cove on the mainland
+was battered out of recognition, but some said, when found, one hand
+clutched a crimson blossom half wilted, but broad as a sap pan.
+
+So Kent lay motionless beside his canoe, burned with thirst, every
+nerve vibrating, thinking of all these things. It was not fear that
+whitened the firm flesh under the tan; it was the fear of fear. He
+must not think--he must throttle dread; his eyes must never falter, his
+head never turn from that wall of mist across the sea. With set teeth
+he crushed back terror; with glittering eyes he looked into the hollow
+eyes of fright. And so he conquered fear.
+
+He rose. The sea birds whirled up into the sky, pitching, tossing,
+screaming, till the sharp flapping of their pinions set the snapping
+echoes flying among the rocks.
+
+Under the canoe's sharp prow the kelp bobbed and dipped and parted; the
+sunlit waves ran out ahead, glittering, dancing. Splash! splash! bow
+and stern! And now he knelt again, and the polished paddle swung and
+dipped, and swept and swung and dipped again.
+
+Far behind, the clamour of the sea birds lingered in his ears, till
+the mellow dip of the paddle drowned all sound and the sea was a sea of
+silence.
+
+No wind came to cool the hot sweat on cheek and breast. The sun blazed
+a path of flame before him, and he followed out into the waste of
+waters. The still ocean divided under the bows and rippled innocently
+away on either side, tinkling, foaming, sparkling like the current in
+a woodland brook. He looked around at the world of flattened water, and
+the fear of fear rose up and gripped his throat again. Then he lowered
+his head, like a tortured bull, and shook the fear of fear from his
+throat, and drove the paddle into the sea as a butcher stabs, to the
+hilt.
+
+So at last he came to the wall of mist. It was thin at first, thin and
+cool, but it thickened and grew warmer, and the fear of fear dragged at
+his head, but he would not look behind.
+
+Into the fog the canoe shot; the gray water ran by, high as the
+gunwales, oily, silent. Shapes flickered across the bows, pillars of
+mist that rode the waters, robed in films of tattered shadows. Gigantic
+forms towered to dizzy heights above him, shaking out shredded shrouds
+of cloud. The vast draperies of the fog swayed and hung and trembled as
+he brushed them; the white twilight deepened to a sombre gloom. And now
+it grew thinner; the fog became a mist, and the mist a haze, and the
+haze floated away and vanished into the blue of the heavens.
+
+All around lay a sea of pearl and sapphire, lapping, lapping on a
+silver shoal.
+
+So he came to the Island of Grief.
+
+
+III.
+
+On the silver shoal the waves washed and washed, breaking like crushed
+opals where the sands sang with the humming froth.
+
+Troops of little shore birds, wading on the shoal, tossed their
+sun-tipped wings and scuttled inland, where, dappled with shadow from
+the fringing forest, the white beach of the island stretched.
+
+The water all around was shallow, limpid as crystal, and he saw the
+ribbed sand shining on the bottom, where purple seaweed floated, and
+delicate sea creatures darted and swarmed and scattered again at the
+dip of his paddle.
+
+Like velvet rubbed on velvet the canoe brushed across the sand. He
+staggered to his feet, stumbled out, dragged the canoe high up under
+the trees, turned it bottom upward, and sank beside it, face downward
+in the sand. Sleep came to drive away the fear of fear, but hunger,
+thirst, and fever fought with sleep, and he dreamed--dreamed of a
+rope that sawed his neck, of the fight in the woods, and the shots. He
+dreamed, too, of the camp, of his forty pounds of spruce gum, of Tully,
+and of Bates. He dreamed of the fire and the smoke-scorched kettle, of
+the foul odour of musty bedding, of the greasy cards, and of his own
+new pack, hoarded for weeks to please the others. All this he dreamed,
+lying there face downward in the sand; but he did not dream of the face
+of the dead.
+
+The shadows of the leaves moved on his blonde head, crisp with clipped
+curls. A butterfly flitted around him, alighting now on his legs,
+now on the back of his bronzed hands. All the afternoon the bees hung
+droning among the wildwood blossoms; the leaves above scarcely rustled;
+the shore birds brooded along the water's edge; the thin tide, sleeping
+on the sand, mirrored the sky.
+
+Twilight paled the zenith; a breeze moved in the deeper woods; a star
+glimmered, went out, glimmered again, faded, and glimmered.
+
+Night came. A moth darted to and fro under the trees; a beetle hummed
+around a heap of seaweed and fell scrambling in the sand. Somewhere
+among the trees a sound had become distinct, the song of a little
+brook, melodious, interminable. He heard it in his dream; it threaded
+all his dreams like a needle of silver, and like a needle it pricked
+him--pricked his dry throat and cracked lips. It could not awake him;
+the cool night swathed him head and foot.
+
+Toward dawn a bird woke up and piped. Other birds stirred, restless,
+half awakened; a gull spread a cramped wing on the shore, preened its
+feathers, scratched its tufted neck, and took two drowsy steps toward
+the sea.
+
+The sea breeze stirred out behind the mist bank; it raised the feathers
+on the sleeping gulls; it set the leaves whispering. A twig snapped,
+broke off, and fell. Kent stirred, sighed, trembled, and awoke.
+
+The first thing he heard was the song of the brook, and he stumbled
+straight into the woods. There it lay, a thin, deep stream in the gray
+morning light, and he stretched himself beside it and laid his cheek
+in it. A bird drank in the pool, too--a little fluffy bird, bright-eyed
+and fearless.
+
+His knees were firmer when at last he rose, heedless of the drops that
+beaded lips and chin. With his knife he dug and scraped at some white
+roots that hung half meshed in the bank of the brook, and when he had
+cleaned them in the pool he ate them.
+
+The sun stained the sky when he went down to the canoe, but the eternal
+curtain of fog, far out at sea, hid it as yet from sight.
+
+He lifted the canoe, bottom upwards, to his head, and, paddle and pole
+in either hand, carried it into the forest.
+
+After he had set it down he stood a moment, opening and shutting his
+knife. Then he looked up into the trees. There were birds there, if
+he could get at them. He looked at the brook. There were the prints of
+his fingers in the sand; there, too, was the print of something else--a
+deer's pointed hoof.
+
+He had nothing but his knife. He opened it again and looked at it.
+
+That day he dug for clams and ate them raw. He waded out into the
+shallows, too, and jabbed at fish with his setting pole, but hit
+nothing except a yellow crab.
+
+Fire was what he wanted. He hacked and chipped at flinty-looking
+pebbles, and scraped tinder from a stick of sun-dried driftwood. His
+knuckles bled, but no fire came.
+
+That night he heard deer in the woods, and could not sleep for
+thinking, until the dawn came up behind the wall of mist, and he rose
+with it to drink his fill at the brook and tear raw clams with his
+white teeth. Again he fought for fire, craving it as he had never
+craved water, but his knuckles bled, and the knife scraped on the flint
+in vain.
+
+His mind, perhaps, had suffered somewhat. The white beach seemed to
+rise and fall like a white carpet on a gusty hearth. The birds, too,
+that ran along the sand, seemed big and juicy, like partridges; and
+he chased them, hurling shells and bits of driftwood at them till he
+could scarcely keep his feet for the rising, plunging beach--or carpet,
+whichever it was. That night the deer aroused him at intervals. He
+heard them splashing and grunting and crackling along the brook. Once
+he arose and stole after them, knife in hand, till a false step into
+the brook awoke him to his folly, and he felt his way back to the
+canoe, trembling.
+
+Morning came, and again he drank at the brook, lying on the sand where
+countless heart-shaped hoofs had passed leaving clean imprints; and
+again he ripped the raw clams from their shells and swallowed them,
+whimpering.
+
+All day long the white beach rose and fell and heaved and flattened
+under his bright dry eyes. He chased the shore birds at times, till the
+unsteady beach tripped him up and he fell full length in the sand. Then
+he would rise moaning, and creep into the shadow of the wood, and watch
+the little song-birds in the branches, moaning, always moaning.
+
+His hands, sticky with blood, hacked steel and flint together, but so
+feebly that now even the cold sparks no longer came.
+
+He began to fear the advancing night; he dreaded to hear the big warm
+deer among the thickets. Fear clutched him suddenly, and he lowered his
+head and set his teeth and shook fear from his throat again.
+
+Then he started aimlessly into the woods, crowding past bushes,
+scraping trees, treading on moss and twig and mouldy stump, his bruised
+hands swinging, always swinging.
+
+The sun set in the mist as he came out of the woods on to another
+beach--a warm, soft beach, crimsoned by the glow in the evening clouds.
+
+And on the sand at his feet lay a young girl asleep, swathed in the
+silken garment of her own black hair, round limbed, brown, smooth as
+the bloom on the tawny beach.
+
+A gull flapped overhead, screaming. Her eyes, deeper than night,
+unclosed. Then her lips parted in a cry, soft with sleep, "Ihó!"
+
+She rose, rubbing her velvet eyes. "Ihó!" she cried in wonder; "Inâh!"
+
+The gilded sand settled around her little feet. Her cheeks crimsoned.
+
+"E-hó! E-hó!" she whispered, and hid her face in her hair.
+
+
+IV.
+
+The bridge of the stars spans the sky seas; the sun and the moon are
+the travellers who pass over it. This was also known in the lodges of
+the Isantee, hundreds of years ago. Chaské told it to Hârpam, and when
+Hârpam knew he told it to Hapéda; and so the knowledge spread to Hârka,
+and from Winona to Wehârka, up and down, across and ever across, woof
+and web, until it came to the Island of Grief. And how? God knows!
+
+Wehârka, prattling in the tules, may have told Ne-kâ; and Ne-kâ,
+high in the November clouds, may have told Kay-óshk, who told it to
+Shinge-bis, who told it to Skeé-skah, who told it to Sé-só-Kah.
+
+Ihó! Inâh! Behold the wonder of it! And this is the fate of all
+knowledge that comes to the Island of Grief.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+As the red glow died in the sky, and the sand swam in shadows, the girl
+parted the silken curtains of her hair and looked at him.
+
+"Ehó!" she whispered again in soft delight.
+
+For now it was plain to her that he was the sun! He had crossed the
+bridge of stars in the blue twilight; he had come!
+
+"E-tó!"
+
+She stepped nearer, shivering, faint with the ecstasy of this holy
+miracle wrought before her.
+
+He was the Sun! His blood streaked the sky at dawn; his blood stained
+the clouds at even. In his eyes the blue of the sky still lingered,
+smothering two blue stars; and his body was as white as the breast of
+the Moon.
+
+She opened both arms, hands timidly stretched, palm upward. Her face
+was raised to his, her eyes slowly closed; the deep-fringed lids
+trembled.
+
+Like a young priestess she stood, motionless save for the sudden quiver
+of a limb, a quick pulse-flutter in the rounded throat. And so she
+worshipped, naked and unashamed, even after he, reeling, fell heavily
+forward on his face; even when the evening breeze stealing over the
+sands stirred the hair on his head, as winds stir the fur of a dead
+animal in the dust.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+When the morning sun peered over the wall of mist, and she saw it was
+the sun, and she saw him, flung on the sand at her feet, then she knew
+that he was a man, only a man, pallid as death and smeared with blood.
+
+And yet--miracle of miracles!--the divine wonder in her eyes deepened,
+and her body seemed to swoon, and fall a-trembling, and swoon again.
+
+For, although it was but a man who lay at her feet, it had been easier
+for her to look upon a god.
+
+He dreamed that he breathed fire--fire, that he craved as he had never
+craved water. Mad with delirium, he knelt before the flames, rubbing
+his torn hands, washing them in the crimson-scented flames. He had
+water, too, cool scented water, that sprayed his burning flesh, that
+washed in his eyes, his hair, his throat. After that came hunger,
+a fierce rending agony, that scorched and clutched and tore at his
+entrails; but that, too, died away, and he dreamed that he had eaten
+and all his flesh was warm. Then he dreamed that he slept; and when he
+slept he dreamed no more.
+
+One day he awoke and found her stretched beside him, soft palms tightly
+closed, smiling, asleep.
+
+
+V.
+
+Now the days began to run more swiftly than the tide along the tawny
+beach; and the nights, star-dusted and blue, came and vanished and
+returned, only to exhale at dawn like perfume from a violet.
+
+They counted hours as they counted the golden bubbles, winking with
+a million eyes along the foam-flecked shore; and the hours ended, and
+began, and glimmered, iridescent, and ended as bubbles end in a tiny
+rainbow haze.
+
+There was still fire in the world; it flashed up at her touch and where
+she chose. A bow strung with the silk of her own hair, an arrow winged
+like a sea bird and tipped with shell, a line from the silver tendon of
+a deer, a hook of polished bone--these were the mysteries he learned,
+and learned them laughing, her silken head bent close to his.
+
+The first night that the bow was wrought and the glossy string attuned,
+she stole into the moonlit forest to the brook; and there they stood,
+whispering, listening, and whispering, though neither understood the
+voice they loved.
+
+In the deeper woods, Kaug, the porcupine, scraped and snuffed. They
+heard Wabóse, the rabbit, pit-a-pat, pit-a-pat, loping across dead
+leaves in the moonlight. Skeé-skah, the wood-duck, sailed past,
+noiseless, gorgeous as a floating blossom.
+
+Out on the ocean's placid silver, Shinge-bis, the diver, shook the
+scented silence with his idle laughter, till Kay-óshk, the gray gull,
+stirred in his slumber. There came a sudden ripple in the stream, a
+mellow splash, a soft sound on the sand.
+
+"Ihó! Behold!"
+
+"I see nothing."
+
+The beloved voice was only a wordless melody to her.
+
+"Ihó! Ta-hinca, the red deer! E-hó! The buck will follow!"
+
+"Ta-hinca," he repeated, notching the arrow.
+
+"E-tó! Ta-mdóka!"
+
+So he drew the arrow to the head, and the gray gull feathers brushed
+his ear, and the darkness hummed with the harmony of the singing
+string.
+
+Thus died Ta-mdóka, the buck deer of seven prongs.
+
+
+VI.
+
+As an apple tossed spinning into the air, so spun the world above the
+hand that tossed it into space.
+
+And one day in early spring, Sé-só-Kah, the robin, awoke at dawn, and
+saw a girl at the foot of the blossoming tree holding a babe cradled in
+the silken sheets of her hair.
+
+At its feeble cry, Kaug, the porcupine, raised his quilled head.
+Wabóse, the rabbit, sat still with palpitating sides. Kay-óshk, the
+gray gull, tiptoed along the beach.
+
+Kent knelt with one bronzed arm around them both.
+
+"Ihó! Inâh!" whispered the girl, and held the babe up in the rosy
+flames of dawn.
+
+But Kent trembled as he looked, and his eyes filled. On the pale green
+moss their shadows lay--three shadows. But the shadow of the babe was
+white as froth.
+
+Because it was the firstborn son, they named it Chaské; and the girl
+sang as she cradled it there in the silken vestments of her hair; all
+day long in the sunshine she sang:
+
+    Wâ-wa, wâ-wa, wâ-we--yeá;
+  Kah-wéen, nee-zhéka Ke-diaus-âi,
+  Ke-gâh nau-wâi, ne-mé-go S'weén,
+  Ne-bâun, ne-bâun, ne-dâun-is âis.
+  E-we wâ-wa, wâ-we--yeá;
+  E-we wâ-wa, wâ-we--yeá.
+
+Out in the calm ocean, Shinge-bis, the diver, listened, preening his
+satin breast in silence. In the forest, Ta-hinca, the red deer, turned
+her delicate head to the wind.
+
+That night Kent thought of the dead, for the first time since he had
+come to the Key of Grief.
+
+"Aké-u! aké-u!" chirped Sé-só-Kah, the robin. But the dead never come
+again.
+
+"Beloved, sit close to us," whispered the girl, watching his troubled
+eyes. "Ma-cânte maséca."
+
+But he looked at the babe and its white shadow on the moss, and he only
+sighed: "Ma-cânte maséca, beloved! Death sits watching us across the
+sea."
+
+Now for the first time he knew more than the fear of fear; he knew
+fear. And with fear came grief.
+
+He never before knew that grief lay hidden there in the forest. Now he
+knew it. Still, that happiness, eternally reborn when two small hands
+reached up around his neck, when feeble fingers clutched his hand--that
+happiness that Sé-só-Kah understood, chirping to his brooding
+mate--that Ta-mdóka knew, licking his dappled fawns--that happiness
+gave him heart to meet grief calmly, in dreams or in the forest depths,
+and it helped him to look into the hollow eyes of fear.
+
+He often thought of the camp now; of Bates, his blanket mate; of Dyce,
+whose wrist he had broken with a blow; of Tully, whose brother he had
+shot. He even seemed to hear the shot, the sudden report among the
+hemlocks; again he saw the haze of smoke, he caught a glimpse of a tall
+form falling through the bushes.
+
+He remembered every minute incident of the trial: Bates's hand laid
+on his shoulder; Tully, red-bearded and wild-eyed, demanding his
+death; while Dyce spat and spat and smoked and kicked at the blackened
+log-ends projecting from the fire. He remembered, too, the verdict, and
+Tully's terrible laugh; and the new jute rope that they stripped off
+the market-sealed gum packs.
+
+He thought of these things, sometimes wading out on the shoals,
+shell-tipped fish spear poised: at such times he would miss his fish.
+He thought of it sometimes when he knelt by the forest stream listening
+for Ta-hinca's splash among the cresses: at such moments the feathered
+shaft whistled far from the mark, and Ta-mdóka stamped and snorted
+till even the white fisher, stretched on a rotting log, flattened his
+whiskers and stole away into the forest's blackest depths.
+
+When the child was a year old, hour for hour notched at sunset and
+sunrise, it prattled with the birds, and called to Ne-Kâ, the wild
+goose, who called again to the child from the sky: "Northward!
+northward, beloved!"
+
+When winter came--there is no frost on the Island of Grief--Ne-Kâ, the
+wild goose, passing high in the clouds, called: "Southward! southward,
+beloved!" And the child answered in a soft whisper of an unknown
+tongue, till the mother shivered, and covered it with her silken hair.
+
+"O beloved!" said the girl, "Chaské calls to all things living--to
+Kaug, the porcupine, to Wabóse, to Kay-óshk, the gray gull--he calls,
+and they understand."
+
+Kent bent and looked into her eyes.
+
+"Hush, beloved; it is not _that_ I fear."
+
+"Then what, beloved?"
+
+"His shadow. It is white as surf foam. And at night--I--I have seen----"
+
+"Oh, what?"
+
+"The air about him aglow like a pale rose."
+
+"Ma cânté maséca. The earth alone lasts. I speak as one dying--I know,
+O beloved!"
+
+Her voice died away like a summer wind.
+
+"Beloved!" he cried.
+
+But there before him she was changing; the air grew misty, and her hair
+wavered like shreds of fog, and her slender form swayed, and faded, and
+swerved, like the mist above a pond.
+
+In her arms the babe was a figure of mist, rosy, vague as a breath on
+a mirror.
+
+"The earth alone lasts. Inâh! It is the end, O beloved!"
+
+The words came from the mist--a mist as formless as the ether--a mist
+that drove in and crowded him, that came from the sea, from the clouds,
+from the earth at his feet. Faint with terror, he staggered forward
+calling, "Beloved! And thou, Chaské, O beloved! Aké u! Aké u!"
+
+Far out at sea a rosy star glimmered an instant in the mist and went
+out.
+
+A sea bird screamed, soaring over the waste of fog-smothered waters.
+Again he saw the rosy star; it came nearer; its reflection glimmered in
+the water.
+
+"Chaské!" he cried.
+
+He heard a voice, dull in the choking mist.
+
+"O beloved, I am here!" he called again.
+
+There was a sound on the shoal, a flicker in the fog, the flare of a
+torch, a face white, livid, terrible--the face of the dead.
+
+He fell upon his knees; he closed his eyes and opened them. Tully stood
+beside him with a coil of rope.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Ihó! Behold the end! The earth alone lasts. The sand, the opal wave on
+the golden beach, the sea of sapphire, the dusted starlight, the wind,
+and love, shall die. Death also shall die, and lie on the shores of
+the skies like the bleached skull there on the Key to Grief, polished,
+empty, with its teeth embedded in the sand.
+
+
+
+
+A MATTER OF INTEREST.
+
+
+
+
+A MATTER OF INTEREST.
+
+  He that knows not, and knows not that he knows not, is a fool. Shun
+      him.
+  He that knows not, and knows that he knows not, is simple. Teach him.
+  He that knows, and knows not that he knows, is asleep. Wake him.
+  He that knows, and knows that he knows, is wise. Follow him.
+
+                                       _Arabian Proverb._
+
+
+I.
+
+Much as I dislike it, I am obliged to include this story in a volume
+devoted to fiction: I have attempted to tell it as an absolutely true
+story, but until three months ago, when the indisputable proofs were
+placed before the British Association by Professor James Holroyd,
+I was regarded as an impostor. Now that the Smithsonian Institute
+in Washington, the Philadelphia Zoölogical Society, and the Natural
+History Museum of New York city, are convinced that the story is
+truthful and accurate in every particular, I prefer to tell it my own
+way. Professor Holroyd urges me to do this, although Professor Bruce
+Stoddard, of Columbia College, is now at work upon a pamphlet, to be
+published the latter part of next month, describing scientifically the
+extraordinary discovery which, to the shame of the United States, was
+first accepted and recognised in England.
+
+Now, having no technical ability concerning the affair in question,
+and having no knowledge of either comparative anatomy or zoölogy, I
+am perhaps unfitted to tell this story. But the story is true; the
+episode occurred under my own eyes--here, within a few hours' sail of
+the Battery. And as I was one of the first persons to verify what has
+long been a theory among scientists, and, moreover, as the result of
+Professor Holroyd's discovery is to be placed on exhibition in Madison
+Square Garden on the twentieth of next month, I have decided to tell,
+as simply as I am able, exactly what occurred.
+
+I first wrote out the story on April 1, 1896. The North American
+Review, the Popular Science Monthly, the Scientific American, Nature,
+Forest and Stream, and the Fossiliferous Magazine in turn rejected it;
+some curtly informing me that fiction had no place in their columns.
+When I attempted to explain that it was not fiction, the editors of
+these periodicals either maintained a contemptuous silence, or bluntly
+notified me that my literary services and opinions were not desired.
+But finally, when several publishers offered to take the story as
+fiction, I cut short all negotiations and decided to publish it myself.
+Where I am known at all, it is my misfortune to be known as a writer
+of fiction. This makes it impossible for me to receive a hearing from a
+scientific audience. I regret it bitterly, because now, when it is too
+late, I am prepared to prove certain scientific matters of interest,
+and to produce the proofs. In this case, however, I am fortunate, for
+nobody can dispute the existence of a thing when the bodily proof is
+exhibited as evidence.
+
+This is the story; and if I write it as I write fiction, it is because
+I do not know how to write it otherwise.
+
+I was walking along the beach below Pine Inlet, on the south shore
+of Long Island. The railroad and telegraph station is at West Oyster
+Bay. Everybody who has travelled on the Long Island Railroad knows the
+station, but few, perhaps, know Pine Inlet. Duck shooters, of course,
+are familiar with it; but as there are no hotels there, and nothing
+to see except salt meadow, salt creek, and a strip of dune and sand,
+the summer-squatting public may probably be unaware of its existence.
+The local name for the place is Pine Inlet; the maps give its name as
+Sand Point, I believe, but anybody at West Oyster Bay can direct you
+to it. Captain McPeek, who keeps the West Oyster Bay House, drives duck
+shooters there in winter. It lies five miles southeast from West Oyster
+Bay.
+
+I had walked over that afternoon from Captain McPeek's. There was a
+reason for my going to Pine Inlet--it embarrasses me to explain it,
+but the truth is I meditated writing an ode to the ocean. It was out
+of the question to write it in West Oyster Bay, with the whistle of
+locomotives in my ears. I knew that Pine Inlet was one of the loneliest
+places on the Atlantic coast; it is out of sight of everything except
+leagues of gray ocean. Rarely one might make out fishing smacks
+drifting across the horizon. Summer squatters never visited it;
+sportsmen shunned it, except in winter. Therefore, as I was about to do
+a bit of poetry, I thought that Pine Inlet was the spot for the deed.
+So I went there.
+
+As I was strolling along the beach, biting my pencil reflectively,
+tremendously impressed by the solitude and the solemn thunder of
+the surf, a thought occurred to me: how unpleasant it would be if I
+suddenly stumbled on a summer boarder. As this joyless impossibility
+flitted across my mind, I rounded a bleak sand dune.
+
+A summer girl stood directly in my path.
+
+If I jumped, I think the young lady has pardoned me by this time. She
+ought to, because she also started, and said something in a very faint
+voice. What she said was "Oh!"
+
+She stared at me as though I had just crawled up out of the sea to bite
+her. I don't know what my own expression resembled, but I have been
+given to understand it was idiotic.
+
+Now I perceived, after a few moments, that the young lady was
+frightened, and I knew I ought to say something civil. So I said, "Are
+there any mosquitoes here?"
+
+"No," she replied, with a slight quiver in her voice; "I have only seen
+one, and it was biting somebody else."
+
+I looked foolish; the conversation seemed so futile, and the young
+lady appeared to be more nervous than before. I had an impulse to say,
+"Do not run; I have breakfasted," for she seemed to be meditating a
+plunge into the breakers. What I did say was: "I did not know anybody
+was here. I do not intend to intrude. I come from Captain McPeek's,
+and I am writing an ode to the ocean." After I had said this it seemed
+to ring in my ears like, "I come from Table Mountain, and my name is
+Truthful James."
+
+I glanced timidly at her.
+
+"She's thinking of the same thing," said I to myself. "What an ass I
+must appear!"
+
+However, the young lady seemed to be a trifle reassured. I noticed she
+drew a sigh of relief and looked at my shoes. She looked so long that
+it made me suspicious, and I also examined my shoes. They seemed to be
+fairly respectable.
+
+"I--I am sorry," she said, "but would you mind not walking on the
+beach?"
+
+This was sudden. I had intended to retire and leave the beach to her,
+but I did not fancy being driven away so abruptly.
+
+"I was about to withdraw, madam," said I, bowing stiffly; "I beg you
+will pardon any inconvenience----"
+
+"Dear me!" she cried, "you don't understand. I do not--I would
+not think for a moment of asking you to leave Pine Inlet. I merely
+ventured to request you to walk on the dunes. I am so afraid that your
+footprints may obliterate the impressions that my father is studying."
+
+"Oh!" said I, looking about me as though I had been caught in the
+middle of a flower-bed; "really I did not notice any impressions.
+Impressions of what--if I may be permitted?"
+
+"I don't know," she said, smiling a little at my awkward pose. "If you
+step this way in a straight line you can do no damage."
+
+I did as she bade me. I suppose my movements resembled the gait of
+a wet peacock. Possibly they recalled the delicate manœuvres of the
+kangaroo. Anyway, she laughed.
+
+This seriously annoyed me. I had been at a disadvantage; I walk well
+enough when let alone.
+
+"You can scarcely expect," said I, "that a man absorbed in his own
+ideas could notice impressions on the sand. I trust I have obliterated
+nothing."
+
+As I said this I looked back at the long line of footprints stretching
+away in prospective across the sand. They were my own. How large they
+looked! Was that what she was laughing at?
+
+"I wish to explain," she said gravely, looking at the point of her
+parasol. "I am very sorry to be obliged to warn you--to ask you to
+forego the pleasure of strolling on a beach that does not belong to me.
+Perhaps," she continued, in sudden alarm, "perhaps this beach belongs
+to you?"
+
+"The beach? Oh, no," I said.
+
+"But--but you were going to write poems about it?"
+
+"Only one--and that does not necessitate owning the beach. I have
+observed," said I frankly, "that the people who own nothing write many
+poems about it."
+
+She looked at me seriously.
+
+"I write many poems," I added.
+
+She laughed doubtfully.
+
+"Would you rather I went away?" I asked politely.
+
+"I? Why, no--I mean that you may do as you please--except please do not
+walk on the _beach_."
+
+"Then I do not alarm you by my presence?" I inquired. My clothes
+were a bit ancient. I wore them shooting, sometimes. "My family is
+respectable," I added; and I told her my name.
+
+"Oh! Then you wrote 'Culled Cowslips' and 'Faded Fig-Leaves,' and
+you imitate Maeterlinck, and you---- Oh, I know lots of people that
+you know;" she cried with every symptom of relief; "and you know my
+brother."
+
+"I am the author," said I coldly, "of 'Culled Cowslips,' but 'Faded
+Fig-Leaves' was an earlier work, which I no longer recognise, and I
+should be grateful to you if you would be kind enough to deny that I
+ever imitated Maeterlinck. Possibly," I added, "he imitates me."
+
+"Now, do you know," she said, "I was afraid of you at first? Papa is
+digging in the salt meadows nearly a mile away."
+
+It was hard to bear.
+
+"Can you not see," said I, "that I am wearing a shooting coat?"
+
+"I do see--now; but it is so--so old," she pleaded.
+
+"It is a shooting coat all the same," I said bitterly.
+
+She was very quiet, and I saw she was sorry.
+
+"Never mind," I said magnanimously, "you probably are not familiar with
+sporting goods. If I knew your name I should ask permission to present
+myself."
+
+"Why, I am Daisy Holroyd," she said.
+
+"What! Jack Holroyd's little sister?"
+
+"Little!" she cried.
+
+"I didn't mean that," said I. "You know that your brother and I were
+great friends in Paris----"
+
+"I know," she said significantly.
+
+"Ahem! Of course," I said, "Jack and I were inseparable----"
+
+"Except when shut in separate cells," said Miss Holroyd coldly.
+
+This unfeeling allusion to the unfortunate termination of a
+Latin-Quarter celebration hurt me.
+
+"The police," said I, "were too officious."
+
+"So Jack says," replied Miss Holroyd demurely.
+
+We had unconsciously moved on along the sand hills, side by side, as we
+spoke.
+
+"To think," I repeated, "that I should meet Jack's little----"
+
+"Please," she said, "you are only three years my senior."
+
+She opened the sunshade and tipped it over one shoulder. It was white,
+and had spots and posies on it.
+
+"Jack sends us every new book you write," she observed. "I do not
+approve of some things you write."
+
+"Modern school," I mumbled.
+
+"That is no excuse," she said severely; "Anthony Trollope didn't do it."
+
+The foam spume from the breakers was drifting across the dunes, and the
+little tip-up snipe ran along the beach and teetered and whistled and
+spread their white-barred wings for a low, straight flight across the
+shingle, only to tip and skeep and sail on again. The salt sea wind
+whistled and curled through the crested waves, blowing in perfumed
+puffs across thickets of sweet bay and cedar. As we passed through the
+crackling juicy-stemmed marsh weed myriads of fiddler crabs raised
+their fore-claws in warning and backed away, rustling, through the
+reeds, aggressive, protesting.
+
+"Like millions of pigmy Ajaxes defying the lightning," I said.
+
+Miss Holroyd laughed.
+
+"Now I never imagined that authors were clever except in print," she
+said.
+
+She was a most extraordinary girl.
+
+"I suppose," she observed after a moment's silence--"I suppose I am
+taking you to my father."
+
+"Delighted!" I mumbled. "H'm! I had the honour of meeting Professor
+Holroyd in Paris."
+
+"Yes; he bailed you and Jack out," said Miss Holroyd serenely.
+
+The silence was too painful to last.
+
+"Captain McPeek is an interesting man," I said. I spoke more loudly
+than I intended; I may have been nervous.
+
+"Yes," said Daisy Holroyd, "but he has a most singular hotel clerk."
+
+"You mean Mr. Frisby?"
+
+"I do."
+
+"Yes," I admitted, "Mr. Frisby is queer. He was once a bill-poster."
+
+"I know it!" exclaimed Daisy Holroyd, with some heat. "He ruins
+landscapes whenever he has an opportunity. Do you know that he has a
+passion for bill-posting? He has; he posts bills for the pure pleasure
+of it, just as you play golf, or tennis, or billiards."
+
+"But he's a hotel clerk now," I said; "nobody employs him to post
+bills."
+
+"I know it! He does it all by himself for the pure pleasure of it. Papa
+has engaged him to come down here for two weeks, and I dread it," said
+the girl.
+
+What Professor Holroyd might want of Frisby I had not the faintest
+notion. I suppose Miss Holroyd noticed the bewilderment in my face, for
+she laughed, and nodded her head twice.
+
+"Not only Mr. Frisby, but Captain McPeek also," she said.
+
+"You don't mean to say that Captain McPeek is going to close his
+hotel!" I exclaimed.
+
+My trunk was there. It contained guarantees of my respectability.
+
+"Oh, no; his wife will keep it open," replied the girl. "Look! you can
+see papa now. He's digging."
+
+"Where?" I blurted out.
+
+I remembered Professor Holroyd as a prim, spectacled gentleman, with
+close-cut, snowy beard and a clerical allure. The man I saw digging
+wore green goggles, a jersey, a battered sou'wester, and hip-boots
+of rubber. He was delving in the muck of the salt meadow, his face
+streaming with perspiration, his boots and jersey splashed with
+unpleasant-looking mud. He glanced up as we approached, shading his
+eyes with a sunburnt hand.
+
+"Papa, dear," said Miss Holroyd, "here is Jack's friend, whom you
+bailed out of Mazas."
+
+The introduction was startling. I turned crimson with mortification.
+The professor was very decent about it; he called me by name at once.
+
+When he said this he looked at his spade. It was clear that he
+considered me a nuisance and wished to go on with his digging.
+
+"I suppose," he said, "you are still writing?"
+
+"A little," I replied, trying not to speak sarcastically. My output had
+rivaled that of "The Duchess"--in quantity, I mean.
+
+"I seldom read--fiction," he said, looking restlessly at the hole in
+the ground.
+
+Miss Holroyd came to my rescue.
+
+"That was a charming story you wrote last," she said. "Papa should read
+it--you should, papa; it's all about a fossil."
+
+We both looked narrowly at Miss Holroyd. Her smile was guileless.
+
+"Fossils!" repeated the professor. "Do you care for fossils?"
+
+"Very much," said I.
+
+Now I am not perfectly sure what my object was in lying. I looked at
+Daisy Holroyd's dark-fringed eyes. They were very grave.
+
+"Fossils," said I, "are my hobby."
+
+I think Miss Holroyd winced a little at this. I did not care. I went on:
+
+"I have seldom had the opportunity to study the subject, but, as a boy,
+I collected flint arrow-heads----"
+
+"Flint arrow-heads!" said the professor coldly.
+
+"Yes; they were the nearest things to fossils obtainable," I replied,
+marvelling at my own mendacity.
+
+The professor looked into the hole. I also looked. I could see nothing
+in it. "He's digging for fossils," thought I to myself.
+
+"Perhaps," said the professor cautiously, "you might wish to aid me
+in a little research--that is to say, if you have an inclination for
+fossils." The double-entendre was not lost upon me.
+
+"I have read all your books so eagerly," said I, "that to join you,
+to be of service to you in any research, however difficult and trying,
+would be an honour and a privilege that I never dared to hope for."
+
+"That," thought I to myself, "will do its own work."
+
+But the professor was still suspicious. How could he help it, when
+he remembered Jack's escapades, in which my name was always blended!
+Doubtless he was satisfied that my influence on Jack was evil. The
+contrary was the case, too.
+
+"Fossils," he said, worrying the edges of the excavation with his
+spade, "fossils are not things to be lightly considered."
+
+"No, indeed!" I protested.
+
+"Fossils are the most interesting as well as puzzling things in the
+world," said he.
+
+"They are!" I cried enthusiastically.
+
+"But I am not looking for fossils," observed the professor mildly.
+
+This was a facer. I looked at Daisy Holroyd. She bit her lip and fixed
+her eyes on the sea. Her eyes were wonderful eyes.
+
+"Did you think I was digging for fossils in a salt meadow?" queried
+the professor. "You can have read very little about the subject. I am
+digging for something quite different."
+
+I was silent. I knew that my face was a trifle flushed. I longed to
+say, "Well, what the devil are you digging for?" but I only stared into
+the hole as though hypnotized.
+
+"Captain McPeek and Frisby ought to be here," he said, looking first at
+Daisy and then across the meadows.
+
+I ached to ask him why he had subpœnaed Captain McPeek and Frisby.
+
+"They are coming," said Daisy, shading her eyes. "Do you see the speck
+on the meadows?"
+
+"It may be a mud hen," said the professor.
+
+"Miss Holroyd is right," I said. "A wagon and team and two men are
+coming from the north. There is a dog beside the wagon--it's that
+miserable yellow dog of Frisby's."
+
+"Good gracious!" cried the professor, "you don't mean to tell me that
+you see all that at such a distance?"
+
+"Why not?" I said.
+
+"I see nothing," he insisted.
+
+"You will see that I'm right, presently," I laughed.
+
+The professor removed his blue goggles and rubbed them, glancing
+obliquely at me.
+
+"Haven't you heard what extraordinary eyesight duck shooters have?"
+said his daughter, looking back at her father. "Jack says that they can
+tell exactly what kind of a duck is flying before most people could see
+anything at all in the sky."
+
+"It's true," I said; "it comes to anybody, I fancy, who has had
+practice."
+
+The professor regarded me with a new interest. There was inspiration in
+his eyes. He turned toward the ocean. For a long time he stared at the
+tossing waves on the beach, then he looked far out to where the horizon
+met the sea.
+
+"Are there any ducks out there?" he asked at last.
+
+"Yes," said I, scanning the sea, "there are."
+
+He produced a pair of binoculars from his coat-tail pocket, adjusted
+them, and raised them to his eyes.
+
+"H'm! What sort of ducks?"
+
+I looked more carefully, holding both hands over my forehead.
+
+"Surf ducks--scoters and widgeon. There is one bufflehead among
+them--no, two; the rest are coots," I replied.
+
+"This," cried the professor, "is most astonishing. I have good eyes,
+but I can't see a blessed thing without these binoculars!"
+
+"It's not extraordinary," said I; "the surf ducks and coots any novice
+might recognise; the widgeon and buffleheads I should not have been
+able to name unless they had risen from the water. It is easy to tell
+any duck when it is flying, even though it looks no bigger than a black
+pin-point."
+
+But the professor insisted that it was marvellous, and he said that I
+might render him invaluable service if I would consent to come and camp
+at Pine Inlet for a few weeks.
+
+I looked at his daughter, but she turned her back--not exactly in
+disdain either. Her back was beautifully moulded. Her gown fitted also.
+
+"Camp out here?" I repeated, pretending to be unpleasantly surprised.
+
+"I do not think he would care to," said Miss Holroyd without turning.
+
+I had not expected that.
+
+"Above all things," said I, in a clear, pleasant voice, "I like to camp
+out."
+
+She said nothing.
+
+"It is not exactly camping," said the professor. "Come, you shall see
+our conservatory. Daisy, come, dear! you must put on a heavier frock;
+it is getting toward sundown."
+
+At that moment, over a near dune, two horses' heads appeared, followed
+by two human heads, then a wagon, then a yellow dog.
+
+I turned triumphantly to the professor.
+
+"You are the very man I want," he muttered; "the very man--the very
+man."
+
+I looked at Daisy Holroyd. She returned my glance with a defiant little
+smile.
+
+"Waal," said Captain McPeek, driving up, "here we be! Git out, Frisby."
+
+Frisby, fat, nervous, and sentimental, hopped out of the cart.
+
+"Come!" said the professor, impatiently moving across the dunes. I
+walked with Daisy Holroyd. McPeek and Frisby followed. The yellow dog
+walked by himself.
+
+
+II.
+
+The sun was dipping into the sea as we trudged across the meadows
+toward a high dome-shaped dune covered with cedars and thickets of
+sweet bay. I saw no sign of habitation among the sand hills. Far as the
+eye could reach, nothing broke the gray line of sea and sky save the
+squat dunes crowned with stunted cedars.
+
+Then, as we rounded the base of the dune, we almost walked into the
+door of a house. My amazement amused Miss Holroyd, and I noticed also
+a touch of malice in her pretty eyes. But she said nothing, following
+her father into the house, with the slightest possible gesture to me.
+Was it invitation, or was it menace?
+
+The house was merely a light wooden frame, covered with some waterproof
+stuff that looked like a mixture of rubber and tar. Over this--in
+fact, over the whole roof--was pitched an awning of heavy sail-cloth.
+I noticed that the house was anchored to the sand by chains, already
+rusted red. But this one-storied house was not the only building
+nestling in the south shelter of the big dune. A hundred feet away
+stood another structure--long, low, also built of wood. It had rows on
+rows of round portholes on every side. The ports were fitted with heavy
+glass, hinged to swing open if necessary. A single big double door
+occupied the front.
+
+Behind this long, low building was still another, a mere shed. Smoke
+rose from the sheet-iron chimney. There was somebody moving about
+inside the open door.
+
+As I stood gaping at this mushroom hamlet the professor appeared at the
+door and asked me to enter. I stepped in at once.
+
+The house was much larger than I had imagined. A straight hallway ran
+through the centre from east to west. On either side of this hallway
+were rooms, the doors swinging wide open. I counted three doors on each
+side; the three on the south appeared to be bedrooms.
+
+The professor ushered me into a room on the north side, where I found
+Captain McPeek and Frisby sitting at a table, upon which were drawings
+and sketches of articulated animals and fishes.
+
+"You see, McPeek," said the professor, "we only wanted one more man,
+and I think I've got him.--Haven't I?" turning eagerly to me.
+
+"Why, yes," I said, laughing; "this is delightful. Am I invited to stay
+here?"
+
+"Your bedroom is the third on the south side; everything is ready.
+McPeek, you can bring his trunk to-morrow, can't you?" demanded the
+professor.
+
+The red-faced captain nodded, and shifted a quid.
+
+"Then it's all settled," said the professor, and he drew a sigh of
+satisfaction. "You see," he said, turning to me, "I was at my wit's end
+to know whom to trust. I never thought of you. Jack's out in China, and
+I didn't dare trust anybody in my own profession. All you care about is
+writing verses and stories, isn't it?"
+
+"I like to shoot," I replied mildly.
+
+"Just the thing!" he cried, beaming at us all in turn. "Now I can see
+no reason why we should not progress rapidly. McPeek, you and Frisby
+must get those boxes up here before dark. Dinner will be ready before
+you have finished unloading. Dick, you will wish to go to your room
+first."
+
+My name isn't Dick, but he spoke so kindly, and beamed upon me in such
+a fatherly manner, that I let it go. I had occasion to correct him
+afterward, several times, but he always forgot the next minute. He
+calls me Dick to this day.
+
+It was dark when Professor Holroyd, his daughter, and I sat down to
+dinner. The room was the same in which I had noticed the drawings of
+beast and bird, but the round table had been extended into an oval, and
+neatly spread with dainty linen and silver.
+
+A fresh-cheeked Swedish girl appeared from a further room, bearing the
+soup. The professor ladled it out, still beaming.
+
+"Now, this is very delightful!--isn't it, Daisy?" he said.
+
+"Very," said Miss Holroyd, with the faintest tinge of irony.
+
+"Very," I repeated heartily; but I looked at my soup when I said it.
+
+"I suppose," said the professor, nodding mysteriously at his daughter,
+"that Dick knows nothing of what we're about down here?"
+
+"I suppose," said Miss Holroyd, "that he thinks we are digging for
+fossils."
+
+I looked at my plate. She might have spared me that.
+
+"Well, well," said her father, smiling to himself, "he shall know
+everything by morning. You'll be astonished, Dick, my boy."
+
+"His name isn't Dick," corrected Daisy.
+
+The professor said, "Isn't it?" in an absent-minded way, and relapsed
+into contemplation of my necktie.
+
+I asked Miss Holroyd a few questions about Jack, and was informed that
+he had given up law and entered the diplomatic service--as what, I did
+not dare ask, for I know what our diplomatic service is.
+
+"In China," said Daisy.
+
+"Choo Choo is the name of the city," added her father proudly; "it's
+the terminus of the new trans-Siberian railway."
+
+"It's on the Yellow River," said Daisy.
+
+"He's vice-consul," added the professor triumphantly.
+
+"He'll make a good one," I observed. I knew Jack. I pitied his consul.
+
+So we chatted on about my old playmate, until Freda, the red-cheeked
+maid, brought coffee, and the professor lighted a cigar, with a little
+bow to his daughter.
+
+"Of course, you don't smoke," she said to me, with a glimmer of malice
+in her eyes.
+
+"He mustn't," interposed the professor hastily; "it will make his hand
+tremble."
+
+"No, it doesn't," said I, laughing; "but my hand will shake if I don't
+smoke. Are you going to employ me as a draughtsman?"
+
+"You'll know to-morrow," he chuckled, with a mysterious smile at his
+daughter.--"Daisy, give him my best cigars; put the box here on the
+table. We can't afford to have his hand tremble."
+
+Miss Holroyd rose, and crossed the hallway to her father's room,
+returning presently with a box of promising-looking cigars.
+
+"I don't think he knows what is good for him," she said. "He should
+smoke only one every day."
+
+It was hard to bear. I am not vindictive, but I decided to treasure up
+a few of Miss Holroyd's gentle taunts. My intimacy with her brother was
+certainly a disadvantage to me now. Jack had apparently been talking
+too much, and his sister appeared to be thoroughly acquainted with my
+past. It was a disadvantage. I remembered her vaguely as a girl with
+long braids, who used to come on Sundays with her father and take tea
+with us in our rooms. Then she went to Germany to school, and Jack and
+I employed our Sunday evenings otherwise. It is true that I regarded
+her weekly visits as a species of infliction, but I did not think I
+ever showed it.
+
+"It is strange," said I, "that you did not recognise me at once, Miss
+Holroyd. Have I changed so greatly in five years?"
+
+"You wore a pointed French beard in Paris," she said--"a very downy
+one. And you never stayed to tea but twice, and then you only spoke
+once."
+
+"Oh!" said I blankly. "What did I say?"
+
+"You asked me if I liked plums," said Daisy, bursting into an
+irresistible ripple of laughter.
+
+I saw that I must have made the same sort of an ass of myself that most
+boys of eighteen do.
+
+It was too bad. I never thought about the future in those days. Who
+could have imagined that little Daisy Holroyd would have grown up
+into this bewildering young lady? It was really too bad. Presently the
+professor retired to his room, carrying with him an armful of drawings,
+and bidding us not to sit up late. When he closed his door Miss Holroyd
+turned to me.
+
+"Papa will work over those drawings until midnight," she said, with a
+despairing smile.
+
+"It isn't good for him," I said. "What are the drawings?"
+
+"You may know to-morrow," she answered, leaning forward on the table
+and shading her face with one hand. "Tell me about yourself and Jack in
+Paris."
+
+I looked at her suspiciously.
+
+"What! There isn't much to tell. We studied. Jack went to the law
+school, and I attended--er--oh, all sorts of schools."
+
+"Did you? Surely you gave yourself a little recreation occasionally?"
+
+"Occasionally," I nodded.
+
+"I am afraid you and Jack studied too hard."
+
+"That may be," said I, looking meek.
+
+"Especially about fossils."
+
+I couldn't stand that.
+
+"Miss Holroyd," I said, "I do care for fossils. You may think that I am
+a humbug, but I have a perfect mania for fossils--now."
+
+"Since when?"
+
+"About an hour ago," I said airily. Out of the corner of my eye I saw
+that she had flushed up. It pleased me.
+
+"You will soon tire of the experiment," she said with a dangerous smile.
+
+"Oh, I may," I replied indifferently.
+
+She drew back. The movement was scarcely perceptible, but I noticed it,
+and she knew I did.
+
+The atmosphere was vaguely hostile. One feels such mental conditions
+and changes instantly. I picked up a chessboard, opened it, set up the
+pieces with elaborate care, and began to move, first the white, then
+the black. Miss Holroyd watched me coldly at first, but after a dozen
+moves she became interested and leaned a shade nearer. I moved a black
+pawn forward.
+
+"Why do you do that?" said Daisy.
+
+"Because," said I, "the white queen threatens the pawn."
+
+"It was an aggressive move," she insisted.
+
+"Purely defensive," I said. "If her white highness will let the pawn
+alone, the pawn will let the queen alone."
+
+Miss Holroyd rested her chin on her wrist and gazed steadily at the
+board. She was flushing furiously, but she held her ground.
+
+"If the white queen doesn't block that pawn, the pawn may become
+dangerous," she said coldly.
+
+I laughed, and closed up the board with a snap.
+
+"True," I said, "it might even take the queen." After a moment's
+silence I asked, "What would you do in that case, Miss Holroyd?"
+
+"I should resign," she said serenely; then realizing what she had said,
+she lost her self-possession for a second, and cried: "No, indeed! I
+should fight to the bitter end! I mean----"
+
+"What?" I asked, lingering over my revenge.
+
+"I mean," she said slowly, "that your black pawn would never have the
+chance--never! I should take it immediately."
+
+"I believe you would," said I, smiling; "so we'll call the game yours,
+and--the pawn captured."
+
+"I don't want it," she exclaimed. "A pawn is worthless."
+
+"Except when it's in the king row."
+
+"Chess is most interesting," she observed sedately. She had completely
+recovered her self-control. Still I saw that she now had a certain
+respect for my defensive powers. It was very soothing to me.
+
+"You know," said I gravely, "that I am fonder of Jack than of anybody.
+That's the reason we never write each other, except to borrow things. I
+am afraid that when I was a young cub in France I was not an attractive
+personality."
+
+"On the contrary," said Daisy, smiling, "I thought you were very big
+and very perfect. I had illusions. I wept often when I went home and
+remembered that you never took the trouble to speak to me but once."
+
+"I was a cub," I said; "not selfish and brutal, but I didn't understand
+schoolgirls. I never had any sisters, and I didn't know what to say to
+very young girls. If I had imagined that you felt hurt----"
+
+"Oh, I did--five years ago. Afterward I laughed at the whole thing."
+
+"Laughed?" I repeated, vaguely disappointed.
+
+"Why, of course. I was very easily hurt when I was a child. I think I
+have outgrown it."
+
+The soft curve of her sensitive mouth contradicted her.
+
+"Will you forgive me now?" I asked.
+
+"Yes. I had forgotten the whole thing until I met you an hour or so
+ago."
+
+There was something that had a ring not entirely genuine in this
+speech. I noticed it, but forgot it the next moment.
+
+"Tiger cubs have stripes," said I. "Selfishness blossoms in the cradle,
+and prophecy is not difficult. I hope I am not more selfish than my
+brothers."
+
+"I hope not," she said, smiling.
+
+Presently she rose, touched her hair with the tip of one finger, and
+walked to the door.
+
+"Good-night," she said, courtesying very low.
+
+"Good-night," said I, opening the door for her to pass.
+
+
+III.
+
+The sea was a sheet of silver, tinged with pink. The tremendous arch of
+the sky was all shimmering and glimmering with the promise of the sun.
+Already the mist above, flecked with clustered clouds, flushed with
+rose colour and dull gold. I heard the low splash of the waves breaking
+and curling across the beach. A wandering breeze, fresh and fragrant,
+blew the curtains of my window. There was the scent of sweet bay in the
+room, and everywhere the subtile, nameless perfume of the sea.
+
+When at last I stood upon the shore, the air and sea were all aglimmer
+in a rosy light, deepening to crimson in the zenith. Along the beach I
+saw a little cove, shelving and all ashine, where shallow waves washed
+with a mellow sound. Fine as dusted gold the shingle glowed, and the
+thin film of water rose, receded, crept up again a little higher, and
+again flowed back, with the low hiss of snowy foam and gilded bubbles
+breaking.
+
+I stood a little while quiet, my eyes upon the water, the invitation of
+the ocean in my ears, vague and sweet as the murmur of a shell. Then I
+looked at my bathing suit and towels.
+
+"In we go!" said I aloud. A second later the prophecy was fulfilled.
+
+I swam far out to sea, and as I swam the waters all around me turned to
+gold. The sun had risen.
+
+There is a fragrance in the sea at dawn that none can name. Whitethorn
+abloom in May, sedges asway, and scented rushes rustling in an inland
+wind recall the sea to me--I can't say why.
+
+Far out at sea I raised myself, swung around, dived, and set out again
+for shore, striking strong strokes until the flecked foam flew. And
+when at last I shot through the breakers, I laughed aloud and sprang
+upon the beach, breathless and happy. Then from the ocean came another
+cry, clear, joyous, and a white arm rose in the air.
+
+She came drifting in with the waves like a white sea-sprite, laughing
+at me from her tangled hair, and I plunged into the breakers again to
+join her.
+
+Side by side we swam along the coast, just outside the breakers, until
+in the next cove we saw the flutter of her maid's cap strings.
+
+"I will beat you to breakfast!" she cried, as I rested, watching her
+glide up along the beach.
+
+"Done!" said I--"for a sea-shell!"
+
+"Done!" she called across the water.
+
+I made good speed along the shore, and I was not long in dressing,
+but when I entered the dining-room she was there, demure, smiling,
+exquisite in her cool, white frock.
+
+"The sea-shell is yours," said I. "I hope I can find one with a pearl
+in it."
+
+The professor hurried in before she could reply. He greeted me very
+cordially, but there was an abstracted air about him, and he called me
+Dick until I recognised that remonstrance was useless. He was not long
+over his coffee and rolls.
+
+"McPeek and Frisby will return with the last load, including your
+trunk, by early afternoon," he said, rising and picking up his bundle
+of drawings. "I haven't time to explain to you what we are doing,
+Dick, but Daisy will take you about and instruct you. She will give
+you the rifle standing in my room--it's a good Winchester. I have
+sent for an 'Express' for you, big enough to knock over any elephant
+in India.--Daisy, take him through the sheds and tell him everything.
+Luncheon is at noon.--Do you usually take luncheon, Dick?"
+
+"When I am permitted," I smiled.
+
+"Well," said the professor doubtfully, "you mustn't come back here
+for it. Freda can take you what you want. Is your hand unsteady after
+eating?"
+
+"Why, papa!" said Daisy. "Do you intend to starve him?"
+
+We all laughed.
+
+The professor tucked his drawings into a capacious pocket, pulled his
+sea boots up to his hips, seized a spade, and left, nodding to us as
+though he were thinking of something else.
+
+We went to the door and watched him across the salt meadows until a
+distant sand dune hid him.
+
+"Come," said Daisy Holroyd, "I am going to take you to the shop."
+
+She put on a broad-brimmed straw hat, a distractingly pretty
+combination of filmy cool stuffs, and led the way to the long low
+structure that I had noticed the evening before.
+
+The interior was lighted by the numberless little portholes, and I
+could see everything plainly. I acknowledge I was nonplussed by what I
+did see.
+
+In the centre of the shed, which must have been at least a hundred feet
+long, stood what I thought at first was the skeleton of an enormous
+whale. After a moment's silent contemplation of the thing I saw that
+it could not be a whale, for the frames of two gigantic bat-like wings
+rose from each shoulder. Also I noticed that the animal possessed
+legs--four of them--with most unpleasant-looking webbed claws fully
+eight feet long. The bony framework of the head, too, resembled
+something between a crocodile and a monstrous snapping turtle.
+The walls of the shanty were hung with drawings and blue prints. A
+man dressed in white linen was tinkering with the vertebræ of the
+lizardlike tail.
+
+"Where on earth did such a reptile come from?" I asked at length.
+
+"Oh, it's not real!" said Daisy scornfully; "it's papier-maché."
+
+"I see," said I--"a stage prop."
+
+"A what?" asked Daisy, in hurt astonishment.
+
+"Why, a--a sort of Siegfried dragon--a what's-his-name--er, Pfafner, or
+Peffer, or----"
+
+"If my father heard you say such things he would dislike you," said
+Daisy. She looked grieved, and moved toward the door. I apologized--for
+what, I knew not--and we became reconciled. She ran into her father's
+room and brought me the rifle, a very good Winchester. She also gave me
+a cartridge belt, full.
+
+"Now," she smiled, "I shall take you to your observatory, and when we
+arrive you are to begin your duty at once."
+
+"And that duty?" I ventured, shouldering the rifle.
+
+"That duty is, to watch the ocean. I shall then explain the whole
+affair--but you mustn't look at me while I speak; you must watch the
+sea."
+
+"This," said I, "is hardship. I had rather go without the luncheon."
+
+I do not think she was offended at my speech; still she frowned for
+almost three seconds.
+
+We passed through acres of sweet bay and spear grass, sometimes
+skirting thickets of twisted cedars, sometimes walking in the full
+glare of the morning sun, sinking into shifting sand where sun-scorched
+shells crackled under our feet, and sun-browned seaweed glistened,
+bronzed and iridescent. Then, as we climbed a little hill, the sea wind
+freshened in our faces, and lo! the ocean lay below us, far-stretching
+as the eye could reach, glittering, magnificent.
+
+Daisy sat down flat on the sand. It takes a clever girl to do that and
+retain the respectful deference due her from men. It takes a graceful
+girl to accomplish it triumphantly when a man is looking.
+
+"You must sit beside me," she said--as though it would prove irksome to
+me.
+
+"Now," she continued, "you must watch the water while I am talking."
+
+I nodded.
+
+"Why don't you do it, then?" she asked.
+
+I succeeded in wrenching my head toward the ocean, although I felt sure
+it would swing gradually round again in spite of me.
+
+"To begin with," said Daisy Holroyd, "there's a thing in that ocean
+that would astonish you if you saw it. Turn your head!"
+
+"I am," I said meekly.
+
+"Did you hear what I said?"
+
+"Yes--er--a thing in the ocean that's going to astonish me." Visions of
+mermaids rose before me.
+
+"The thing," said Daisy, "is a Thermosaurus!"
+
+I nodded vaguely, as though anticipating a delightful introduction to
+a nautical friend.
+
+"You don't seem astonished," she said reproachfully.
+
+"Why should I be?" I asked.
+
+"Please turn your eyes toward the water. Suppose a Thermosaurus should
+look out of the waves!"
+
+"Well," said I, "in that case the pleasure would be mutual."
+
+She frowned, and bit her upper lip.
+
+"Do you know what a Thermosaurus is?" she asked.
+
+"If I am to guess," said I, "I guess it's a jellyfish."
+
+"It's that big, ugly, horrible creature that I showed you in the shed!"
+cried Daisy impatiently.
+
+"Eh!" I stammered.
+
+"Not papier-maché either," she continued excitedly; "it's a real one."
+
+This was pleasant news. I glanced instinctively at my rifle and then at
+the ocean.
+
+"Well," said I at last, "it strikes me that you and I resemble a pair
+of Andromedas waiting to be swallowed. This rifle won't stop a beast,
+a live beast, like that Nibelungen dragon of yours."
+
+"Yes, it will," she said; "it's not an ordinary rifle."
+
+Then, for the first time, I noticed, just below the magazine, a
+cylindrical attachment that was strange to me.
+
+"Now, if you will watch the sea very carefully, and will promise not to
+look at me," said Daisy, "I will try to explain."
+
+She did not wait for me to promise, but went on eagerly, a sparkle of
+excitement in her blue eyes:
+
+"You know, of all the fossil remains of the great bat-like and
+lizard-like creatures that inhabited the earth ages and ages ago,
+the bones of the gigantic saurians are the most interesting. I think
+they used to splash about the water and fly over the land during the
+Carboniferous period; anyway, it doesn't matter. Of course, you have
+seen pictures of reconstructed creatures such as the Ichthyosaurus, the
+Plesiosaurus, the Anthracosaurus, and the Thermosaurus?"
+
+I nodded, trying to keep my eyes from hers.
+
+"And you know that the remains of the Thermosaurus were first
+discovered and reconstructed by papa?"
+
+"Yes," said I. There was no use in saying no.
+
+"I am glad you do. Now, papa has proved that this creature lived
+entirely in the Gulf Stream, emerging for occasional flights across an
+ocean or two. Can you imagine how he proved it?"
+
+"No," said I, resolutely pointing my nose at the ocean.
+
+"He proved it by a minute examination of the microscopical shells
+found among the ribs of the Thermosaurus. These shells contained little
+creatures that live only in the warm waters of the Gulf Stream. They
+were the food of the Thermosaurus."
+
+"It was rather slender rations for a thing like that, wasn't it? Did he
+ever swallow bigger food--er--men?"
+
+"Oh, yes. Tons of fossil bones from prehistoric men are also found in
+the interior of the Thermosaurus."
+
+"Then," said I, "you, at least, had better go back to Captain
+McPeek's----"
+
+"Please turn around; don't be so foolish. I didn't say there was a
+_live_ Thermosaurus in the water, did I?"
+
+"Isn't there?"
+
+"Why, no!"
+
+My relief was genuine, but I thought of the rifle and looked
+suspiciously out to sea.
+
+"What's the Winchester for?" I asked.
+
+"Listen, and I will explain. Papa has found out--how, I do not exactly
+understand--that there is in the waters of the Gulf Stream the body of
+a Thermosaurus. The creature must have been alive within a year or so.
+The impenetrable scale armour that covers its body has, as far as papa
+knows, prevented its disintegration. We know that it is there still, or
+was there within a few months. Papa has reports and sworn depositions
+from steamer captains and seamen from a dozen different vessels,
+all corroborating each other in essential details. These stories, of
+course, get into the newspapers--sea-serpent stories--but papa knows
+that they confirm his theory that the huge body of this reptile is
+swinging along somewhere on the Gulf Stream."
+
+She opened her sunshade and held it over her. I noticed that she
+deigned to give me the benefit of about one eighth of it.
+
+"Your duty with that rifle is this: If we are fortunate enough to see
+the body of the Thermosaurus come floating by, you are to take good
+aim and fire--fire rapidly every bullet in the magazine; then reload
+and fire again, and reload and fire as long as you have any cartridges
+left."
+
+"A self-feeding Maxim is what I should have," I said with gentle
+sarcasm. "Well, and suppose I make a sieve of this big lizard?"
+
+"Do you see these rings in the sand?" she asked.
+
+Sure enough, somebody had driven heavy piles deep into the sand all
+around us, and to the tops of these piles were attached steel rings,
+half buried under the spear grass. We sat almost exactly in the centre
+of a circle of these rings.
+
+"The reason is this," said Daisy: "every bullet in your cartridges
+is steel-tipped and armour-piercing. To the base of each bullet is
+attached a thin wire of pallium. Pallium is that new metal, a thread of
+which, drawn out into finest wire, will hold a ton of iron suspended.
+Every bullet is fitted with minute coils of miles of this wire. When
+the bullet leaves the rifle it spins out this wire as a shot from a
+life-saver's mortar spins out and carries the life line to a wrecked
+ship. The end of each coil of wire is attached to that cylinder under
+the magazine of your rifle. As soon as the shell is automatically
+ejected this wire flies out also. A bit of scarlet tape is fixed to
+the end, so that it will be easy to pick up. There is also a snap clasp
+on the end, and this clasp fits those rings that you see in the sand.
+Now, when you begin firing, it is my duty to run and pick up the wire
+ends and attach them to the rings. Then, you see, we have the body of
+the Thermosaurus full of bullets, every bullet anchored to the shore by
+tiny wires, each of which could easily hold a ton's strain."
+
+I looked at her in amazement.
+
+"Then," she added calmly, "we have captured the Thermosaurus."
+
+"Your father," said I at length, "must have spent years of labour over
+this preparation."
+
+"It is the work of a lifetime," she said simply.
+
+My face, I suppose, showed my misgivings.
+
+"It must not fail," she added.
+
+"But--but we are nowhere near the Gulf Stream," I ventured.
+
+Her face brightened, and she frankly held the sunshade over us both.
+
+"Ah, you don't know," she said, "what else papa has discovered. Would
+you believe that he has found a loop in the Gulf Stream--a genuine
+loop--that swings in here just outside of the breakers below? It is
+true! Everybody on Long Island knows that there is a warm current off
+the coast, but nobody imagined it was merely a sort of backwater from
+the Gulf Stream that formed a great circular mill-race around the
+cone of a subterranean volcano, and rejoined the Gulf Stream off Cape
+Albatross. But it is! That is why papa bought a yacht three years ago
+and sailed about for two years so mysteriously. Oh, I did want to go
+with him so much!"
+
+"This," said I, "is most astonishing."
+
+She leaned enthusiastically toward me, her lovely face aglow.
+
+"Isn't it?" she said; "and to think that you and papa and I are the
+only people in the whole world who know this!"
+
+To be included in such a triology was very delightful.
+
+"Papa is writing the whole thing--I mean about the currents. He also
+has in preparation sixteen volumes on the Thermosaurus. He said this
+morning that he was going to ask you to write the story first for some
+scientific magazine. He is certain that Professor Bruce Stoddard, of
+Columbia, will write the pamphlets necessary. This will give papa time
+to attend to the sixteen-volume work, which he expects to finish in
+three years."
+
+"Let us first," said I, laughing, "catch our Thermosaurus."
+
+"We must not fail," she said wistfully.
+
+"We shall not fail," I said, "for I promise to sit on this sand hill
+as long as I live--until a Thermosaurus appears--if that is your wish,
+Miss Holroyd."
+
+Our eyes met for an instant. She did not chide me, either, for not
+looking at the ocean. Her eyes were bluer, anyway.
+
+"I suppose," she said, bending her head and absently pouring sand
+between her fingers--"I suppose you think me a blue-stocking, or
+something odious?"
+
+"Not exactly," I said. There was an emphasis in my voice that made her
+colour. After a moment she laid the sunshade down, still open.
+
+"May I hold it?" I asked.
+
+She nodded almost imperceptibly.
+
+The ocean had turned a deep marine blue, verging on purple, that
+heralded a scorching afternoon. The wind died away; the odour of cedar
+and sweet bay hung heavy in the air.
+
+In the sand at our feet an iridescent flower beetle crawled, its
+metallic green and blue wings burning like a spark. Great gnats, with
+filmy, glittering wings, danced aimlessly above the young golden-rod;
+burnished crickets, inquisitive, timid, ran from under chips of
+driftwood, waved their antennæ at us, and ran back again. One by one
+the marbled tiger beetles tumbled at our feet, dazed from the exertion
+of an aërial flight, then scrambled and ran a little way, or darted
+into the wire grass, where great brilliant spiders eyed them askance
+from their gossamer hammocks.
+
+Far out at sea the white gulls floated and drifted on the water, or
+sailed up into the air to flap lazily for a moment and settle back
+among the waves. Strings of black surf ducks passed, their strong wings
+tipping the surface of the water; single wandering coots whirled from
+the breakers into lonely flight toward the horizon.
+
+We lay and watched the little ring-necks running along the water's
+edge, now backing away from the incoming tide, now boldly wading
+after the undertow. The harmony of silence, the deep perfume, the
+mystery of waiting for that something that all await--what is it?
+love? death? or only the miracle of another morrow?--troubled me with
+vague restfulness. As sunlight casts shadows, happiness, too, throws a
+shadow, and the shadow is sadness.
+
+And so the morning wore away until Freda came with a cool-looking
+hamper. Then delicious cold fowl and lettuce sandwiches and champagne
+cup set our tongues wagging as only very young tongues can wag. Daisy
+went back with Freda after luncheon, leaving me a case of cigars, with
+a bantering smile. I dozed, half awake, keeping a partly closed eye
+on the ocean, where a faint gray streak showed plainly amid the azure
+water all around. That was the Gulf Stream loop.
+
+About four o'clock Frisby appeared with a bamboo shelter tent, for
+which I was unaffectedly grateful.
+
+After he had erected it over me he stopped to chat a bit, but the
+conversation bored me, for he could talk of nothing but bill-posting.
+
+"You wouldn't ruin the landscape here, would you?" I asked.
+
+"Ruin it!" repeated Frisby nervously. "It's ruined now; there ain't a
+place to stick a bill."
+
+"The snipe stick bills--in the sand," I said flippantly.
+
+There was no humour about Frisby. "Do they?" he asked.
+
+I moved with a certain impatience.
+
+"Bills," said Frisby, "give spice an' variety to Nature. They break the
+monotony of the everlastin' green and what-you-may-call-its."
+
+I glared at him.
+
+"Bills," he continued, "are not easy to stick, lemme tell you, sir.
+Sign paintin's a soft snap when it comes to bill-stickin'. Now, I guess
+I've stuck more bills in New York State than ennybody."
+
+"Have you?" I said angrily.
+
+"Yes, siree! I always pick out the purtiest spots--kinder filled chuck
+full of woods and brooks and things; then I h'ist my paste-pot onto a
+rock, and I slather that rock with gum, and whoop she goes!"
+
+"Whoop what goes?"
+
+"The bill. I paste her onto the rock, with one swipe of the brush for
+the edges and a back-handed swipe for the finish--except when a bill is
+folded in two halves."
+
+"And what do you do then?" I asked, disgusted.
+
+"Swipe twice," said Frisby with enthusiasm.
+
+"And you don't think it injures the landscape?"
+
+"Injures it!" he exclaimed, convinced that I was attempting to joke.
+
+I looked wearily out to sea. He also looked at the water and sighed
+sentimentally.
+
+"Floatin' buoys with bills onto 'em is a idea of mine," he observed.
+"That damn ocean is monotonous, ain't it?"
+
+I don't know what I might have done to Frisby--the rifle was so
+convenient--if his mean yellow dog had not waddled up at this juncture.
+
+"Hi, Davy, sic 'em!" said Frisby, expectorating upon a clamshell
+and hurling it seaward. The cur watched the flight of the shell
+apathetically, then squatted in the sand and looked at his master.
+
+"Kinder lost his spirit," said Frisby, "ain't he? I once stuck a bill
+onto Davy, an' it come off, an' the paste sorter sickened him. He was
+hell on rats--once!"
+
+After a moment or two Frisby took himself off, whistling cheerfully
+to Davy, who followed him when he was ready. The rifle burned in my
+fingers.
+
+It was nearly six o'clock when the professor appeared, spade on
+shoulder, boots smeared with mud.
+
+"Well," he said, "nothing to report, Dick, my boy?"
+
+"Nothing, professor."
+
+He wiped his shining face with his handkerchief and stared at the water.
+
+"My calculations lead me to believe," he said, "that our prize may be
+due any day now. This theory I base upon the result of the report from
+the last sea captain I saw. I can not understand why some of these
+captains did not take the carcass in tow. They all say that they tried,
+but that the body sank before they could come within half a mile. The
+truth is, probably, that they did not stir a foot from their course to
+examine the thing."
+
+"Have you ever cruised about for it?" I ventured.
+
+"For two years," he said grimly. "It's no use; it's accident when a
+ship falls in with it. One captain reports it a thousand miles from
+where the last skipper spoke it, and always in the Gulf Stream. They
+think it is a different specimen every time, and the papers are teeming
+with sea-serpent fol-de-rol."
+
+"Are you sure," I asked, "that it will swing in to the coast on this
+Gulf Stream loop?"
+
+"I think I may say that it is certain to do so. I experimented with
+a dead right whale. You may have heard of its coming ashore here last
+summer."
+
+"I think I did," said I with a faint smile. The thing had poisoned the
+air for miles around.
+
+"But," I continued, "suppose it comes in the night?"
+
+He laughed.
+
+"There I am lucky. Every night this month, and every day, too,
+the current of the loop runs inland so far that even a porpoise
+would strand for at least twelve hours. Longer than that I have not
+experimented with, but I know that the shore trend of the loop runs
+across a long spur of the submerged volcanic mountain, and that
+anything heavier than a porpoise would scrape the bottom and be carried
+so slowly that at least twelve hours must elapse before the carcass
+could float again into deep water. There are chances of its stranding
+indefinitely, too, but I don't care to take those chances. That is why
+I have stationed you here, Dick, my boy."
+
+He glanced again at the water, smiling to himself.
+
+"There is another question I want to ask," I said, "if you don't mind."
+
+"Of course not!" he said warmly.
+
+"What are you digging for?"
+
+"Why, simply for exercise. The doctor told me I was killing myself
+with my sedentary habits, so I decided to dig. I don't know a better
+exercise. Do you?"
+
+"I suppose not," I murmured, rather red in the face. I wondered whether
+he'd mention fossils.
+
+"Did Daisy tell you why we are making our papier-maché Thermosaurus?"
+he asked.
+
+I shook my head.
+
+"We constructed that from measurements I took from the fossil remains
+of the Thermosaurus in the Metropolitan Museum. Professor Bruce
+Stoddard made the drawings. We set it up here, all ready to receive the
+skin of the carcass that I am expecting."
+
+We had started toward home, walking slowly across the darkening dunes,
+shoulder to shoulder. The sand was deep, and walking was not easy.
+
+"I wish," said I at last, "that I knew why Miss Holroyd asked me not to
+walk on the beach. It's much less fatiguing."
+
+"That," said the professor, "is a matter that I intend to discuss with
+you to-night." He spoke gravely, almost sadly. I felt that something of
+unparalleled importance was soon to be revealed. So I kept very quiet,
+watching the ocean out of the corners of my eyes.
+
+
+IV.
+
+Dinner was ended. Daisy Holroyd lighted her father's pipe for him, and
+insisted on my smoking as much as I pleased. Then she sat down, and
+folded her hands like a good little girl, waiting for her father to
+make the revelation which I felt in my bones must be something out of
+the ordinary.
+
+The professor smoked for a while, gazing meditatively at his daughter;
+then, fixing his gray eyes on me, he said:
+
+"Have you ever heard of the kree--that Australian bird, half parrot,
+half hawk, that destroys so many sheep in New South Wales?"
+
+I nodded.
+
+"The kree kills a sheep by alighting on its back and tearing away
+the flesh with its hooked beak until a vital part is reached. You
+know that? Well, it has been discovered that the kree had prehistoric
+prototypes. These birds were enormous creatures, who preyed upon
+mammoths and mastodons, and even upon the great saurians. It has
+been conclusively proved that a few saurians have been killed by
+the ancestors of the kree, but the favourite food of these birds was
+undoubtedly the Thermosaurus. It is believed that the birds attacked
+the eyes of the Thermosaurus, and when, as was its habit, the mammoth
+creature turned on its back to claw them, they fell upon the thinner
+scales of its stomach armour and finally killed it. This, of course,
+is a theory, but we have almost absolute proofs of its correctness.
+Now, these two birds are known among scientists as the ekaf-bird and
+the ool-yllik. The names are Australian, in which country most of
+their remains have been unearthed. They lived during the Carboniferous
+period. Now it is not generally known, but the fact is, that in
+1801 Captain Ransom, of the British exploring vessel Gull, purchased
+from the natives of Tasmania the skin of an ekaf-bird that could not
+have been killed more than twenty-four hours previous to its sale. I
+saw this skin in the British Museum. It was labelled "unknown bird,
+probably extinct." It took me exactly a week to satisfy myself that it
+was actually the skin of an ekaf-bird. But that is not all, Dick, my
+boy," continued the professor excitedly. "In 1854, Admiral Stuart, of
+our own navy, saw the carcass of a strange gigantic bird floating along
+the southern coast of Australia. Sharks were after it, and, before a
+boat could be lowered, these miserable fish got it. But the good old
+admiral secured a few feathers and sent them to the Smithsonian. I saw
+them. They were not even labelled, but I knew that they were feathers
+from the ekaf-bird or its near relative, the ool-yllik."
+
+I had grown so interested that I had leaned far across the table.
+Daisy, too, bent forward. It was only when the professor paused for a
+moment that I noticed how close together our heads were--Daisy's and
+mine. I don't think she realized it. She did not move.
+
+"Now comes the important part of this long discourse," said the
+professor, smiling at our eagerness. "Ever since the carcass of our
+derelict Thermosaurus was first noticed, every captain who has seen
+it has also reported the presence of one or more gigantic birds in
+the neighbourhood. These birds, at a great distance, appeared to
+be hovering over the carcass, but on the approach of a vessel they
+disappeared. Even in midocean they were observed. When I heard about it
+I was puzzled. A month later I was satisfied that neither the ekaf-bird
+nor the ool-yllik was extinct. Last Monday I knew that I was right.
+I found forty-eight distinct impressions of the huge seven-toed claw
+of the ekaf-bird on the beach here at Pine Inlet. You may imagine my
+excitement. I succeeded in digging up enough wet sand around one of
+these impressions to preserve its form. I managed to get it into a soap
+box, and now it is there in my shop. The tide rose too rapidly for me
+to save the other footprints."
+
+I shuddered at the possibility of a clumsy misstep on my part
+obliterating the impression of an ool-yllik.
+
+"That is the reason that my daughter warned you off the beach," he said
+mildly.
+
+"Hanging would have been too good for the vandal who destroyed such
+priceless prizes!" I cried out in self-reproach.
+
+Daisy Holroyd turned a flushed face to mine, and impulsively laid her
+hand on my sleeve.
+
+"How could you know?" she said.
+
+"It's all right now," said her father, emphasizing each word with
+a gentle tap of his pipe-bowl on the table edge; "don't be hard on
+yourself, Dick, my boy. You'll do yeoman's service yet."
+
+It was nearly midnight, and still we chatted on about the Thermosaurus,
+the ekaf-bird, and the ool-yllik, eagerly discussing the probability of
+the great reptile's carcass being in the vicinity. That alone seemed to
+explain the presence of these prehistoric birds at Pine Inlet.
+
+"Do they ever attack human beings?" I asked.
+
+The professor looked startled.
+
+"Gracious!" he exclaimed, "I never thought of that. And Daisy running
+about out of doors! Dear me! it takes a scientist to be an unnatural
+parent!"
+
+His alarm was half real, half assumed; but all the same, he glanced
+gravely at us both, shaking his handsome head, absorbed in thought.
+Daisy herself looked a little doubtful. As for me, my sensations were
+distinctly queer.
+
+"It is true," said the professor, frowning at the wall, "that human
+remains have been found associated with the bones of the ekaf-bird--I
+don't know how intimately. It is a matter to be taken into most serious
+consideration."
+
+"The problem can be solved," said I, "in several ways. One is, to keep
+Miss Holroyd in the house----"
+
+"I shall not stay in!" cried Daisy indignantly.
+
+We all laughed, and her father assured her that she should not be
+abused.
+
+"Even if I did stay in," she said, "one of these birds might alight on
+Master Dick."
+
+She looked saucily at me as she spoke, but turned crimson when her
+father observed quietly, "You don't seem to think of me, Daisy."
+
+"Of course I do," she said, getting up and putting both arms around
+her father's neck; "but Dick--as--as you call him--is so helpless and
+timid."
+
+My blissful smile froze on my lips.
+
+"Timid!" I repeated.
+
+She came back to the table, making me a mocking reverence.
+
+"Do you think I am to be laughed at with impunity?" she said.
+
+"What are your other plans, Dick, my boy?" asked the
+professor.--"Daisy, let him alone, you little tease!"
+
+"One is, to haul a lot of cast-iron boilers along the dunes," I said.
+"If these birds come when the carcass floats in, and if they seem
+disposed to trouble us, we could crawl into the boilers and be safe."
+
+"Why, that is really brilliant!" cried Daisy.
+
+"Be quiet, my child! Dick, the plan is sound and sensible and perfectly
+practical. McPeek and Frisby shall go for a dozen loads of boilers
+to-morrow."
+
+"It will spoil the beauty of the landscape," said Daisy, with a
+taunting nod to me.
+
+"And Frisby will probably attempt to cover them with bill-posters," I
+added, laughing.
+
+"That," said Daisy, "I shall prevent, even at the cost of my life." And
+she stood up, looking very determined.
+
+"Children, children," protested the professor, "go to bed--you bother
+me."
+
+Then I turned deliberately to Miss Holroyd.
+
+"Good-night, Daisy," I said.
+
+"Good-night, Dick," she said, very gently.
+
+
+V.
+
+The week passed quickly for me, leaving but few definite impressions.
+As I look back to it now I can see the long stretch of beach burning
+in the fierce sunlight, the endless meadows, with the glimmer of
+water in the distance, the dunes, the twisted cedars, the leagues of
+scintillating ocean, rocking, rocking, always rocking. In the starlit
+nights the curlew came in from the sand-bars by twos and threes; I
+could hear their faint call as I lay in bed thinking. All day long the
+little ring-necks whistled from the shore. The plover answered them
+from distant lonely inland pools. The great white gulls drifted like
+feathers upon the sea.
+
+One morning, toward the end of the week, I, strolling along the dunes,
+came upon Frisby. He was bill-posting. I caught him red-handed.
+
+"This," said I, "must stop. Do you understand, Mr. Frisby?"
+
+He stepped back from his work, laying his head on one side, considering
+first me, then the bill that he had pasted on one of our big boilers.
+
+"Don't like the colour?" he asked. "It goes well on them boilers."
+
+"Colour! No, I don't like the colour either. Can't you understand that
+there are some people in the world who object to seeing patent-medicine
+advertisements scattered over a landscape?"
+
+"Hey?" he said perplexed.
+
+"Will you kindly remove that advertisement?" I persisted.
+
+"Too late," said Frisby; "it's sot."
+
+I was too disgusted to speak, but my disgust turned to anger when
+I perceived that, as far as the eye could reach, our boilers, lying
+from three to four hundred feet apart, were ablaze with yellow and red
+posters, extolling the "Eureka Liver Pill Company."
+
+"It don't cost 'em nothin'," said Frisby cheerfully; "I done it fur the
+fun of it. Purty, ain't it?"
+
+"They are Professor Holroyd's boilers," I said, subduing a desire
+to beat Frisby with my telescope. "Wait until Miss Holroyd sees this
+work."
+
+"Don't she like yeller and red?" he demanded anxiously.
+
+"You'll find out," said I.
+
+Frisby gaped at his handiwork and then at his yellow dog. After a
+moment he mechanically spat on a clamshell and requested Davy to "sic"
+it.
+
+"Can't you comprehend that you have ruined our pleasure in the
+landscape?" I asked more mildly.
+
+"I've got some green bills," said Frisby; "I kin stick 'em over the
+yeller ones----"
+
+"Confound it!" said I, "it isn't the colour!"
+
+"Then," observed Frisby, "you don't like them pills. I've got some
+bills of the 'Cropper Bicycle,' and a few of 'Bagley, the Gents'
+Tailor----'"
+
+"Frisby," said I, "use them all--paste the whole collection over your
+dog and yourself--then walk off the cliff."
+
+He sullenly unfolded a green poster, swabbed the boiler with paste,
+laid the upper section of the bill upon it, and plastered the whole
+bill down with a thwack of his brush. As I walked away I heard him
+muttering.
+
+Next day Daisy was so horrified that I promised to give Frisby an
+ultimatum. I found him with Freda, gazing sentimentally at his work,
+and I sent him back to the shop in a hurry, telling Freda at the same
+time that she could spend her leisure in providing Mr. Frisby with
+sand, soap, and a scrubbing brush. Then I walked on to my post of
+observation.
+
+I watched until sunset. Daisy came with her father to hear my report,
+but there was nothing to tell, and we three walked slowly back to the
+house.
+
+In the evenings the professor worked on his volumes, the click of his
+type-writer sounding faintly behind his closed door. Daisy and I played
+chess sometimes; sometimes we played hearts. I don't remember that we
+ever finished a game of either--we talked too much.
+
+Our discussions covered every topic of interest: we argued
+upon politics; we skimmed over literature and music; we settled
+international differences; we spoke vaguely of human brotherhood. I say
+we slighted no subject of interest--I am wrong; we never spoke of love.
+
+Now, love is a matter of interest to ten people out of ten. Why it was
+that it did not appear to interest us is as interesting a question
+as love itself. We were young, alert, enthusiastic, inquiring. We
+eagerly absorbed theories concerning any curious phenomena in Nature,
+as intellectual cocktails to stimulate discussion. And yet we did not
+discuss love. I do not say that we avoided it. No; the subject was too
+completely ignored for even that. And yet we found it very difficult to
+pass an hour separated. The professor noticed this, and laughed at us.
+We were not even embarrassed.
+
+Sunday passed in pious contemplation of the ocean. Daisy read a little
+in her prayer-book, and the professor threw a cloth over his typewriter
+and strolled up and down the sands. He may have been lost in devout
+abstraction; he may have been looking for footprints. As for me, my
+mind was very serene, and I was more than happy. Daisy read to me a
+little for my soul's sake, and the professor came up and said something
+cheerful. He also examined the magazine of my Winchester.
+
+That night, too, Daisy took her guitar to the sands and sang one or two
+Armenian hymns. Unlike us, the Armenians do not take their pleasures
+sadly. One of their pleasures is evidently religion.
+
+The big moon came up over the dunes and stared at the sea until the
+surface of every wave trembled with radiance. A sudden stillness fell
+across the world; the wind died out; the foam ran noiselessly across
+the beach; the cricket's rune was stilled.
+
+I leaned back, dropping one hand upon the sand. It touched another
+hand, soft and cool.
+
+After a while the other hand moved slightly, and I found that my own
+had closed above it. Presently one finger stirred a little--only a
+little--for our fingers were interlocked.
+
+On the shore the foam-froth bubbled and winked and glimmered in the
+moonlight. A star fell from the zenith, showering the night with
+incandescent dust.
+
+If our fingers lay interlaced beside us, her eyes were calm and serene
+as always, wide open, fixed upon the depths of a dark sky. And when her
+father rose and spoke to us, she did not withdraw her hand.
+
+"Is it late?" she asked dreamily.
+
+"It is midnight, little daughter."
+
+I stood up, still holding her hand, and aided her to rise. And when, at
+the door, I said good-night, she turned and looked at me for a little
+while in silence, then passed into her room slowly, with head still
+turned toward me.
+
+All night long I dreamed of her; and when the east whitened, I sprang
+up, the thunder of the ocean in my ears, the strong sea wind blowing
+into the open window.
+
+"She is asleep," I thought, and I leaned from the window and peered out
+into the east.
+
+The sea called to me, tossing its thousand arms; the soaring gulls,
+dipping, rising, wheeling above the sand-bar, screamed and clamoured
+for a playmate. I slipped into my bathing suit, dropped from the window
+upon the soft sand, and in a moment had plunged head foremost into the
+surf, swimming beneath the waves toward the open sea.
+
+Under the tossing ocean the voice of the waters was in my ears--a low,
+sweet voice, intimate, mysterious. Through singing foam and broad,
+green, glassy depths, by whispering sandy channels atrail with seaweed,
+and on, on, out into the vague, cool sea, I sped, rising to the top,
+sinking, gliding. Then at last I flung myself out of water, hands
+raised, and the clamour of the gulls filled my ears.
+
+As I lay, breathing fast, drifting on the sea, far out beyond the gulls
+I saw a flash of white, and an arm was lifted, signalling me.
+
+"Daisy!" I called.
+
+A clear hail came across the water, distinct on the sea wind, and at
+the same instant we raised our hands and moved toward each other.
+
+How we laughed as we met in the sea! The white dawn came up out of the
+depths, the zenith turned to rose and ashes.
+
+And with the dawn came the wind--a great sea wind, fresh, aromatic,
+that hurled our voices back into our throats and lifted the sheeted
+spray above our heads. Every wave, crowned with mist, caught us in a
+cool embrace, cradled us, and slipped away, only to leave us to another
+wave, higher, stronger, crested with opalescent glory, breathing
+incense.
+
+We turned together up the coast, swimming lightly side by side, but our
+words were caught up by the winds and whirled into the sky.
+
+We looked up at the driving clouds; we looked out upon the pallid waste
+of waters; but it was into each other's eyes we looked, wondering,
+wistful, questioning the reason of sky and sea. And there in each
+other's eyes we read the mystery, and we knew that earth and sky and
+sea were created for us alone.
+
+Drifting on by distant sands and dunes, her white fingers touching
+mine, we spoke, keying our tones to the wind's vast harmony. And we
+spoke of love.
+
+Gray and wide as the limitless span of the sky and the sea, the
+winds gathered from the world's ends to bear us on; but they were
+not familiar winds; for now, along the coast, the breakers curled and
+showed a million fangs, and the ocean stirred to its depths, uneasy,
+ominous, and the menace of its murmur drew us closer as we moved.
+
+Where the dull thunder and the tossing spray warned us from sunken
+reefs, we heard the harsh challenges of gulls; where the pallid surf
+twisted in yellow coils of spume above the bar, the singing sands
+murmured of treachery and secrets of lost souls agasp in the throes of
+silent undertows.
+
+But there was a little stretch of beach glimmering through the
+mountains of water, and toward this we turned, side by side. Around us
+the water grew warmer; the breath of the following waves moistened our
+cheeks; the water itself grew gray and strange about us.
+
+"We have come too far," I said; but she only answered: "Faster, faster!
+I am afraid!" The water was almost hot now; its aromatic odour filled
+our lungs.
+
+"The Gulf loop!" I muttered. "Daisy, shall I help you?"
+
+"No. Swim--close by me! Oh-h! Dick----"
+
+Her startled cry was echoed by another--a shrill scream, unutterably
+horrible--and a great bird flapped from the beach, splashing and
+beating its pinions across the water with a thundering noise.
+
+Out across the waves it blundered, rising little by little from the
+water, and now, to my horror, I saw another monstrous bird swinging in
+the air above it, squealing as it turned on its vast wings. Before I
+could speak we touched the beach, and I half lifted her to the shore.
+
+"Quick!" I repeated. "We must not wait."
+
+Her eyes were dark with fear, but she rested a hand on my shoulder, and
+we crept up among the dune grasses and sank down by the point of sand
+where the rough shelter stood, surrounded by the iron-ringed piles.
+
+She lay there, breathing fast and deep, dripping with spray. I had no
+power of speech left, but when I rose wearily to my knees and looked
+out upon the water my blood ran cold. Above the ocean, on the breast
+of the roaring wind, three enormous birds sailed, turning and wheeling
+among each other; and below, drifting with the gray stream of the Gulf
+loop, a colossal bulk lay half submerged--a gigantic lizard, floating
+belly upward.
+
+Then Daisy crept kneeling to my side and touched me, trembling from
+head to foot.
+
+"I know," I muttered. "I must run back for the rifle."
+
+"And--and leave me?"
+
+I took her by the hand, and we dragged ourselves through the wire grass
+to the open end of a boiler lying in the sand.
+
+She crept in on her hands and knees, and called to me to follow.
+
+"You are safe now," I cried. "I must go back for the rifle."
+
+"The birds may--may attack you."
+
+"If they do I can get into one of the other boilers," I said. "Daisy,
+you must not venture out until I come back. You won't, will you?"
+
+"No-o," she whispered doubtfully.
+
+"Then--good-by."
+
+"Good-by," she answered, but her voice was very small and still.
+
+"Good-by," I said again. I was kneeling at the mouth of the big iron
+tunnel; it was dark inside and I could not see her, but, before I was
+conscious of it, her arms were around my neck and we had kissed each
+other.
+
+I don't remember how I went away. When I came to my proper senses I was
+swimming along the coast at full speed, and over my head wheeled one of
+the birds, screaming at every turn.
+
+The intoxication of that innocent embrace, the close impress of her
+arms around my neck, gave me a strength and recklessness that neither
+fear nor fatigue could subdue. The bird above me did not even frighten
+me; I watched it over my shoulder, swimming strongly, with the tide now
+aiding me, now stemming my course; but I saw the shore passing quickly
+and my strength increased, and I shouted when I came in sight of the
+house, and scrambled up on the sand, dripping and excited. There was
+nobody in sight, and I gave a last glance up into the air where the
+bird wheeled, still screeching, and hastened into the house. Freda
+stared at me in amazement as I seized the rifle and shouted for the
+professor.
+
+"He has just gone to town, with Captain McPeek in his wagon," stammered
+Freda.
+
+"What!" I cried. "Does he know where his daughter is?"
+
+"Miss Holroyd is asleep--not?" gasped Freda.
+
+"Where's Frisby?" I cried impatiently.
+
+"Yimmie?" quavered Freda.
+
+"Yes, Jimmie; isn't there anybody here? Good heavens! where's that man
+in the shop?"
+
+"He also iss gone," said Freda, shedding tears, "to buy papier-maché.
+Yimmie, he iss gone to post bills."
+
+I waited to hear no more, but swung my rifle over my shoulder, and,
+hanging the cartridge belt across my chest, hurried out and up the
+beach. The bird was not in sight.
+
+I had been running for perhaps a minute when, far up on the dunes, I
+saw a yellow dog rush madly through a clump of sweet bay, and at the
+same moment a bird soared past, rose, and hung hovering just above
+the thicket. Suddenly the bird swooped; there was a shriek and a yelp
+from the cur, but the bird gripped it in one claw and beat its wings
+upon the sand, striving to rise. Then I saw Frisby--paste, bucket, and
+brush raised--fall upon the bird, yelling lustily. The fierce creature
+relaxed its talons, and the dog rushed on, squeaking with terror. The
+bird turned on Frisby and sent him sprawling on his face, a sticky
+mass of paste and sand. But this did not end the struggle. The bird,
+croaking wildly, flew at the prostrate billposter, and the sand whirled
+into a pillar above its terrible wings. Scarcely knowing what I was
+about, I raised my rifle and fired twice. A horrid scream echoed each
+shot, and the bird rose heavily in a shower of sand; but two bullets
+were embedded in that mass of foul feathers, and I saw the wires and
+scarlet tape uncoiling on the sand at my feet. In an instant I seized
+them and passed the ends around a cedar tree, hooking the clasps tight.
+Then I cast one swift glance upward, where the bird wheeled screeching,
+anchored like a kite to the pallium wires; and I hurried on across
+the dunes, the shells cutting my feet, and the bushes tearing my wet
+swimming suit, until I dripped with blood from shoulder to ankle. Out
+in the ocean the carcass of the Thermosaurus floated, claws outspread,
+belly glistening in the gray light, and over him circled two birds. As
+I reached the shelter I knelt and fired into the mass of scales, and at
+my first shot a horrible thing occurred: the lizardlike head writhed,
+the slitted yellow eyes sliding open from the film that covered them.
+A shudder passed across the undulating body, the great scaled belly
+heaved, and one leg feebly clawed at the air.
+
+The thing was still alive!
+
+Crushing back the horror that almost paralyzed my hands, I planted shot
+after shot into the quivering reptile, while it writhed and clawed,
+striving to turn over and dive; and at each shot the black blood
+spurted in long, slim jets across the water. And now Daisy was at my
+side, pale and determined, swiftly clasping each tape-marked wire to
+the iron rings in the circle around us. Twice I filled the magazine
+from my belt, and twice I poured streams of steel-tipped bullets into
+the scaled mass, twisting and shuddering on the sea. Suddenly the birds
+steered toward us. I felt the wind from their vast wings. I saw the
+feathers erect, vibrating. I saw the spread claws outstretched, and I
+struck furiously at them, crying to Daisy to run into the iron shelter.
+Backing, swinging my clubbed rifle, I retreated, but I tripped across
+one of the taut pallium wires, and in an instant the hideous birds were
+on me, and the bone in my forearm snapped like a pipestem at a blow
+from their wings. Twice I struggled to my knees, blinded with blood,
+confused, almost fainting; then I fell again, rolling into the mouth of
+the iron boiler.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+When I struggled back to consciousness Daisy knelt silently beside me,
+while Captain McPeek and Professor Holroyd bound up my shattered arm,
+talking excitedly. The pain made me faint and dizzy. I tried to speak
+and could not. At last they got me to my feet and into the wagon, and
+Daisy came, too, and crouched beside me, wrapped in oilskins to her
+eyes. Fatigue, lack of food, and excitement had combined with wounds
+and broken bones to extinguish the last atom of strength in my body;
+but my mind was clear enough to understand that the trouble was over
+and the Thermosaurus safe.
+
+I heard McPeek say that one of the birds that I had anchored to a cedar
+tree had torn loose from the bullets and winged its way heavily out
+to sea. The professor answered: "Yes, the ekaf-bird; the others were
+ool-ylliks. I'd have given my right arm to have secured them." Then
+for a time I heard no more; but the jolting of the wagon over the dunes
+roused me to keenest pain, and I held out my right hand to Daisy. She
+clasped it in both of hers, and kissed it again and again.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+There is little more to add, I think. Professor Bruce Stoddard has
+edited this story carefully. His own scientific pamphlet will be
+published soon, to be followed by Professor Holroyd's sixteen volumes.
+In a few days the stuffed and mounted Thermosaurus will be placed on
+free public exhibition in the arena of Madison Square Garden, the only
+building in the city large enough to contain the body of this immense
+winged reptile.
+
+When my arm came out of splints, Daisy and I---- But really that
+has nothing to do with a detailed scientific description of the
+Thermosaurus, which, I think, I shall add as an appendix to the book.
+If you do not find it there it will be because Daisy and I have very
+little time to write about Thermosaurians.
+
+But what I really want to tell you about is the extraordinary
+adventures of Captain McPeek and Frisby--how they produced a specimen
+of Samia Cynthia that dwarfed a hundred of Attacus Atlas, and how the
+American line steamer St. Louis fouled the thing with her screw.
+
+The more I think of it the more determined I am to tell it to you. It
+will be difficult to prevent me. And that is not fiction either.
+
+
+
+
+ENVOI.
+
+
+
+
+_ENVOI._
+
+
+ _I._
+
+ _When shadows pass across the grass
+  And April breezes stir the sedge,
+  Along the brimming river's edge
+    I trail my line for silver trout,
+  And smoke, and dream of you, my lass,
+    And wonder why we two fell out,
+    And how the deuce it came about._
+
+ _II._
+
+ _When swallows sheer the meadow-mere
+  And thickets thrill with thrushes' hymns,
+  Along the mill-pond's reedy rims
+    I trail my line for shining dace;
+  But how can finny fishes cheer
+    A fellow, if he find no grace
+    In your sweet eyes and your dear face?_
+
+ _III._
+
+ _Let thrushes wing their way and sing
+  Where cresses freshen pebbled nooks;
+  By silent rills and singing brooks
+    I pass my way alone, alas!
+  With your dear name the woodlands ring--
+    Your name is murmured by the grass,
+    By earth, by air, all-where I pass._
+
+ _IV._
+
+ _The painted bream may swim the stream--
+    I'll cast no line to-day, pardi!
+  In vain the river-ripples gleam,
+    In vain the thrushes' minstrelsy.
+  Vain is the wind that whispers, "Lo!
+  Thy fish are waiting--Angler, go!"_
+
+ _V._
+
+ _Will you forgive if I forgive?
+  Life is too sad, I think, to live
+  Alone, and dream and smoke and fish;
+  I'll say "Forgive" first--if you wish?_
+
+ _VI._
+
+ _For at that word, the Sorcery
+  Of Love shall change the earth and sky
+  To Paradise, with cherubim
+  Instead of birds on every limb._
+
+ _VII._
+
+ _Rivers shall sing our rhapsody;
+  The vaulted forest, tree by tree,
+  High hung with tapestry, shall glow
+  With golden pillars all a-row._
+
+ _VIII._
+
+ _And down the gilded forest aisle
+  Shy throngs of violets shall smile
+  And kiss your feet from tree to tree
+  While blue-bells droop in courtesy._
+
+ _IX._
+
+ _And if the sun incarnadine
+  The clouds--green leaves shall be your screen;
+  And if the clouds with jealousy
+  Should weep--we'll beg of some kind tree
+  A moment's hospitality._
+
+ _X._
+
+ _Good cheer is here, if you incline;
+  Moss-hidden springs shall bubble wine
+  While squirrels chuckle, rank on rank,
+  And strawberries from every bank
+  Shall blush to see how deep we drank._
+
+ _XI._
+
+ _Winds of the West shall cool our eyes
+  While every woodland creature tries
+  His voice a little, so that he
+  May know his notes more perfectly
+  When crickets start the symphony._
+
+ _XII._
+
+ _Through hazel glade and scented dell
+  Where brooklets ring a tinkling bell,
+  The forest orchestra shall swell,
+  Until the sun-soaked grasses ring
+  With crickets strumming string on string._
+
+ _XIII._
+
+ _Then, with your white hand daintily
+  Scarce touching mine, we'll leave our tree
+  And ramble slowly toward the West
+  Where our high castle's flaming crest,
+  Towering behind the setting sun,
+  Flings out its banners, one by one,
+  Signals of fire, that day is done._
+
+ _XIV._
+
+ _Deep in that palace we shall find
+  How blind we are, how blind! how blind!
+  And how he'll laugh, who holds the key
+  To the great portal's mystery!
+  And how his joyous laugh will ring
+  When you and I shall bid him fling
+  The gates ajar for you and me!_
+
+ _XV._
+
+ _Let shadows flee athwart the lea
+  When dark December strips the hedge
+  Along the icy river's edge;
+    Yet, if you will forgive me, lass,
+  The world shall bloom like spring to me,
+    Snow turn to dew upon the grass
+    And fagots blossom where you pass._
+
+ _XVI._
+
+ _Swallows shall sheer the frozen mere,
+  Dead reeds along the mill-pond's rims
+  Shall thrill with summer-thrushes' hymns,
+    While summer breezes blow apace,
+  If you will but forgive me, dear,
+    And let me find a moment's grace,
+    In your sweet eyes and your dear face._
+
+                                       _R. W. C._
+
+
+THE END.
+
+
+
+
+CORRECTIONS
+
+
+  page     original text                    correction
+  ix       [missing from contents]          THE KEY TO GRIEF      185
+  13       Yvette has gone to Bannelec.     Yvette has gone to Bannalec.
+  23       It was crowded with Britons,     It was crowded with Bretons,
+  29       doxens of similar red            dozens of similar red
+  93       the great moth dated             the great moth darted
+  103      among the beach trees.           among the beech trees.
+  104      leaves of beach and oak          leaves of beech and oak
+  135      Sacré garce!                     Sacrée garce!
+  167      O frère Jaques,                  O frère Jacques,
+  180      carved from red beach.           carved from red beech.
+  181      their is much lace               there is much lace
+  181      chiselled in red beach.          chiselled in red beech.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's The Mystery of Choice, by Robert William Chambers
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 46581 ***
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-Project Gutenberg's The Mystery of Choice, by Robert William Chambers

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-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

-

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-Title: The Mystery of Choice

-

-Author: Robert William Chambers

-

-Release Date: August 13, 2014 [EBook #46581]

-

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-*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MYSTERY OF CHOICE ***

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-</pre>

-

-<p class="center"><big>TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:</big></p>

-<p>Inconsistencies in hyphenation and spelling have not been corrected.

-Punctuation has been silently corrected. A list of other corrections can be found at the <a href="#Corrections">end

-of the document</a>.</p>

-

-<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">

-   <img src="images/cover.jpg" width="500" height="837" id="coverpage"

-      alt="" title="The Mystery of Choice" />

-</div>

-

-<hr />

-

-<h1 class="page-break">THE MYSTERY<br />

-OF CHOICE</h1>

-

-<p class="center spaced"><small>BY</small><br />

-ROBERT W. CHAMBERS</p>

-

-<p class="center"><small>AUTHOR OF THE KING IN YELLOW, THE RED REPUBLIC,

-A KING AND A FEW DUKES, THE MAKER OF MOONS, ETC.</small></p>

-

-<p class="center spaced">NEW YORK<br />

-D. APPLETON AND COMPANY<br />

-1897</p>

-

-<hr />

-

-<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Copyright, 1897,<br />

-By ROBERT W. CHAMBERS.</span></p>

-

-<hr />

-

-<h2><i>DEDICATION.</i><span class="pb" id="Pgv">[v]</span></h2>

-

-<div class="poetry-container">

-<div class="poem italic"><div class="stanza">

-<div class="verse">There is a maid, demure as she is wise,</div>

-<div class="verse">With all of April in her winsome eyes,</div>

-<div class="verse">And to my tales she listens pensively,</div>

-<div class="verse">With slender fingers clasped about her knee,</div>

-<div class="verse">Watching the sparrows on the balcony.</div></div>

-

-<div class="stanza">

-<div class="verse indent2">Shy eyes that, lifted up to me,</div>

-<div class="verse indent2">Free all my heart of vanity;</div>

-<div class="verse indent2">Clear eyes, that speak all silently,</div>

-<div class="verse indent2">Sweet as the silence of a nunnery&mdash;</div>

-<div class="verse indent2">Read, for I write my rede for you alone,</div>

-<div class="verse indent2">Here where the city's mighty monotone</div>

-<div class="verse indent2">Deepens the silence to a symphony&mdash;</div>

-<div class="verse indent2">Silence of Saints, and Seers, and Sorcery.</div></div>

-

-<div class="stanza">

-<div class="verse">Arms and the Man! A noble theme, I ween!</div>

-<div class="verse">Alas! I can not sing of these, Eileen&mdash;</div>

-<div class="verse">Only of maids and men and meadow-grass,</div>

-<div class="verse">Of sea and fields and woodlands, where I pass;</div>

-<div class="verse">Nothing but these I know, Eileen, alas!</div></div>

-

-<div class="stanza">

-<div class="verse indent2">Clear eyes that, lifted up to me,</div>

-<div class="verse indent2">Free all my soul from vanity;</div>

-<div class="verse indent2">Gray eyes, that speak all wistfully&mdash;</div>

-<div class="verse indent2">Nothing but these I know, alas!</div></div>

-

-<div class="stanza">

-<div class="verse indent32">R. W. C.</div></div>

-

-<div class="stanza">

-<div class="verse">April, 1896.</div>

-</div></div></div>

-

-<hr />

-

-<h2><i>INTRODUCTION.</i><span class="pb" id="Pgvii">[vii]</span></h2>

-

-<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem italic">

-<div class="stanza"><div class="center">I.</div>

-<div class="verse">Where two fair paths, deep flowered</div>

-<div class="verse indent22">And leaf-embowered,</div>

-<div class="verse">Creep East and West across a World concealed,</div>

-<div class="verse">Which shall he take who journeys far afield?</div></div>

-

-<div class="stanza"><div class="center">II.</div>

-<div class="verse">Canst thou then say, "I go,"</div>

-<div class="verse indent22">Or "I forego"?</div>

-<div class="verse">What turns thee East or West, as thistles blow?</div>

-<div class="verse">Is fair more fair than fair&mdash;and dost thou know?</div></div>

-

-<div class="stanza"><div class="center">III.</div>

-<div class="verse">Turn to the West, unblessed</div>

-<div class="verse indent22">And uncaressed;</div>

-<div class="verse">Turn to the East, and, seated at the Feast</div>

-<div class="verse">Thou shalt find Life, or Death from Life released.</div></div>

-

-<div class="stanza"><div class="center">IV.</div>

-<div class="verse">And thou who lovest best</div>

-<div class="verse indent22">A maid dark-tressed,</div>

-<div class="verse">And passest others by with careless eye,</div>

-<div class="verse">Canst thou tell why thou choosest? Tell, then; why?</div></div>

-

-<div class="stanza"><div class="center">V.</div>

-<div class="verse">So when thy kiss is given</div>

-<div class="verse indent22">Or half-forgiven,</div>

-<div class="verse">Why should she tremble, with her face flame-hot,</div>

-<div class="verse">Or laugh and whisper, "Love, I tremble not"?</div></div>

-

-<div class="stanza"><div class="center"><span class="pb" id="Pgviii">[viii]</span>

-VI.</div>

-<div class="verse">Or when thy hand may catch</div>

-<div class="verse indent22">A half-drawn latch,</div>

-<div class="verse">What draws thee from the door, to turn and pass</div>

-<div class="verse">Through streets unknown, dim, still, and choked with grass?</div></div>

-

-<div class="stanza"><div class="center">VII.</div>

-<div class="verse">What! Canst thou not foresee</div>

-<div class="verse indent22">The Mystery?</div>

-<div class="verse">Heed! For a Voice commands thy every deed!</div>

-<div class="verse">And it hath sounded. And thou needs must heed!</div></div>

-

-<div class="stanza">

-<div class="verse indent32">R. W. C.</div></div>

-

-<div class="stanza">

-<div class="verse">1896.</div>

-</div></div></div>

-

-<hr />

-

-<h2>CONTENTS.<span class="pb" id="Pgix">[ix]</span></h2>

-

-<table class="toc" summary="Table of Contents">

-  <tr><th>&nbsp;</th><th class="tocpag">PAGE</th></tr>

-  <tr><td class="tocchp">The Purple Emperor</td>

-    <td class="tocpag"><a href="#Pg1">1</a></td></tr>

-  <tr><td class="tocchp">Pompe Funèbre</td>

-    <td class="tocpag"><a href="#Pg39">39</a></td></tr>

-  <tr><td class="tocchp">The Messenger</td>

-    <td class="tocpag"><a href="#Pg47">47</a></td></tr>

-  <tr><td class="tocchp">The White Shadow</td>

-    <td class="tocpag"><a href="#Pg109">109</a></td></tr>

-  <tr><td class="tocchp">Passeur</td>

-    <td class="tocpag"><a href="#Pg175">175</a></td></tr>

-  <tr><td class="tocchp"><ins class="corr" title="[missing from contents]" id="Cix">The Key to Grief</ins></td>

-    <td class="tocpag"><a href="#Pg185">185</a></td></tr>

-  <tr><td class="tocchp">A Matter of Interest</td>

-    <td class="tocpag"><a href="#Pg213">213</a></td></tr>

-  <tr><td class="tocchp">Envoi</td>

-    <td class="tocpag"><a href="#Pg283">283</a></td></tr>

-</table>

-

-<hr />

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<h2>THE PURPLE EMPEROR.<span class="pb" id="Pg1">[1]</span></h2>

-

-<hr />

-

-<p class="center"><big>THE PURPLE EMPEROR.</big><span class="pb" id="Pg3">[3]</span></p>

-

-<div class="poetry-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<div class="verse">Un souvenir heureux est peut-être, sur terre,</div>

-<div class="verse indent2">Plus vrai que le bonheur.</div></div>

-

-<div class="stanza">

-<div class="verse indent32"><span class="smcap">A. de Musset.</span></div>

-</div></div></div>

-

-<h3>I.</h3>

-

-<p>The Purple Emperor watched me in silence.

-I cast again, spinning out six feet more of waterproof

-silk, and, as the line hissed through the air

-far across the pool, I saw my three flies fall on

-the water like drifting thistledown. The Purple

-Emperor sneered.</p>

-

-<p>"You see," he said, "I am right. There is

-not a trout in Brittany that will rise to a tailed

-fly."</p>

-

-<p>"They do in America," I replied.</p>

-

-<p>"Zut! for America!" observed the Purple

-Emperor.</p>

-

-<p>"And trout take a tailed fly in England," I

-insisted sharply.</p>

-

-<p>"Now do I care what things or people do in

-England?" demanded the Purple Emperor.</p>

-

-<p>"You don't care for anything except yourself

-and your wriggling caterpillars," I said,

-more annoyed than I had yet been.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg4">[4]</span>

-The Purple Emperor sniffed. His broad,

-hairless, sunburnt features bore that obstinate

-expression which always irritated me. Perhaps

-the manner in which he wore his hat intensified

-the irritation, for the flapping brim rested on

-both ears, and the two little velvet ribbons which

-hung from the silver buckle in front wiggled

-and fluttered with every trivial breeze. His

-cunning eyes and sharp-pointed nose were out

-of all keeping with his fat red face. When he

-met my eye, he chuckled.</p>

-

-<p>"I know more about insects than any man in

-Morbihan&mdash;or Finistère either, for that matter,"

-he said.</p>

-

-<p>"The Red Admiral knows as much as you

-do," I retorted.</p>

-

-<p>"He doesn't," replied the Purple Emperor

-angrily.</p>

-

-<p>"And his collection of butterflies is twice as

-large as yours," I added, moving down the

-stream to a spot directly opposite him.</p>

-

-<p>"It is, is it?" sneered the Purple Emperor.

-"Well, let me tell you, Monsieur Darrel, in all

-his collection he hasn't a specimen, a single

-specimen, of that magnificent butterfly, Apatura

-Iris, commonly known as the 'Purple

-Emperor.'"</p>

-

-<p>"Everybody in Brittany knows that," I

-said, casting across the sparkling water; "but

-just because you happen to be the only man

-who ever captured a 'Purple Emperor' in

-<span class="pb" id="Pg5">[5]</span>

-Morbihan, it doesn't follow that you are an

-authority on sea-trout flies. Why do you

-say that a Breton sea-trout won't touch a

-tailed fly?"</p>

-

-<p>"It's so," he replied.</p>

-

-<p>"Why? There are plenty of May-flies about

-the stream."</p>

-

-<p>"Let 'em fly!" snarled the Purple Emperor,

-"you won't see a trout touch 'em."</p>

-

-<p>My arm was aching, but I grasped my split

-bamboo more firmly, and, half turning, waded

-out into the stream and began to whip the ripples

-at the head of the pool. A great green

-dragon-fly came drifting by on the summer

-breeze and hung a moment above the pool, glittering

-like an emerald.</p>

-

-<p>"There's a chance! Where is your butterfly

-net?" I called across the stream.</p>

-

-<p>"What for? That dragon-fly? I've got

-dozens&mdash;Anax Junius, Drury, characteristic,

-anal angle of posterior wings, in male, round;

-thorax marked with&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

-

-<p>"That will do," I said fiercely. "Can't I

-point out an insect in the air without this burst

-of erudition? Can you tell me, in simple everyday

-French, what this little fly is&mdash;this one, flitting

-over the eel grass here beside me? See, it

-has fallen on the water."</p>

-

-<p>"Huh!" sneered the Purple Emperor,

-"that's a Linnobia annulus."</p>

-

-<p>"What's that?" I demanded.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg6">[6]</span>

-Before he could answer there came a heavy

-splash in the pool, and the fly disappeared.</p>

-

-<p>"He! he! he!" tittered the Purple Emperor.

-"Didn't I tell you the fish knew their business?

-That was a sea-trout. I hope you don't get

-him."</p>

-

-<p>He gathered up his butterfly net, collecting

-box, chloroform bottle, and cyanide jar. Then

-he rose, swung the box over his shoulder,

-stuffed the poison bottles into the pockets of

-his silver-buttoned velvet coat, and lighted his

-pipe. This latter operation was a demoralizing

-spectacle, for the Purple Emperor, like all Breton

-peasants, smoked one of those microscopical

-Breton pipes which requires ten minutes to

-find, ten minutes to fill, ten minutes to light,

-and ten seconds to finish. With true Breton

-stolidity he went through this solemn rite, blew

-three puffs of smoke into the air, scratched his

-pointed nose reflectively, and waddled away,

-calling back an ironical "Au revoir, and bad

-luck to all Yankees!"</p>

-

-<p>I watched him out of sight, thinking sadly

-of the young girl whose life he made a hell

-upon earth&mdash;Lys Trevec, his niece. She never

-admitted it, but we all knew what the black-and-blue

-marks meant on her soft, round arm,

-and it made me sick to see the look of fear

-come into her eyes when the Purple Emperor

-waddled into the café of the Groix Inn.</p>

-

-<p>It was commonly said that he half-starved

-<span class="pb" id="Pg7">[7]</span>

-her. This she denied. Marie Joseph and 'Fine

-Lelocard had seen him strike her the day after

-the Pardon of the Birds because she had liberated

-three bullfinches which he had limed the

-day before. I asked Lys if this were true, and

-she refused to speak to me for the rest of the

-week. There was nothing to do about it. If

-the Purple Emperor had not been avaricious, I

-should never have seen Lys at all, but he could

-not resist the thirty francs a week which I offered

-him; and Lys posed for me all day long,

-happy as a linnet in a pink thorn hedge. Nevertheless,

-the Purple Emperor hated me, and constantly

-threatened to send Lys back to her dreary

-flax-spinning. He was suspicious, too, and when

-he had gulped down the single glass of cider

-which proves fatal to the sobriety of most Bretons,

-he would pound the long, discoloured

-oaken table and roar curses on me, on Yves Terrec,

-and on the Red Admiral. We were the

-three objects in the world which he most hated:

-me, because I was a foreigner, and didn't care

-a rap for him and his butterflies; and the Red

-Admiral, because he was a rival entomologist.</p>

-

-<p>He had other reasons for hating Terrec.</p>

-

-<p>The Red Admiral, a little wizened wretch,

-with a badly adjusted glass eye and a passion for

-brandy, took his name from a butterfly which

-predominated in his collection. This butterfly,

-commonly known to amateurs as the "Red

-Admiral," and to entomologists as Vanessa Atalanta,

-<span class="pb" id="Pg8">[8]</span>

-had been the occasion of scandal among

-the entomologists of France and Brittany. For

-the Red Admiral had taken one of these common

-insects, dyed it a brilliant yellow by the aid of

-chemicals, and palmed it off on a credulous collector

-as a South African species, absolutely

-unique. The fifty francs which he gained by

-this rascality were, however, absorbed in a suit

-for damages brought by the outraged amateur a

-month later; and when he had sat in the Quimperlé

-jail for a month, he reappeared in the

-little village of St. Gildas soured, thirsty, and

-burning for revenge. Of course we named him

-the Red Admiral, and he accepted the name

-with suppressed fury.</p>

-

-<p>The Purple Emperor, on the other hand, had

-gained his imperial title legitimately, for it was

-an undisputed fact that the only specimen of that

-beautiful butterfly, Apatura Iris, or the Purple

-Emperor, as it is called by amateurs&mdash;the only

-specimen that had ever been taken in Finistère

-or in Morbihan&mdash;was captured and brought

-home alive by Joseph Marie Gloanec, ever afterward

-to be known as the Purple Emperor.</p>

-

-<p>When the capture of this rare butterfly became

-known the Red Admiral nearly went

-crazy. Every day for a week he trotted over

-to the Groix Inn, where the Purple Emperor

-lived with his niece, and brought his microscope

-to bear on the rare newly captured butterfly, in

-hopes of detecting a fraud. But this specimen

-<span class="pb" id="Pg9">[9]</span>

-was genuine, and he leered through his microscope

-in vain.</p>

-

-<p>"No chemicals there, Admiral," grinned the

-Purple Emperor; and the Red Admiral chattered

-with rage.</p>

-

-<p>To the scientific world of Brittany and

-France the capture of an Apatura Iris in Morbihan

-was of great importance. The Museum of

-Quimper offered to purchase the butterfly, but

-the Purple Emperor, though a hoarder of gold,

-was a monomaniac on butterflies, and he jeered

-at the Curator of the Museum. From all parts

-of Brittany and France letters of inquiry and

-congratulation poured in upon him. The

-French Academy of Sciences awarded him a

-prize, and the Paris Entomological Society made

-him an honorary member. Being a Breton

-peasant, and a more than commonly pig-headed

-one at that, these honours did not disturb his

-equanimity; but when the little hamlet of St.

-Gildas elected him mayor, and, as is the custom

-in Brittany under such circumstances, he left

-his thatched house to take up an official life in

-the little Groix Inn, his head became completely

-turned. To be mayor in a village of nearly one

-hundred and fifty people! It was an empire!

-So he became unbearable, drinking himself viciously

-drunk every night of his life, maltreating

-his niece, Lys Trevec, like the barbarous old

-wretch that he was, and driving the Red Admiral

-nearly frantic with his eternal harping on

-<span class="pb" id="Pg10">[10]</span>

-the capture of Apatura Iris. Of course he refused

-to tell where he had caught the butterfly.

-The Red Admiral stalked his footsteps, but

-in vain.</p>

-

-<p>"He! he! he!" nagged the Purple Emperor,

-cuddling his chin over a glass of cider;

-"I saw you sneaking about the St. Gildas

-spinny yesterday morning. So you think you

-can find another Apatura Iris by running after

-me? It won't do, Admiral, it won't do, d'ye

-see?"</p>

-

-<p>The Red Admiral turned yellow with mortification

-and envy, but the next day he actually

-took to his bed, for the Purple Emperor had

-brought home not a butterfly but a live chrysalis,

-which, if successfully hatched, would become

-a perfect specimen of the invaluable Apatura

-Iris. This was the last straw. The Red

-Admiral shut himself up in his little stone cottage,

-and for weeks now he had been invisible

-to everybody except 'Fine Lelocard who carried

-him a loaf of bread and a mullet or langouste

-every morning.</p>

-

-<p>The withdrawal of the Red Admiral from the

-society of St. Gildas excited first the derision

-and finally the suspicion of the Purple Emperor.

-What deviltry could he be hatching? Was he

-experimenting with chemicals again, or was he

-engaged in some deeper plot, the object of which

-was to discredit the Purple Emperor? Roux,

-the postman, who carried the mail on foot once

-<span class="pb" id="Pg11">[11]</span>

-a day from Bannalec, a distance of fifteen miles

-each way, had brought several suspicious letters,

-bearing English stamps, to the Red Admiral,

-and the next day the Admiral had been observed

-at his window grinning up into the sky and

-rubbing his hands together. A night or two

-after this apparition the postman left two packages

-at the Groix Inn for a moment while he ran

-across the way to drink a glass of cider with me.

-The Purple Emperor, who was roaming about

-the café, snooping into everything that did not

-concern him, came upon the packages and examined

-the postmarks and addresses. One of

-the packages was square and heavy, and felt like

-a book. The other was also square, but very

-light, and felt like a pasteboard box. They were

-both addressed to the Red Admiral, and they

-bore English stamps.</p>

-

-<p>When Roux, the postman, came back, the

-Purple Emperor tried to pump him, but the poor

-little postman knew nothing about the contents

-of the packages, and after he had taken them

-around the corner to the cottage of the Red Admiral

-the Purple Emperor ordered a glass of

-cider, and deliberately fuddled himself until

-Lys came in and tearfully supported him to his

-room. Here he became so abusive and brutal

-that Lys called to me, and I went and settled the

-trouble without wasting any words. This also

-the Purple Emperor remembered, and waited

-his chance to get even with me.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg12">[12]</span>

-That had happened a week ago, and until

-to-day he had not deigned to speak to me.</p>

-

-<p>Lys had posed for me all the week, and to-day

-being Saturday, and I lazy, we had decided

-to take a little relaxation, she to visit and gossip

-with her little black-eyed friend Yvette in the

-neighbouring hamlet of St. Julien, and I to

-try the appetites of the Breton trout with the

-contents of my American fly book.</p>

-

-<p>I had thrashed the stream very conscientiously

-for three hours, but not a trout had risen

-to my cast, and I was piqued. I had begun to

-believe that there were no trout in the St. Gildas

-stream, and would probably have given up had

-I not seen the sea trout snap the little fly which

-the Purple Emperor had named so scientifically.

-That set me thinking. Probably the

-Purple Emperor was right, for he certainly was

-an expert in everything that crawled and wriggled

-in Brittany. So I matched, from my

-American fly book, the fly that the sea trout

-had snapped up, and withdrawing the cast of

-three, knotted a new leader to the silk and

-slipped a fly on the loop. It was a queer fly. It

-was one of those unnameable experiments which

-fascinate anglers in sporting stores and which

-generally prove utterly useless. Moreover, it

-was a tailed fly, but of course I easily remedied

-that with a stroke of my penknife. Then I was

-all ready, and I stepped out into the hurrying

-rapids and cast straight as an arrow to the spot

-<span class="pb" id="Pg13">[13]</span>

-where the sea trout had risen. Lightly as a

-plume the fly settled on the bosom of the pool;

-then came a startling splash, a gleam of silver,

-and the line tightened from the vibrating rod-tip

-to the shrieking reel. Almost instantly I

-checked the fish, and as he floundered for a moment,

-making the water boil along his glittering

-sides, I sprang to the bank again, for I saw that

-the fish was a heavy one and I should probably

-be in for a long run down the stream. The five-ounce

-rod swept in a splendid circle, quivering

-under the strain. "Oh, for a gaff-hook!" I

-cried aloud, for I was now firmly convinced that

-I had a salmon to deal with, and no sea trout

-at all.</p>

-

-<p>Then as I stood, bringing every ounce to

-bear on the sulking fish, a lithe, slender girl

-came hurriedly along the opposite bank calling

-out to me by name.</p>

-

-<p>"Why, Lys!" I said, glancing up for a second,

-"I thought you were at St. Julien with

-Yvette."</p>

-

-<p>"Yvette has gone to <ins class="corr" title="Bannelec" id="C013">Bannalec</ins>. I went

-home and found an awful fight going on at the

-Groix Inn, and I was so frightened that I came

-to tell you."</p>

-

-<p>The fish dashed off at that moment, carrying all

-the line my reel held, and I was compelled

-to follow him at a jump. Lys, active and graceful

-as a young deer, in spite of her Pont-Aven

-sabots, followed along the opposite bank until

-<span class="pb" id="Pg14">[14]</span>

-the fish settled in a deep pool, shook the line savagely

-once or twice, and then relapsed into the

-sulks.</p>

-

-<p>"Fight at the Groix Inn?" I called across

-the water. "What fight?"</p>

-

-<p>"Not exactly fight," quavered Lys, "but the

-Red Admiral has come out of his house at last,

-and he and my uncle are drinking together and

-disputing about butterflies. I never saw my

-uncle so angry, and the Red Admiral is sneering

-and grinning. Oh, it is almost wicked to see

-such a face!"</p>

-

-<p>"But Lys," I said, scarcely able to repress

-a smile, "your uncle and the Red Admiral are

-always quarrelling and drinking."</p>

-

-<p>"I know&mdash;oh, dear me!&mdash;but this is different,

-Monsieur Darrel. The Red Admiral has

-grown old and fierce since he shut himself up

-three weeks ago, and&mdash;oh, dear! I never saw

-such a look in my uncle's eyes before. He

-seemed insane with fury. His eyes&mdash;I can't

-speak of it&mdash;and then Terrec came in."</p>

-

-<p>"Oh," I said more gravely, "that was unfortunate.

-What did the Red Admiral say to

-his son?"</p>

-

-<p>Lys sat down on a rock among the ferns,

-and gave me a mutinous glance from her blue

-eyes.</p>

-

-<p>Yves Terrec, loafer, poacher, and son of Louis

-Jean Terrec, otherwise the Red Admiral, had

-been kicked out by his father, and had also been

-<span class="pb" id="Pg15">[15]</span>

-forbidden the village by the Purple Emperor,

-in his majestic capacity of mayor. Twice the

-young ruffian had returned: once to rifle the

-bedroom of the Purple Emperor&mdash;an unsuccessful

-enterprise&mdash;and another time to rob his own

-father. He succeeded in the latter attempt, but

-was never caught, although he was frequently

-seen roving about the forests and moors with his

-gun. He openly menaced the Purple Emperor;

-vowed that he would marry Lys in spite of all

-the gendarmes in Quimperlé; and these same

-gendarmes he led many a long chase through

-brier-filled swamps and over miles of yellow

-gorse.</p>

-

-<p>What he did to the Purple Emperor&mdash;what

-he intended to do&mdash;disquieted me but little;

-but I worried over his threat concerning Lys.

-During the last three months this had bothered

-me a great deal; for when Lys came to St. Gildas

-from the convent the first thing she captured

-was my heart. For a long time I had refused

-to believe that any tie of blood linked this

-dainty blue-eyed creature with the Purple Emperor.

-Although she dressed in the velvet-laced

-bodice and blue petticoat of Finistère, and

-wore the bewitching white coiffe of St. Gildas,

-it seemed like a pretty masquerade. To me she

-was as sweet and as gently bred as many a

-maiden of the noble Faubourg who danced with

-her cousins at a Louis XV fête champêtre. So

-when Lys said that Yves Terrec had returned

-<span class="pb" id="Pg16">[16]</span>

-openly to St. Gildas, I felt that I had better be

-there also.</p>

-

-<p>"What did Terrec say, Lys?" I asked,

-watching the line vibrating above the placid

-pool.</p>

-

-<p>The wild rose colour crept into her cheeks.

-"Oh," she answered, with a little toss of her

-chin, "you know what he always says."</p>

-

-<p>"That he will carry you away?"</p>

-

-<p>"Yes."</p>

-

-<p>"In spite of the Purple Emperor, the Red

-Admiral, and the gendarmes?"</p>

-

-<p>"Yes."</p>

-

-<p>"And what do you say, Lys?"</p>

-

-<p>"I? Oh, nothing."</p>

-

-<p>"Then let me say it for you."</p>

-

-<p>Lys looked at her delicate pointed sabots,

-the sabots from Pont-Aven, made to order.

-They fitted her little foot. They were her only

-luxury.</p>

-

-<p>"Will you let me answer for you, Lys?" I

-asked.</p>

-

-<p>"You, Monsieur Darrel?"</p>

-

-<p>"Yes. Will you let me give him his answer?"</p>

-

-<p>"Mon Dieu, why should you concern yourself,

-Monsieur Darrel?"</p>

-

-<p>The fish lay very quiet, but the rod in my

-hand trembled.</p>

-

-<p>"Because I love you, Lys."</p>

-

-<p>The wild rose colour in her cheeks deepened;

-<span class="pb" id="Pg17">[17]</span>

-she gave a gentle gasp, then hid her curly head

-in her hands.</p>

-

-<p>"I love you, Lys."</p>

-

-<p>"Do you know what you say?" she stammered.</p>

-

-<p>"Yes, I love you."</p>

-

-<p>She raised her sweet face and looked at me

-across the pool.</p>

-

-<p>"I love you," she said, while the tears stood

-like stars in her eyes. "Shall I come over the

-brook to you?"</p>

-

-<h3>II.</h3>

-

-<p>That night Yves Terrec left the village of St.

-Gildas vowing vengeance against his father, who

-refused him shelter.</p>

-

-<p>I can see him now, standing in the road, his

-bare legs rising like pillars of bronze from his

-straw-stuffed sabots, his short velvet jacket torn

-and soiled by exposure and dissipation, and his

-eyes, fierce, roving, bloodshot&mdash;while the Red

-Admiral squeaked curses on him, and hobbled

-away into his little stone cottage.</p>

-

-<p>"I will not forget you!" cried Yves Terrec,

-and stretched out his hand toward his father

-with a terrible gesture. Then he whipped his

-gun to his cheek and took a short step forward,

-but I caught him by the throat before he could

-fire, and a second later we were rolling in the

-dust of the Bannalec road. I had to hit him a

-heavy blow behind the ear before he would let

-<span class="pb" id="Pg18">[18]</span>

-go, and then, rising and shaking myself, I dashed

-his muzzle-loading fowling piece to bits against

-a wall, and threw his knife into the river. The

-Purple Emperor was looking on with a queer

-light in his eyes. It was plain that he was sorry

-Terrec had not choked me to death.</p>

-

-<p>"He would have killed his father," I said, as

-I passed him, going toward the Groix Inn.</p>

-

-<p>"That's his business," snarled the Purple

-Emperor. There was a deadly light in his eyes.

-For a moment I thought he was going to attack

-me; but he was merely viciously drunk, so I

-shoved him out of my way and went to bed, tired

-and disgusted.</p>

-

-<p>The worst of it was I couldn't sleep, for I

-feared that the Purple Emperor might begin to

-abuse Lys. I lay restlessly tossing among the

-sheets until I could stay there no longer. I did

-not dress entirely; I merely slipped on a pair of

-chaussons and sabots, a pair of knickerbockers,

-a jersey, and a cap. Then, loosely tying a handkerchief

-about my throat, I went down the

-worm-eaten stairs and out into the moonlit road.

-There was a candle flaring in the Purple Emperor's

-window, but I could not see him.</p>

-

-<p>"He's probably dead drunk," I thought,

-and looked up at the window where, three years

-before, I had first seen Lys.</p>

-

-<p>"Asleep, thank Heaven!" I muttered, and

-wandered out along the road. Passing the

-small cottage of the Red Admiral, I saw that it

-<span class="pb" id="Pg19">[19]</span>

-was dark, but the door was open. I stepped inside

-the hedge to shut it, thinking, in case Yves

-Terrec should be roving about, his father would

-lose whatever he had left.</p>

-

-<p>Then, after fastening the door with a stone,

-I wandered on through the dazzling Breton

-moonlight. A nightingale was singing in a

-willow swamp below, and from the edge of the

-mere, among the tall swamp grasses, myriads of

-frogs chanted a bass chorus.</p>

-

-<p>When I returned, the eastern sky was beginning

-to lighten, and across the meadows on the

-cliffs, outlined against the paling horizon, I saw

-a seaweed gatherer going to his work among

-the curling breakers on the coast. His long

-rake was balanced on his shoulder, and the sea

-wind carried his song across the meadows to me:</p>

-

-<div class="poetry-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<div class="verse indent2">St. Gildas!</div>

-<div class="verse indent2">St. Gildas!</div>

-<div class="verse indent2">Pray for us,</div>

-<div class="verse indent2">Shelter us,</div>

-<div class="verse">Us who toil in the sea.</div>

-</div></div></div>

-

-<p>Passing the shrine at the entrance of the village,

-I took off my cap and knelt in prayer to

-Our Lady of Faöuet; and if I neglected myself

-in that prayer, surely I believed Our Lady of

-Faöuet would be kinder to Lys. It is said that

-the shrine casts white shadows. I looked, but

-saw only the moonlight. Then very peacefully

-I went to bed again, and was only awakened

-<span class="pb" id="Pg20">[20]</span>

-by the clank of sabres and the trample of

-horses in the road below my window.</p>

-

-<p>"Good gracious!" I thought, "it must be

-eleven o'clock, for there are the gendarmes

-from Quimperlé."</p>

-

-<p>I looked at my watch; it was only half-past

-eight, and as the gendarmes made their rounds

-every Thursday at eleven, I wondered what had

-brought them out so early to St. Gildas.</p>

-

-<p>"Of course," I grumbled, rubbing my eyes,

-"they are after Terrec," and I jumped into my

-limited bath.</p>

-

-<p>Before I was completely dressed I heard a

-timid knock, and opening my door, razor in

-hand, stood astonished and silent. Lys, her

-blue eyes wide with terror, leaned on the

-threshold.</p>

-

-<p>"My darling!" I cried, "what on earth is

-the matter?" But she only clung to me, panting

-like a wounded sea gull. At last, when I

-drew her into the room and raised her face to

-mine, she spoke in a heart-breaking voice:</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, Dick! they are going to arrest you,

-but I will die before I believe one word of what

-they say. No, don't ask me," and she began

-to sob desperately.</p>

-

-<p>When I found that something really serious

-was the matter, I flung on my coat and cap,

-and, slipping one arm about her waist, went

-down the stairs and out into the road. Four

-gendarmes sat on their horses in front of the

-<span class="pb" id="Pg21">[21]</span>

-café door; beyond them, the entire population

-of St. Gildas gaped, ten deep.</p>

-

-<p>"Hello, Durand!" I said to the brigadier,

-"what the devil is this I hear about arresting

-me?"</p>

-

-<p>"It's true, mon ami," replied Durand with

-sepulchral sympathy. I looked him over from

-the tip of his spurred boots to his sulphur-yellow

-sabre belt, then upward, button by button,

-to his disconcerted face.</p>

-

-<p>"What for?" I said scornfully. "Don't

-try any cheap sleuth work on me! Speak up,

-man, what's the trouble?"</p>

-

-<p>The Purple Emperor, who sat in the doorway

-staring at me, started to speak, but thought

-better of it and got up and went into the house.

-The gendarmes rolled their eyes mysteriously

-and looked wise.</p>

-

-<p>"Come, Durand," I said impatiently,

-"what's the charge?"</p>

-

-<p>"Murder," he said in a faint voice.</p>

-

-<p>"What!" I cried incredulously. "Nonsense!

-Do I look like a murderer? Get off

-your horse, you stupid, and tell me who's murdered."</p>

-

-<p>Durand got down, looking very silly, and

-came up to me, offering his hand with a propitiatory

-grin.</p>

-

-<p>"It was the Purple Emperor who denounced

-you! See, they found your handkerchief

-at his door&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg22">[22]</span>

-"Whose door, for Heaven's sake?" I cried.</p>

-

-<p>"Why, the Red Admiral's!"</p>

-

-<p>"The Red Admiral's? What has he

-done?"</p>

-

-<p>"Nothing&mdash;he's only been murdered."</p>

-

-<p>I could scarcely believe my senses, although

-they took me over to the little stone cottage and

-pointed out the blood-spattered room. But

-the horror of the thing was that the corpse of

-the murdered man had disappeared, and there

-only remained a nauseating lake of blood on

-the stone floor, in the centre of which lay a human

-hand. There was no doubt as to whom

-the hand belonged, for everybody who had ever

-seen the Red Admiral knew that the shrivelled

-bit of flesh which lay in the thickening blood

-was the hand of the Red Admiral. To me it

-looked like the severed claw of some gigantic

-bird.</p>

-

-<p>"Well," I said, "there's been murder committed.

-Why don't you do something?"</p>

-

-<p>"What?" asked Durand.</p>

-

-<p>"I don't know. Send for the Commissaire."</p>

-

-<p>"He's at Quimperlé. I telegraphed."</p>

-

-<p>"Then send for a doctor, and find out how

-long this blood has been coagulating."</p>

-

-<p>"The chemist from Quimperlé is here; he's

-a doctor."</p>

-

-<p>"What does he say?"</p>

-

-<p>"He says that he doesn't know."</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg23">[23]</span>

-"And who are you going to arrest?" I inquired,

-turning away from the spectacle on the

-floor.</p>

-

-<p>"I don't know," said the brigadier solemnly;

-"you are denounced by the Purple Emperor,

-because he found your handkerchief at the door

-when he went out this morning."</p>

-

-<p>"Just like a pig-headed Breton!" I exclaimed,

-thoroughly angry. "Did he not mention

-Yves Terrec?"</p>

-

-<p>"No."</p>

-

-<p>"Of course not," I said. "He overlooked

-the fact that Terrec tried to shoot his father

-last night, and that I took away his gun. All

-that counts for nothing when he finds my handkerchief

-at the murdered man's door."</p>

-

-<p>"Come into the café," said Durand, much

-disturbed, "we can talk it over, there. Of

-course, Monsieur Darrel, I have never had the

-faintest idea that you were the murderer!"</p>

-

-<p>The four gendarmes and I walked across the

-road to the Groix Inn and entered the café. It

-was crowded with <ins class="corr" title="Britons" id="C023">Bretons</ins>, smoking, drinking,

-and jabbering in half a dozen dialects, all

-equally unsatisfactory to a civilized ear; and I

-pushed through the crowd to where little Max

-Fortin, the chemist of Quimperlé, stood smoking

-a vile cigar.</p>

-

-<p>"This is a bad business," he said, shaking

-hands and offering me the mate to his cigar,

-which I politely declined.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg24">[24]</span>

-"Now, Monsieur Fortin," I said, "it appears

-that the Purple Emperor found my handkerchief

-near the murdered man's door this morning,

-and so he concludes"&mdash;here I glared at the

-Purple Emperor&mdash;"that I am the assassin. I

-will now ask him a question," and turning on

-him suddenly, I shouted, "What were you doing

-at the Red Admiral's door?"</p>

-

-<p>The Purple Emperor started and turned

-pale, and I pointed at him triumphantly.</p>

-

-<p>"See what a sudden question will do. Look

-how embarrassed he is, and yet I do not charge

-him with murder; and I tell you, gentlemen,

-that man there knows as well as I do who was

-the murderer of the Red Admiral!"</p>

-

-<p>"I don't!" bawled the Purple Emperor.</p>

-

-<p>"You do," I said. "It was Yves Terrec."</p>

-

-<p>"I don't believe it," he said obstinately,

-dropping his voice.</p>

-

-<p>"Of course not, being pig-headed."</p>

-

-<p>"I am not pig-headed," he roared again,

-"but I am mayor of St. Gildas, and I do

-not believe that Yves Terrec killed his

-father."</p>

-

-<p>"You saw him try to kill him last night?"</p>

-

-<p>The mayor grunted.</p>

-

-<p>"And you saw what I did."</p>

-

-<p>He grunted again.</p>

-

-<p>"And," I went on, "you heard Yves Terrec

-threaten to kill his father. You heard him

-curse the Red Admiral and swear to kill him.

-<span class="pb" id="Pg25">[25]</span>

-Now the father is murdered and his body is

-gone."</p>

-

-<p>"And your handkerchief?" sneered the

-Purple Emperor.</p>

-

-<p>"I dropped it, of course."</p>

-

-<p>"And the seaweed gatherer who saw you

-last night lurking about the Red Admiral's

-cottage," grinned the Purple Emperor.</p>

-

-<p>I was startled at the man's malice.</p>

-

-<p>"That will do," I said. "It is perfectly

-true that I was walking on the Bannalec road

-last night, and that I stopped to close the Red

-Admiral's door, which was ajar, although his

-light was not burning. After that I went up

-the road to the Dinez Woods, and then walked

-over by St. Julien, whence I saw the seaweed

-gatherer on the cliffs. He was near enough for

-me to hear what he sang. What of that?"</p>

-

-<p>"What did you do then?"</p>

-

-<p>"Then I stopped at the shrine and said a

-prayer, and then I went to bed and slept until

-Brigadier Durand's gendarmes awoke me with

-their clatter."</p>

-

-<p>"Now, Monsieur Darrel," said the Purple

-Emperor, lifting a fat finger and shooting a

-wicked glance at me, "Now, Monsieur Darrel,

-which did you wear last night on your midnight

-stroll&mdash;sabots or shoes?"</p>

-

-<p>I thought a moment. "Shoes&mdash;no, sabots.

-I just slipped on my chaussons and went out

-in my sabots."</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg26">[26]</span>

-"Which was it, shoes or sabots?" snarled

-the Purple Emperor.</p>

-

-<p>"Sabots, you fool."</p>

-

-<p>"Are these your sabots?" he asked, lifting

-up a wooden shoe with my initials cut on the

-instep.</p>

-

-<p>"Yes," I replied.</p>

-

-<p>"Then how did this blood come on the other

-one?" he shouted, and held up a sabot, the mate

-to the first, on which a drop of blood had spattered.</p>

-

-<p>"I haven't the least idea," I said calmly;

-but my heart was beating very fast and I was

-furiously angry.</p>

-

-<p>"You blockhead!" I said, controlling my

-rage, "I'll make you pay for this when they

-catch Yves Terrec and convict him. Brigadier

-Durand, do your duty if you think I am

-under suspicion. Arrest me, but grant me

-one favour. Put me in the Red Admiral's

-cottage, and I'll see whether I can't find some

-clew that you have overlooked. Of course,

-I won't disturb anything until the Commissaire

-arrives. Bah! You all make me

-very ill."</p>

-

-<p>"He's hardened," observed the Purple Emperor,

-wagging his head.</p>

-

-<p>"What motive had I to kill the Red Admiral?"

-I asked them all scornfully. And they

-all cried:</p>

-

-<p>"None! Yves Terrec is the man!"</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg27">[27]</span>

-Passing out of the door I swung around and

-shook my finger at the Purple Emperor.</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, I'll make you dance for this, my

-friend," I said; and I followed Brigadier Durand

-across the street to the cottage of the murdered

-man.</p>

-

-<h3>III.</h3>

-

-<p>They took me at my word and placed a

-gendarme with a bared sabre at the gateway by

-the hedge.</p>

-

-<p>"Give me your parole," said poor Durand,

-"and I will let you go where you wish." But

-I refused, and began prowling about the cottage

-looking for clews. I found lots of things that

-some people would have considered most important,

-such as ashes from the Red Admiral's

-pipe, footprints in a dusty vegetable bin, bottles

-smelling of Pouldu cider, and dust&mdash;oh,

-lots of dust!&mdash;but I was not an expert, only a

-stupid, everyday amateur; so I defaced the

-footprints with my thick shooting boots, and I

-declined to examine the pipe ashes through a

-microscope, although the Red Admiral's microscope

-stood on the table close at hand.</p>

-

-<p>At last I found what I had been looking for,

-some long wisps of straw, curiously depressed

-and flattened in the middle, and I was certain

-I had found the evidence that would settle

-Yves Terrec for the rest of his life. It was

-plain as the nose on your face. The straws were

-<span class="pb" id="Pg28">[28]</span>

-sabot straws, flattened where the foot had

-pressed them, and sticking straight out where

-they projected beyond the sabot. Now nobody

-in St. Gildas used straw in sabots except a

-fisherman who lived near St. Julien, and the

-straw in his sabots was ordinary yellow wheat

-straw! This straw, or rather these straws, were

-from the stalks of the red wheat which only

-grows inland, and which, everybody in St. Gildas

-knew, Yves Terrec wore in his sabots. I was

-perfectly satisfied; and when, three hours later,

-a hoarse shouting from the Bannalec Road

-brought me to the window, I was not surprised

-to see Yves Terrec, bloody, dishevelled, hatless,

-with his strong arms bound behind him, walking

-with bent head between two mounted gendarmes.

-The crowd around him swelled every

-minute, crying: "Parricide! parricide! Death

-to the murderer!" As he passed my window

-I saw great clots of mud on his dusty sabots,

-from the heels of which projected wisps of

-red wheat straw. Then I walked back into the

-Red Admiral's study, determined to find what

-the microscope would show on the wheat straws.

-I examined each one very carefully, and then,

-my eyes aching, I rested my chin on my hand

-and leaned back in the chair. I had not been

-as fortunate as some detectives, for there was

-no evidence that the straws had ever been used

-in a sabot at all. Furthermore, directly across

-the hallway stood a carved Breton chest, and

-<span class="pb" id="Pg29">[29]</span>

-now I noticed for the first time that, from beneath

-the closed lid, <ins class="corr" title="doxens" id="C029">dozens</ins> of similar red wheat

-straws projected, bent exactly as mine were

-bent by the weight of the lid.</p>

-

-<p>I yawned in disgust. It was apparent that

-I was not cut out for a detective, and I bitterly

-pondered over the difference between clews in

-real life and clews in a detective story. After a

-while I rose, walked over to the chest and

-opened the lid. The interior was wadded with

-the red wheat straws, and on this wadding lay

-two curious glass jars, two or three small vials,

-several empty bottles labelled chloroform, a

-collecting jar of cyanide of potassium, and a

-book. In a farther corner of the chest were

-some letters bearing English stamps, and also

-the torn coverings of two parcels, all from England,

-and all directed to the Red Admiral under

-his proper name of "Sieur Louis Jean Terrec,

-St. Gildas, par Moëlan, Finistère."</p>

-

-<p>All these traps I carried over to the desk,

-shut the lid of the chest, and sat down to read

-the letters. They were written in commercial

-French, evidently by an Englishman.</p>

-

-<p>Freely translated, the contents of the first

-letter were as follows:</p>

-

-<div class="blockquote">

-<p class="right">"<span class="smcap">London</span>, <i>June 12, 1894</i>.</p>

-

-<p>"<span class="smcap">Dear Monsieur</span> (<i lang="la" xml:lang="la">sic</i>): Your kind favour

-of the 19th inst. received and contents

-noted. The latest work on the Lepidoptera of

-England is Blowzer's How to catch British

-<span class="pb" id="Pg30">[30]</span>

-Butterflies, with notes and tables, and an introduction

-by Sir Thomas Sniffer. The price of

-this work (in one volume, calf) is £5 or 125

-francs of French money. A post-office order

-will receive our prompt attention. We beg to

-remain,</p>

-

-<div class="right">

-<div class="signature">

-<p>"Yours, etc.,<br />

-<span class="pad2">"<span class="smcap">Fradley &amp; Toomer</span>,</span><br />

-"470 Regent Square, London, S. W."</p>

-</div></div></div>

-

-<p>The next letter was even less interesting.

-It merely stated that the money had been received

-and the book would be forwarded. The

-third engaged my attention, and I shall quote it,

-the translation being a free one:</p>

-

-<div class="blockquote">

-<p>"<span class="smcap">Dear Sir</span>: Your letter of the 1st of July

-was duly received, and we at once referred it to

-Mr. Fradley himself. Mr. Fradley being much

-interested in your question, sent your letter to

-Professor Schweineri, of the Berlin Entomological

-Society, whose note Blowzer refers to on page

-630, in his How to catch British Butterflies. We

-have just received an answer from Professor

-Schweineri, which we translate into French&mdash;(see

-inclosed slip). Professor Schweineri begs

-to present to you two jars of cythyl, prepared

-under his own supervision. We forward the

-same to you. Trusting that you will find everything

-satisfactory, we remain,</p>

-

-<div class="right">

-<div class="signature">

-<p>"Yours sincerely,<br />

-<span class="pad2">"<span class="smcap">Fradley &amp; Toomer</span>."</span></p>

-</div></div></div>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg31">[31]</span>

-The inclosed slip read as follows:</p>

-

-<div class="blockquote">

-<p>"Messrs. <span class="smcap">Fradley</span> &amp; <span class="smcap">Toomer</span>,</p>

-

-<p>"<span class="smcap">Gentlemen</span>: Cythaline, a complex hydrocarbon,

-was first used by Professor Schnoot, of

-Antwerp, a year ago. I discovered an analogous

-formula about the same time and named it cythyl.

-I have used it with great success everywhere. It

-is as certain as a magnet. I beg to present you

-three small jars, and would be pleased to have

-you forward two of them to your correspondent

-in St. Gildas with my compliments. Blowzer's

-quotation of me, on page 630 of his glorious

-work, How to catch British Butterflies, is correct.</p>

-

-<div class="right">

-<div class="signature">

-<p>"Yours, etc.,<br />

-<span class="pad2">"<span class="smcap">Heinrich Schweineri</span>,</span><br />

-<span class="pad3">P.H.D., D.D., D.S., M.S."</span></p>

-</div></div></div>

-

-<p>When I had finished this letter I folded it up

-and put it into my pocket with the others.

-Then I opened Blowzer's valuable work, How

-to catch British Butterflies, and turned to

-page 630.</p>

-

-<p>Now, although the Red Admiral could only

-have acquired the book very recently, and although

-all the other pages were perfectly clean,

-this particular page was thumbed black, and

-heavy pencil marks inclosed a paragraph at the

-bottom of the page. This is the paragraph:</p>

-

-<div class="blockquote">

-<p>"Professor Schweineri says: 'Of the two old

-methods used by collectors for the capture of

-<span class="pb" id="Pg32">[32]</span>

-the swift-winged, high-flying Apatura Iris, or

-Purple Emperor, the first, which was using a

-long-handled net, proved successful once in a

-thousand times; and the second, the placing of

-bait upon the ground, such as decayed meat,

-dead cats, rats, etc., was not only disagreeable,

-even for an enthusiastic collector, but also very

-uncertain. Once in five hundred times would

-the splendid butterfly leave the tops of his favourite

-oak trees to circle about the fetid bait

-offered. I have found cythyl a perfectly sure

-bait to draw this beautiful butterfly to the

-ground, where it can be easily captured. An

-ounce of cythyl placed in a yellow saucer under

-an oak tree, will draw to it every Apatura Iris

-within a radius of twenty miles. So, if any

-collector who possesses a little cythyl, even

-though it be in a sealed bottle in his pocket&mdash;if

-such a collector does not find a single Apatura

-Iris fluttering close about him within an hour,

-let him be satisfied that the Apatura Iris does

-not inhabit his country.'"</p>

-</div>

-

-<p>When I had finished reading this note I sat

-for a long while thinking hard. Then I examined

-the two jars. They were labelled

-"<cite>Cythyl</cite>." One was full, the other <em>nearly full</em>.

-"The rest must be on the corpse of the Red Admiral,"

-I thought, "no matter if it is in a

-corked bottle&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

-

-<p>I took all the things back to the chest, laid

-<span class="pb" id="Pg33">[33]</span>

-them carefully on the straw, and closed the lid.

-The gendarme sentinel at the gate saluted me

-respectfully as I crossed over to the Groix Inn.

-The Inn was surrounded by an excited crowd,

-and the hallway was choked with gendarmes

-and peasants. On every side they greeted me

-cordially, announcing that the real murderer

-was caught; but I pushed by them without a

-word and ran upstairs to find Lys. She opened

-her door when I knocked and threw both arms

-about my neck. I took her to my breast and

-kissed her. After a moment I asked her if she

-would obey me no matter what I commanded,

-and she said she would, with a proud humility

-that touched me.</p>

-

-<p>"Then go at once to Yvette in St. Julien,"

-I said. "Ask her to harness the dog-cart and

-drive you to the convent in Quimperlé. Wait

-for me there. Will you do this without questioning

-me, my darling?"</p>

-

-<p>She raised her face to mine. "Kiss me,"

-she said innocently; the next moment she had

-vanished.</p>

-

-<p>I walked deliberately into the Purple Emperor's

-room and peered into the gauze-covered

-box which had held the chrysalis of Apatura

-Iris. It was as I expected. The chrysalis was

-empty and transparent, and a great crack ran

-down the middle of its back, but, on the netting

-inside the box, a magnificent butterfly slowly

-waved its burnished purple wings; for the

-<span class="pb" id="Pg34">[34]</span>

-chrysalis had given up its silent tenant, the butterfly

-symbol of immortality. Then a great

-fear fell upon me. I know now that it was

-the fear of the Black Priest, but neither then

-nor for years after did I know that the Black

-Priest had ever lived on earth. As I bent

-over the box I heard a confused murmur

-outside the house which ended in a furious

-shout of "Parricide!" and I heard the

-gendarmes ride away behind a wagon which

-rattled sharply on the flinty highway. I went

-to the window. In the wagon sat Yves Terrec,

-bound and wild-eyed, two gendarmes at either

-side of him, and all around the wagon rode

-mounted gendarmes whose bared sabres scarcely

-kept the crowd away.</p>

-

-<p>"Parricide!" they howled. "Let him

-die!"</p>

-

-<p>I stepped back and opened the gauze-covered

-box. Very gently but firmly I took the

-splendid butterfly by its closed fore wings and

-lifted it unharmed between my thumb and forefinger.

-Then, holding it concealed behind my

-back, I went down into the café.</p>

-

-<p>Of all the crowd that had filled it, shouting

-for the death of Yves Terrec, only three persons

-remained seated in front of the huge empty

-fireplace. They were the Brigadier Durand,

-Max Fortin, the chemist of Quimperlé, and

-the Purple Emperor. The latter looked

-abashed when I entered, but I paid no attention

-<span class="pb" id="Pg35">[35]</span>

-to him and walked straight to the

-chemist.</p>

-

-<p>"Monsieur Fortin," I said, "do you know

-much about hydrocarbons?"</p>

-

-<p>"They are my specialty," he said astonished.</p>

-

-<p>"Have you ever heard of such a thing as

-cythyl?"</p>

-

-<p>"Schweineri's cythyl? Oh, yes! We use

-it in perfumery."</p>

-

-<p>"Good!" I said. "Has it an odour?"</p>

-

-<p>"No&mdash;and, yes. One is always aware of

-its presence, but really nobody can affirm it

-has an odour. It is curious," he continued,

-looking at me, "it is very curious you

-should have asked me that, for all day I have

-been imagining I detected the presence of

-cythyl."</p>

-

-<p>"Do you imagine so now?" I asked.</p>

-

-<p>"Yes, more than ever."</p>

-

-<p>I sprang to the front door and tossed out the

-butterfly. The splendid creature beat the air

-for a moment, flitted uncertainly hither and

-thither, and then, to my astonishment, sailed

-majestically back into the café and alighted on

-the hearthstone. For a moment I was nonplussed,

-but when my eyes rested on the Purple

-Emperor I comprehended in a flash.</p>

-

-<p>"Lift that hearthstone!" I cried to the

-Brigadier Durand; "pry it up with your scabbard!"</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg36">[36]</span>

-The Purple Emperor suddenly fell forward

-in his chair, his face ghastly white, his jaw loose

-with terror.</p>

-

-<p>"What is cythyl?" I shouted, seizing him

-by the arm; but he plunged heavily from his

-chair, face downward on the floor, and at the

-same moment a cry from the chemist made me

-turn. There stood the Brigadier Durand, one

-hand supporting the hearthstone, one hand

-raised in horror. There stood Max Fortin, the

-chemist, rigid with excitement, and below, in the

-hollow bed where the hearthstone had rested,

-lay a crushed mass of bleeding human flesh,

-from the midst of which stared a cheap glass

-eye. I seized the Purple Emperor and dragged

-him to his feet.</p>

-

-<p>"Look!" I cried; "look at your old friend,

-the Red Admiral!" but he only smiled in a

-vacant way, and rolled his head muttering;

-"Bait for butterflies! Cythyl! Oh, no, no,

-no! You can't do it, Admiral, d'ye see. I

-alone own the Purple Emperor! I alone am

-the Purple Emperor!"</p>

-

-<p>And the same carriage that bore me to

-Quimperlé to claim my bride, carried him to

-Quimper, gagged and bound, a foaming, howling

-lunatic.</p>

-

-<hr class="tb"/>

-

-<p>This, then, is the story of the Purple Emperor.

-I might tell you a pleasanter story if

-I chose; but concerning the fish that I had

-<span class="pb" id="Pg37">[37]</span>

-hold of, whether it was a salmon, a grilse,

-or a sea trout, I may not say, because I have

-promised Lys, and she has promised me, that

-no power on earth shall wring from our lips

-the mortifying confession that the fish escaped.</p>

-

-<hr /></div>

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<h2>POMPE FUNÈBRE.<span class="pb" id="Pg39">[39]</span></h2>

-

-<div class="poetry-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="pb" id="Pg40">[40]</span>

-<div class="verse indent10">A wind-swept sky,</div>

-<div class="verse">The waste of moorland stretching to the west;</div>

-<div class="verse">The sea, low moaning in a strange unrest&mdash;</div>

-<div class="verse indent10">A seagull's cry.</div></div>

-

-<div class="stanza">

-<div class="verse indent10">Washed by the tide,</div>

-<div class="verse">The rocks lie sullen in the waning light;</div>

-<div class="verse">The foam breaks in long strips of hungry white,</div>

-<div class="verse indent10">Dissatisfied.</div></div>

-

-<div class="stanza">

-<div class="verse indent32"><span class="smcap">Bateman.</span></div>

-</div></div></div>

-

-<hr />

-

-<p class="center"><big>POMPE FUNÈBRE.</big><span class="pb" id="Pg41">[41]</span></p>

-

-<div class="poetry-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<div class="verse">In the days when the keepers of the house shall tremble.</div>

-</div></div></div>

-

-<p>When I first saw the sexton he was standing

-motionless behind a stone. Presently he moved

-on again, pausing at times, and turning right

-and left with that nervous, jerky motion that

-always chills me.</p>

-

-<p>His path lay across the blighted moss and

-withered leaves scattered in moist layers along

-the bank of the little brown stream, and I, wondering

-what his errand might be, followed, passing

-silently over the rotting forest mould. Once

-or twice he heard me, for I saw him stop short,

-a blot of black and orange in the sombre woods;

-but he always started on again, hurrying at

-times as though the dead might grow impatient.</p>

-

-<p>For the sexton that I followed through the

-November forest was one of those small creatures

-that God has sent to bury little things that

-die alone in the world. Undertaker, sexton,

-mute, and gravedigger in one, this thing, robed

-<span class="pb" id="Pg42">[42]</span>

-in black and orange, buries all things that die

-unheeded by the world. And so they call it&mdash;this

-little beetle in black and orange&mdash;the

-"sexton."</p>

-

-<p>How he hurried! I looked up into the gray

-sky where ashen branches, interlaced, swayed

-in unfelt winds, and I heard the dry leaves rattle

-in the tree tops, and the thud of acorns on

-the mould. A sombre bird peered at me from

-a heap of brush, then ran pattering over the

-leaves.</p>

-

-<p>The sexton had reached a bit of broken

-ground, and was scuffling over sticks and gulleys

-toward a brown tuft of withered grass

-above. I dared not help him; besides, I could

-not bring myself to touch him, he was so horribly

-absorbed in his errand.</p>

-

-<p>I halted for a moment. The eagerness of

-this live creature to find his dead and handle

-it; the odour of death and decay in this little

-forest world, where I had waited for spring

-when Lys moved among the flowering gorse,

-singing like a throstle in the wind&mdash;all this

-troubled me, and I lagged behind.</p>

-

-<p>The sexton scrambled over the dead grass,

-raising his seared eyes at every wave of wind.

-The wind brought sadness with it, the scent of

-lifeless trees, the vague rustle of gorse buds,

-yellow and dry as paper flowers.</p>

-

-<p>Along the stream, rotting water plants,

-scorched and frost-blighted, lay massed above

-<span class="pb" id="Pg43">[43]</span>

-the mud. I saw their pallid stems swaying like

-worms in the listless current.</p>

-

-<p>The sexton had reached a mouldering

-stump, and now he seemed undecided. I sat

-down on a fallen tree, moist and bleached, that

-crumbled under my touch, leaving a stale odour

-in the air. Overhead a crow rose heavily and

-flapped out into the moorland; the wind rattled

-the stark blackthorns; a single drop of

-rain touched my cheek. I looked into the

-stream for some sign of life; there was nothing,

-except a shapeless creature that might have

-been a blindworm, lying belly upward on the

-mud bottom. I touched it with a stick. It

-was stiff and dead.</p>

-

-<p>The wind among the sham paperlike gorse

-buds filled the woods with a silken rustle. I

-put out my hand and touched a yellow blossom;

-it felt like an immortelle on a funeral

-pillow.</p>

-

-<p>The sexton had moved on again; something,

-perhaps a musty spider's web, had stuck

-to one leg, and he dragged it as he laboured on

-through the wood. Some little field mouse

-torn by weasel or kestrel, some crushed mole,

-some tiny dead pile of fur or feather, lay not far

-off, stricken by God or man or brother creature.

-And the sexton knew it&mdash;how, God

-knows! But he knew it, and hurried on to his

-tryst with the dead.</p>

-

-<p>His path now lay along the edge of a tidal

-<span class="pb" id="Pg44">[44]</span>

-inlet from the Groix River. I looked down at

-the gray water through the leafless branches,

-and I saw a small snake, head raised, swim from

-a submerged clot of weeds into the shadow of a

-rock. There was a curlew, too, somewhere in

-the black swamp, whose dreary, persistent call

-cursed the silence.</p>

-

-<p>I wondered when the sexton would fly; for

-he could fly if he chose; it is only when the

-dead are near, very near, that he creeps. The

-soiled mess of cobweb still stuck to him, and

-his progress was impeded by it. Once I saw

-a small brown and white spider, striped like

-a zebra, running swiftly in his tracks, but the

-sexton turned and raised his two clubbed forelegs

-in a horrid imploring attitude that still had

-something of menace under it. The spider

-backed away and sidled under a stone.</p>

-

-<p>When anything that is dying&mdash;sick and close

-to death&mdash;falls upon the face of the earth, something

-moves in the blue above, floating like a

-moat; then another, then others. These specks

-that grow out of the fathomless azure vault are

-jewelled flies. They come to wait for Death.</p>

-

-<p>The sexton also arranges rendezvous with

-Death, but never waits; Death must arrive the

-first.</p>

-

-<p>When the heavy clover is ablaze with painted

-wings, when bees hum and blunder among

-the white-thorn, or pass by like swift singing

-bullets, the sexton snaps open his black and

-<span class="pb" id="Pg45">[45]</span>

-orange wings and hums across the clover with

-the bees. Death in a scented garden, the

-tokens of the plague on a fair young breast, the

-gray flag of fear in the face of one who reels

-into the arms of Destruction, the sexton

-scrambling in the lap of spring, folding his

-sleek wings, unfolding them to ape the buzz of

-bees, passing over sweet clover tops to the putrid

-flesh that summons him&mdash;these things

-must be and will be to the end.</p>

-

-<p>The sexton was running now&mdash;running fast,

-trailing the cobweb over twigs and mud. The

-edge of the wood was near, for I could see the

-winter wheat, like green scenery in a theatre,

-stretching for miles across the cliffs, crude as

-painted grass. And as I crept through the

-brittle forest fringe, I saw a figure lying face

-downward in the wheat&mdash;a girl's slender form,

-limp, motionless.</p>

-

-<p>The sexton darted under her breast.</p>

-

-<p>Then I threw myself down beside her, crying,

-"Lys! Lys!" And as I cried, the icy

-rain burst out across the moors, and the trees

-dashed their stark limbs together till the whole

-spectral forest tossed and danced, and the wind

-roared among the cliffs.</p>

-

-<p>And through the Dance of Death Lys trembled

-in my arms, and sobbed and clung to me,

-murmuring that the Purple Emperor was dead;

-but the wind tore the words from her white lips,

-and flung them out across the sea, where the

-<span class="pb" id="Pg46">[46]</span>

-winter lightning lashed the stark heights of

-Groix.</p>

-

-<p>Then the fear of death was stilled in my

-soul, and I raised her from the ground, holding

-her close.</p>

-

-<p>And I saw the sexton, just beyond us, hurry

-across the ground and seek shelter under a little

-dead skylark, stiff-winged, muddy, lying alone

-in the rain.</p>

-

-<hr class="tb"/>

-

-<p>In the storm, above us, a bird hovered singing

-through the rain. It passed us twice, still

-singing, and as it passed again we saw the

-shadow it cast upon the world was whiter than

-snow.</p>

-

-<hr /></div>

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<h2>THE MESSENGER.<span class="pb" id="Pg47">[47]</span></h2>

-

-<div class="poetry-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="pb" id="Pg48">[48]</span>

-<div class="verse">Little gray messenger,</div>

-<div class="verse">Robed like painted Death,</div>

-<div class="verse">Your robe is dust.</div>

-<div class="verse">Whom do you seek</div>

-<div class="verse">Among lilies and closed buds</div>

-<div class="verse indent4">At dusk?</div></div>

-

-<div class="stanza">

-<div class="verse">Among lilies and closed buds</div>

-<div class="verse indent4">At dusk,</div>

-<div class="verse">Whom do you seek,</div>

-<div class="verse">Little gray messenger,</div>

-<div class="verse">Robed in the awful panoply</div>

-<div class="verse">Of painted Death?</div></div>

-

-<div class="stanza">

-<div class="verse indent32">R. W. C.</div>

-</div></div></div>

-

-<hr />

-

-<p class="center"><big>THE MESSENGER.</big><span class="pb" id="Pg49">[49]</span></p>

-

-<div class="poetry-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<div class="verse indent14">All-wise,</div>

-<div class="verse">Hast thou seen all there is to see with thy two eyes?</div>

-<div class="verse indent2">Dost thou know all there is to know, and so,</div>

-<div class="verse indent14">Omniscient,</div>

-<div class="verse">Darest thou still to say thy brother lies?</div></div>

-

-<div class="stanza">

-<div class="verse indent32">R. W. C.</div>

-</div></div></div>

-

-<p>"The bullet entered here," said Max Fortin,

-and he placed his middle finger over a

-smooth hole exactly in the centre of the forehead.</p>

-

-<p>I sat down upon a mound of dry seaweed

-and unslung my fowling piece.</p>

-

-<p>The little chemist cautiously felt the edges

-of the shot-hole, first with his middle finger,

-then with his thumb.</p>

-

-<p>"Let me see the skull again," said I.</p>

-

-<p>Max Fortin picked it up from the sod.</p>

-

-<p>"It's like all the others," he observed. I

-nodded, without offering to take it from him.

-After a moment he thoughtfully replaced it

-upon the grass at my feet.</p>

-

-<p>"It's like all the others," he repeated, wiping

-his glasses on his handkerchief. "I

-<span class="pb" id="Pg50">[50]</span>

-thought you might care to see one of the skulls,

-so I brought this over from the gravel pit. The

-men from Bannalec are digging yet. They

-ought to stop."</p>

-

-<p>"How many skulls are there altogether?"

-I inquired.</p>

-

-<p>"They found thirty-eight skulls; there are

-thirty-nine noted in the list. They lie piled up

-in the gravel pit on the edge of Le Bihan's

-wheat field. The men are at work yet. Le Bihan

-is going to stop them."</p>

-

-<p>"Let's go over," said I; and I picked up

-my gun and started across the cliffs, Fortin on

-one side, Môme on the other.</p>

-

-<p>"Who has the list?" I asked, lighting my

-pipe. "You say there is a list?"</p>

-

-<p>"The list was found rolled up in a brass

-cylinder," said the little chemist. He added:

-"You should not smoke here. You know that

-if a single spark drifted into the wheat&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

-

-<p>"Ah, but I have a cover to my pipe," said

-I, smiling.</p>

-

-<p>Fortin watched me as I closed the pepper-box

-arrangement over the glowing bowl of the

-pipe. Then he continued:</p>

-

-<p>"The list was made out on thick yellow

-paper; the brass tube has preserved it. It is

-as fresh to-day as it was in 1760. You shall

-see it."</p>

-

-<p>"Is that the date?"</p>

-

-<p>"The list is dated 'April, 1760.' The

-<span class="pb" id="Pg51">[51]</span>

-Brigadier Durand has it. It is not written in

-French."</p>

-

-<p>"Not written in French!" I exclaimed.</p>

-

-<p>"No," replied Fortin solemnly, "it is

-written in Breton."</p>

-

-<p>"But," I protested, "the Breton language

-was never written or printed in 1760."</p>

-

-<p>"Except by priests," said the chemist.</p>

-

-<p>"I have heard of but one priest who ever

-wrote the Breton language," I began.</p>

-

-<p>Fortin stole a glance at my face.</p>

-

-<p>"You mean&mdash;the Black Priest?" he

-asked.</p>

-

-<p>I nodded.</p>

-

-<p>Fortin opened his mouth to speak again,

-hesitated, and finally shut his teeth obstinately

-over the wheat stem that he was chewing.</p>

-

-<p>"And the Black Priest?" I suggested encouragingly.

-But I knew it was useless; for it

-is easier to move the stars from their courses

-than to make an obstinate Breton talk. We

-walked on for a minute or two in silence.</p>

-

-<p>"Where is the Brigadier Durand?" I

-asked, motioning Môme to come out of the

-wheat, which he was trampling as though it

-were heather. As I spoke we came in sight of

-the farther edge of the wheat field and the dark,

-wet mass of cliffs beyond.</p>

-

-<p>"Durand is down there&mdash;you can see him;

-he stands just behind the Mayor of St. Gildas."</p>

-

-<p>"I see," said I; and we struck straight

-<span class="pb" id="Pg52">[52]</span>

-down, following a sun-baked cattle path across

-the heather.</p>

-

-<p>When we reached the edge of the wheat

-field, Le Bihan, the Mayor of St. Gildas, called

-to me, and I tucked my gun under my arm and

-skirted the wheat to where he stood.</p>

-

-<p>"Thirty-eight skulls," he said in his thin,

-high-pitched voice; "there is but one more,

-and I am opposed to further search. I suppose

-Fortin told you?"</p>

-

-<p>I shook hands with him, and returned the

-salute of the Brigadier Durand.</p>

-

-<p>"I am opposed to further search," repeated

-Le Bihan, nervously picking at the mass of

-silver buttons which covered the front of his

-velvet and broadcloth jacket like a breastplate

-of scale armour.</p>

-

-<p>Durand pursed up his lips, twisted his tremendous

-mustache, and hooked his thumbs in

-his sabre belt.</p>

-

-<p>"As for me," he said, "I am in favour of

-further search."</p>

-

-<p>"Further search for what&mdash;for the thirty-ninth

-skull?" I asked.</p>

-

-<p>Le Bihan nodded. Durand frowned at the

-sunlit sea, rocking like a bowl of molten gold

-from the cliffs to the horizon. I followed his

-eyes. On the dark glistening cliffs, silhouetted

-against the glare of the sea, sat a cormorant,

-black, motionless, its horrible head raised toward

-heaven.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg53">[53]</span>

-"Where is that list, Durand?" I asked.</p>

-

-<p>The gendarme rummaged in his despatch

-pouch and produced a brass cylinder about a

-foot long. Very gravely he unscrewed the

-head and dumped out a scroll of thick yellow

-paper closely covered with writing on both

-sides. At a nod from Le Bihan he handed me

-the scroll. But I could make nothing of the

-coarse writing, now faded to a dull brown.</p>

-

-<p>"Come, come, Le Bihan," I said impatiently,

-"translate it, won't you? You and Max

-Fortin make a lot of mystery out of nothing,

-it seems."</p>

-

-<p>Le Bihan went to the edge of the pit where

-the three Bannalec men were digging, gave an

-order or two in Breton, and turned to me.</p>

-

-<p>As I came to the edge of the pit the Bannalec

-men were removing a square piece of sail-cloth

-from what appeared to be a pile of cobblestones.</p>

-

-<p>"Look!" said Le Bihan shrilly. I looked.

-The pile below was a heap of skulls. After a

-moment I clambered down the gravel sides of

-the pit and walked over to the men of Bannalec.

-They saluted me gravely, leaning on their

-picks and shovels, and wiping their sweating

-faces with sunburned hands.</p>

-

-<p>"How many?" said I in Breton.</p>

-

-<p>"Thirty-eight," they replied.</p>

-

-<p>I glanced around. Beyond the heap of

-skulls lay two piles of human bones. Beside

-<span class="pb" id="Pg54">[54]</span>

-these was a mound of broken, rusted bits of iron

-and steel. Looking closer, I saw that this

-mound was composed of rusty bayonets, sabre

-blades, scythe blades, with here and there a tarnished

-buckle attached to a bit of leather hard

-as iron.</p>

-

-<p>I picked up a couple of buttons and a belt

-plate. The buttons bore the royal arms of

-England; the belt plate was emblazoned with

-the English arms, and also with the number

-"27."</p>

-

-<p>"I have heard my grandfather speak of the

-terrible English regiment, the 27th Foot, which

-landed and stormed the fort up there," said one

-of the Bannalec men.</p>

-

-<p>"Oh!" said I; "then these are the bones

-of English soldiers?"</p>

-

-<p>"Yes," said the men of Bannalec.</p>

-

-<p>Le Bihan was calling to me from the edge

-of the pit above, and I handed the belt plate

-and buttons to the men and climbed the side of

-the excavation.</p>

-

-<p>"Well," said I, trying to prevent Môme

-from leaping up and licking my face as I

-emerged from the pit, "I suppose you know what

-these bones are. What are you going to do

-with them?"</p>

-

-<p>"There was a man," said Le Bihan angrily,

-"an Englishman, who passed here in a dog-cart

-on his way to Quimper about an hour ago,

-and what do you suppose he wished to do?"</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg55">[55]</span>

-"Buy the relics?" I asked, smiling.</p>

-

-<p>"Exactly&mdash;the pig!" piped the mayor of

-St. Gildas. "Jean Marie Tregunc, who found

-the bones, was standing there where Max Fortin

-stands, and do you know what he answered?

-He spat upon the ground, and said: 'Pig of

-an Englishman, do you take me for a desecrator

-of graves?'"</p>

-

-<p>I knew Tregunc, a sober, blue-eyed Breton,

-who lived from one year's end to the other without

-being able to afford a single bit of meat for

-a meal.</p>

-

-<p>"How much did the Englishman offer Tregunc?"

-I asked.</p>

-

-<p>"Two hundred francs for the skulls alone."</p>

-

-<p>I thought of the relic hunters and the relic

-buyers on the battlefields of our civil war.</p>

-

-<p>"Seventeen hundred and sixty is long ago,"

-I said.</p>

-

-<p>"Respect for the dead can never die," said

-Fortin.</p>

-

-<p>"And the English soldiers came here to kill

-your fathers and burn your homes," I continued.</p>

-

-<p>"They were murderers and thieves, but&mdash;they

-are dead," said Tregunc, coming up from

-the beach below, his long sea rake balanced on

-his dripping jersey.</p>

-

-<p>"How much do you earn every year, Jean

-Marie?" I asked, turning to shake hands with

-him.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg56">[56]</span>

-"Two hundred and twenty francs, monsieur."</p>

-

-<p>"Forty-five dollars a year," I said. "Bah!

-you are worth more, Jean. Will you take care

-of my garden for me? My wife wished me to

-ask you. I think it would be worth one hundred

-francs a month to you and to me. Come

-on, Le Bihan&mdash;come along, Fortin&mdash;and you,

-Durand. I want somebody to translate that list

-into French for me."</p>

-

-<p>Tregunc stood gazing at me, his blue eyes

-dilated.</p>

-

-<p>"You may begin at once," I said, smiling,

-"if the salary suits you?"</p>

-

-<p>"It suits," said Tregunc, fumbling for his

-pipe in a silly way that annoyed Le Bihan.</p>

-

-<p>"Then go and begin your work," cried the

-mayor impatiently; and Tregunc started across

-the moors toward St. Gildas, taking off his

-velvet-ribboned cap to me and gripping his sea

-rake very hard.</p>

-

-<p>"You offer him more than my salary," said

-the mayor, after a moment's contemplation of

-his silver buttons.</p>

-

-<p>"Pooh!" said I, "what do you do for your

-salary except play dominoes with Max Fortin at

-the Groix Inn?"</p>

-

-<p>Le Bihan turned red, but Durand rattled

-his sabre and winked at Max Fortin, and I

-slipped my arm through the arm of the sulky

-magistrate, laughing.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg57">[57]</span>

-"There's a shady spot under the cliff," I

-said; "come on, Le Bihan, and read me what

-is in the scroll."</p>

-

-<p>In a few moments we reached the shadow of

-the cliff, and I threw myself upon the turf, chin

-on hand, to listen.</p>

-

-<p>The gendarme, Durand, also sat down, twisting

-his mustache into needlelike points. Fortin

-leaned against the cliff, polishing his glasses

-and examining us with vague, near-sighted

-eyes; and Le Bihan, the mayor, planted himself

-in our midst, rolling up the scroll and tucking

-it under his arm.</p>

-

-<p>"First of all," he began in a shrill voice, "I

-am going to light my pipe, and while lighting

-it I shall tell you what I have heard about the

-attack on the fort yonder. My father told me;

-his father told him."</p>

-

-<p>He jerked his head in the direction of the

-ruined fort, a small, square stone structure on

-the sea cliff, now nothing but crumbling walls.

-Then he slowly produced a tobacco pouch, a bit

-of flint and tinder, and a long-stemmed pipe

-fitted with a microscopical bowl of baked clay.

-To fill such a pipe requires ten minutes' close

-attention. To smoke it to a finish takes but

-four puffs. It is very Breton, this Breton pipe.

-It is the crystallization of everything Breton.</p>

-

-<p>"Go on," said I, lighting a cigarette.</p>

-

-<p>"The fort," said the mayor, "was built by

-Louis XIV, and was dismantled twice by the

-<span class="pb" id="Pg58">[58]</span>

-English. Louis XV restored it in 1739. In

-1760 it was carried by assault by the English.

-They came across from the island of Groix&mdash;three

-shiploads&mdash;and they stormed the fort

-and sacked St. Julien yonder, and they started

-to burn St. Gildas&mdash;you can see the marks of

-their bullets on my house yet; but the men of

-Bannalec and the men of Lorient fell upon

-them with pike and scythe and blunderbuss,

-and those who did not run away lie there below

-in the gravel pit now&mdash;thirty-eight of them."</p>

-

-<p>"And the thirty-ninth skull?" I asked, finishing

-my cigarette.</p>

-

-<p>The mayor had succeeded in filling his pipe,

-and now he began to put his tobacco pouch

-away.</p>

-

-<p>"The thirty-ninth skull," he mumbled,

-holding the pipestem between his defective

-teeth&mdash;"the thirty-ninth skull is no business

-of mine. I have told the Bannalec men to

-cease digging."</p>

-

-<p>"But what is&mdash;whose is the missing skull?"

-I persisted curiously.</p>

-

-<p>The mayor was busy trying to strike a spark

-to his tinder. Presently he set it aglow, applied

-it to his pipe, took the prescribed four

-puffs, knocked the ashes out of the bowl, and

-gravely replaced the pipe in his pocket.</p>

-

-<p>"The missing skull?" he asked.</p>

-

-<p>"Yes," said I impatiently.</p>

-

-<p>The mayor slowly unrolled the scroll and

-<span class="pb" id="Pg59">[59]</span>

-began to read, translating from the Breton into

-French. And this is what he read:</p>

-

-<div class="blockquote">

-<p class="right">"<span class="smcap">On the Cliffs of St. Gildas</span>,<br />

-"<i>April 13, 1760</i>.&nbsp; &nbsp;</p>

-

-<p>"On this day, by order of the Count of Soisic,

-general in chief of the Breton forces now

-lying in Kerselec Forest, the bodies of thirty-eight

-English soldiers of the 27th, 50th, and

-72d regiments of Foot were buried in this spot,

-together with their arms and equipments."</p>

-</div>

-

-<p>The mayor paused and glanced at me reflectively.</p>

-

-<p>"Go on, Le Bihan," I said.</p>

-

-<p>"With them," continued the mayor, turning

-the scroll and reading on the other side,

-"was buried the body of that vile traitor who betrayed

-the fort to the English. The manner of

-his death was as follows: By order of the most

-noble Count of Soisic, the traitor was first branded

-upon the forehead with the brand of an arrowhead.

-The iron burned through the flesh, and

-was pressed heavily so that the brand should

-even burn into the bone of the skull. The traitor

-was then led out and bidden to kneel. He

-admitted having guided the English from the

-island of Groix. Although a priest and a

-Frenchman, he had violated his priestly office

-to aid him in discovering the password to the

-fort. This password he extorted during confession

-<span class="pb" id="Pg60">[60]</span>

-from a young Breton girl who was in the

-habit of rowing across from the island of Groix

-to visit her husband in the fort. When the fort

-fell, this young girl, crazed by the death of her

-husband, sought the Count of Soisic and told

-how the priest had forced her to confess to him

-all she knew about the fort. The priest was

-arrested at St. Gildas as he was about to cross

-the river to Lorient. When arrested he cursed

-the girl, Marie Trevec&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

-

-<p>"What!" I exclaimed, "Marie Trevec!"</p>

-

-<p>"Marie Trevec," repeated Le Bihan; "the

-priest cursed Marie Trevec, and all her family

-and descendants. He was shot as he knelt, having

-a mask of leather over his face, because

-the Bretons who composed the squad of execution

-refused to fire at a priest unless his

-face was concealed. The priest was l'Abbé

-Sorgue, commonly known as the Black Priest

-on account of his dark face and swarthy eyebrows.

-He was buried with a stake through

-his heart."</p>

-

-<p>Le Bihan paused, hesitated, looked at me,

-and handed the manuscript back to Durand.

-The gendarme took it and slipped it into the

-brass cylinder.</p>

-

-<p>"So," said I, "the thirty-ninth skull is the

-skull of the Black Priest."</p>

-

-<p>"Yes," said Fortin. "I hope they won't

-find it."</p>

-

-<p>"I have forbidden them to proceed," said

-<span class="pb" id="Pg61">[61]</span>

-the mayor querulously. "You heard me, Max

-Fortin."</p>

-

-<p>I rose and picked up my gun. Môme came

-and pushed his head into my hand.</p>

-

-<p>"That's a fine dog," observed Durand, also

-rising.</p>

-

-<p>"Why don't you wish to find his skull?"

-I asked Le Bihan. "It would be curious to see

-whether the arrow brand really burned into the

-bone."</p>

-

-<p>"There is something in that scroll that I

-didn't read to you," said the mayor grimly.

-"Do you wish to know what it is?"</p>

-

-<p>"Of course," I replied in surprise.</p>

-

-<p>"Give me the scroll again, Durand," he

-said; then he read from the bottom: "I, l'Abbé

-Sorgue, forced to write the above by my executioners,

-have written it in my own blood; and

-with it I leave my curse. My curse on St. Gildas,

-on Marie Trevec, and on her descendants.

-I will come back to St. Gildas when my remains

-are disturbed. Woe to that Englishman whom

-my branded skull shall touch!"</p>

-

-<p>"What rot!" I said. "Do you believe it

-was really written in his own blood?"</p>

-

-<p>"I am going to test it," said Fortin, "at

-the request of Monsieur le Maire. I am not

-anxious for the job, however."</p>

-

-<p>"See," said Le Bihan, holding out the scroll

-to me, "it is signed, 'l'Abbé Sorgue.'"</p>

-

-<p>I glanced curiously over the paper.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg62">[62]</span>

-"It must be the Black Priest," I said. "He

-was the only man who wrote in the Breton language.

-This is a wonderfully interesting discovery,

-for now, at last, the mystery of the

-Black Priest's disappearance is cleared up. You

-will, of course, send this scroll to Paris, Le

-Bihan?"</p>

-

-<p>"No," said the mayor obstinately, "it shall

-be buried in the pit below where the rest of the

-Black Priest lies."</p>

-

-<p>I looked at him and recognised that argument

-would be useless. But still I said, "It

-will be a loss to history, Monsieur Le Bihan."</p>

-

-<p>"All the worse for history, then," said the

-enlightened Mayor of St. Gildas.</p>

-

-<p>We had sauntered back to the gravel pit

-while speaking. The men of Bannalec were

-carrying the bones of the English soldiers toward

-the St. Gildas cemetery, on the cliffs to

-the east, where already a knot of white-coiffed

-women stood in attitudes of prayer; and I saw

-the sombre robe of a priest among the crosses of

-the little graveyard.</p>

-

-<p>"They were thieves and assassins; they are

-dead now," muttered Max Fortin.</p>

-

-<p>"Respect the dead," repeated the Mayor of

-St. Gildas, looking after the Bannalec men.</p>

-

-<p>"It was written in that scroll that Marie

-Trevec, of Groix Island, was cursed by the

-priest&mdash;she and her descendants," I said, touching

-Le Bihan on the arm. "There was a Marie

-<span class="pb" id="Pg63">[63]</span>

-Trevec who married an Yves Trevec of St. Gildas&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

-

-<p>"It is the same," said Le Bihan, looking at

-me obliquely.</p>

-

-<p>"Oh!" said I; "then they were ancestors

-of my wife."</p>

-

-<p>"Do you fear the curse?" asked Le Bihan.</p>

-

-<p>"What?" I laughed.</p>

-

-<p>"There was the case of the Purple Emperor,"

-said Max Fortin timidly.</p>

-

-<p>Startled for a moment, I faced him, then

-shrugged my shoulders and kicked at a smooth

-bit of rock which lay near the edge of the pit,

-almost embedded in gravel.</p>

-

-<p>"Do you suppose the Purple Emperor drank

-himself crazy because he was descended from

-Marie Trevec?" I asked contemptuously.</p>

-

-<p>"Of course not," said Max Fortin hastily.</p>

-

-<p>"Of course not," piped the mayor. "I

-only&mdash;&mdash; Hello! what's that you're kicking?"</p>

-

-<p>"What?" said I, glancing down, at the

-same time involuntarily giving another kick.

-The smooth bit of rock dislodged itself and

-rolled out of the loosened gravel at my feet.</p>

-

-<p>"The thirty-ninth skull!" I exclaimed.

-"By jingo, its the noddle of the Black Priest!

-See! there is the arrowhead branded on the

-front!"</p>

-

-<p>The mayor stepped back. Max Fortin also

-retreated. There was a pause, during which I

-<span class="pb" id="Pg64">[64]</span>

-looked at them, and they looked anywhere but

-at me.</p>

-

-<p>"I don't like it," said the mayor at last, in a

-husky, high voice. "I don't like it! The scroll

-says he will come back to St. Gildas when his

-remains are disturbed. I&mdash;I don't like it, Monsieur

-Darrel&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

-

-<p>"Bosh!" said I; "the poor wicked devil is

-where he can't get out. For Heaven's sake, Le

-Bihan, what is this stuff you are talking in the

-year of grace 1896?"</p>

-

-<p>The mayor gave me a look.</p>

-

-<p>"And he says 'Englishman.' You are an

-Englishman, Monsieur Darrel," he announced.</p>

-

-<p>"You know better. You know I'm an

-American."</p>

-

-<p>"It's all the same," said the Mayor of St.

-Gildas, obstinately.</p>

-

-<p>"No, it isn't!" I answered, much exasperated,

-and deliberately pushed the skull till it

-rolled into the bottom of the gravel pit below.</p>

-

-<p>"Cover it up," said I; "bury the scroll

-with it too, if you insist, but I think you ought

-to send it to Paris. Don't look so gloomy, Fortin,

-unless you believe in were-wolves and

-ghosts. Hey! what the&mdash;what the devil's the

-matter with you, anyway? What are you staring

-at, Le Bihan?"</p>

-

-<p>"Come, come," muttered the mayor in a

-low, tremulous voice, "it's time we got out of

-this. Did you see? Did you see, Fortin?"</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg65">[65]</span>

-"I saw," whispered Max Fortin, pallid with

-fright.</p>

-

-<p>The two men were almost running across

-the sunny pasture now, and I hastened after

-them, demanding to know what was the matter.</p>

-

-<p>"Matter!" chattered the mayor, gasping

-with exasperation and terror. "The skull is

-rolling uphill again!" and he burst into a

-terrified gallop. Max Fortin followed close behind.</p>

-

-<p>I watched them stampeding across the pasture,

-then turned toward the gravel pit, mystified,

-incredulous. The skull was lying on the

-edge of the pit, exactly where it had been before

-I pushed it over the edge. For a second I

-stared at it; a singular chilly feeling crept up

-my spinal column, and I turned and walked

-away, sweat starting from the root of every

-hair on my head. Before I had gone twenty

-paces the absurdity of the whole thing struck

-me. I halted, hot with shame and annoyance,

-and retraced my steps.</p>

-

-<p>There lay the skull.</p>

-

-<p>"I rolled a stone down instead of the skull,"

-I muttered to myself. Then with the butt

-of my gun I pushed the skull over the edge of

-the pit and watched it roll to the bottom; and

-as it struck the bottom of the pit, Môme,

-my dog, suddenly whipped his tail between

-his legs, whimpered, and made off across the

-moor.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg66">[66]</span>

-"Môme!" I shouted, angry and astonished;

-but the dog only fled the faster, and I ceased

-calling from sheer surprise.</p>

-

-<p>"What the mischief is the matter with that

-dog!" I thought. He had never before played

-me such a trick.</p>

-

-<p>Mechanically I glanced into the pit, but I

-could not see the skull. I looked down. The

-skull lay at my feet again, touching them.</p>

-

-<p>"Good heavens!" I stammered, and struck

-at it blindly with my gunstock. The ghastly

-thing flew into the air, whirling over and over,

-and rolled again down the sides of the pit to

-the bottom. Breathlessly I stared at it, then,

-confused and scarcely comprehending, I stepped

-back from the pit, still facing it, one, ten,

-twenty paces, my eyes almost starting from my

-head, as though I expected to see the thing roll

-up from the bottom of the pit under my very

-gaze. At last I turned my back to the pit and

-strode out across the gorse-covered moorland

-toward my home. As I reached the road that

-winds from St. Gildas to St. Julien I gave one

-hasty glance at the pit over my shoulder. The

-sun shone hot on the sod about the excavation.

-There was something white and bare and round

-on the turf at the edge of the pit. It might

-have been a stone; there were plenty of them

-lying about.</p>

-

-<h3>II.<span class="pb" id="Pg67">[67]</span></h3>

-

-<p>When I entered my garden I saw Môme

-sprawling on the stone doorstep. He eyed me

-sideways and flopped his tail.</p>

-

-<p>"Are you not mortified, you idiot dog?" I

-said, looking about the upper windows for Lys.</p>

-

-<p>Môme rolled over on his back and raised one

-deprecating forepaw, as though to ward off calamity.</p>

-

-<p>"Don't act as though I was in the habit of

-beating you to death," I said, disgusted. I had

-never in my life raised whip to the brute.

-"But you are a fool dog," I continued. "No,

-you needn't come to be babied and wept over;

-Lys can do that, if she insists, but I am ashamed

-of you, and you can go to the devil."</p>

-

-<p>Môme slunk off into the house, and I followed,

-mounting directly to my wife's boudoir.

-It was empty.</p>

-

-<p>"Where has she gone?" I said, looking

-hard at Môme, who had followed me. "Oh!

-I see you don't know. Don't pretend you do.

-Come off that lounge! Do you think Lys wants

-tan-coloured hairs all over her lounge?"</p>

-

-<p>I rang the bell for Catherine and 'Fine, but

-they didn't know where "madame" had gone;

-so I went into my room, bathed, exchanged my

-somewhat grimy shooting clothes for a suit of

-warm, soft knickerbockers, and, after lingering

-some extra moments over my toilet&mdash;for I was

-<span class="pb" id="Pg68">[68]</span>

-particular, now that I had married Lys&mdash;I went

-down to the garden and took a chair out under

-the fig-trees.</p>

-

-<p>"Where can she be?" I wondered. Môme

-came sneaking out to be comforted, and I forgave

-him for Lys's sake, whereupon he frisked.</p>

-

-<p>"You bounding cur," said I, "now what

-on earth started you off across the moor? If

-you do it again I'll push you along with a charge

-of dust shot."</p>

-

-<p>As yet I had scarcely dared think about the

-ghastly hallucination of which I had been a victim,

-but now I faced it squarely, flushing a little

-with mortification at the thought of my hasty

-retreat from the gravel pit.</p>

-

-<p>"To think," I said aloud, "that those old

-woman's tales of Max Fortin and Le Bihan

-should have actually made me see what didn't

-exist at all! I lost my nerve like a schoolboy in

-a dark bedroom." For I knew now that I had

-mistaken a round stone for a skull each time,

-and had pushed a couple of big pebbles into the

-pit instead of the skull itself.</p>

-

-<p>"By jingo!" said I, "I'm nervous; my

-liver must be in a devil of a condition if I see

-such things when I'm awake! Lys will know

-what to give me."</p>

-

-<p>I felt mortified and irritated and sulky, and

-thought disgustedly of Le Bihan and Max

-Fortin.</p>

-

-<p>But after a while I ceased speculating, dismissed

-<span class="pb" id="Pg69">[69]</span>

-the mayor, the chemist, and the skull

-from my mind, and smoked pensively, watching

-the sun low dipping in the western ocean.

-As the twilight fell for a moment over ocean

-and moorland, a wistful, restless happiness

-filled my heart, the happiness that all men

-know&mdash;all men who have loved.</p>

-

-<p>Slowly the purple mist crept out over the

-sea; the cliffs darkened; the forest was

-shrouded.</p>

-

-<p>Suddenly the sky above burned with the

-afterglow, and the world was alight again.</p>

-

-<p>Cloud after cloud caught the rose dye; the

-cliffs were tinted with it; moor and pasture,

-heather and forest burned and pulsated with the

-gentle flush. I saw the gulls turning and tossing

-above the sand bar, their snowy wings

-tipped with pink; I saw the sea swallows sheering

-the surface of the still river, stained to its

-placid depths with warm reflections of the

-clouds. The twitter of drowsy hedge birds

-broke out in the stillness; a salmon rolled its

-shining side above tide-water.</p>

-

-<p>The interminable monotone of the ocean intensified

-the silence. I sat motionless, holding

-my breath as one who listens to the first low

-rumour of an organ. All at once the pure

-whistle of a nightingale cut the silence, and the

-first moonbeam silvered the wastes of mist-hung

-waters.</p>

-

-<p>I raised my head.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg70">[70]</span>

-Lys stood before me in the garden.</p>

-

-<p>When we had kissed each other, we linked

-arms and moved up and down the gravel walks,

-watching the moonbeams sparkle on the sand bar

-as the tide ebbed and ebbed. The broad beds of

-white pinks about us were atremble with hovering

-white moths; the October roses hung all

-abloom, perfuming the salt wind.</p>

-

-<p>"Sweetheart," I said, "where is Yvonne?

-Has she promised to spend Christmas with us?"</p>

-

-<p>"Yes, Dick; she drove me down from Plougat

-this afternoon. She sent her love to you.

-I am not jealous. What did you shoot?"</p>

-

-<p>"A hare and four partridges. They are in

-the gun room. I told Catherine not to touch

-them until you had seen them."</p>

-

-<p>Now I suppose I knew that Lys could not

-be particularly enthusiastic over game or guns;

-but she pretended she was, and always scornfully

-denied that it was for my sake and not

-for the pure love of sport. So she dragged me

-off to inspect the rather meagre game bag, and

-she paid me pretty compliments and gave a little

-cry of delight and pity as I lifted the enormous

-hare out of the sack by his ears.</p>

-

-<p>"He'll eat no more of our lettuce," I said,

-attempting to justify the assassination.</p>

-

-<p>"Unhappy little bunny&mdash;and what a beauty!

-O Dick, you are a splendid shot, are you not?"</p>

-

-<p>I evaded the question and hauled out a partridge.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg71">[71]</span>

-"Poor little dead things!" said Lys in a

-whisper; "it seems a pity&mdash;doesn't it, Dick?

-But then you are so clever&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

-

-<p>"We'll have them broiled," I said guardedly;

-"tell Catherine."</p>

-

-<p>Catherine came in to take away the game,

-and presently 'Fine Lelocard, Lys's maid, announced

-dinner, and Lys tripped away to her

-boudoir.</p>

-

-<p>I stood an instant contemplating her blissfully,

-thinking, "My boy, you're the happiest

-fellow in the world&mdash;you're in love with your

-wife!"</p>

-

-<p>I walked into the dining room, beamed at

-the plates, walked out again; met Tregunc in

-the hallway, beamed on him; glanced into the

-kitchen, beamed at Catherine, and went up

-stairs, still beaming.</p>

-

-<p>Before I could knock at Lys's door it

-opened, and Lys came hastily out. When she

-saw me she gave a little cry of relief, and

-nestled close to my breast.</p>

-

-<p>"There is something peering in at my window,"

-she said.</p>

-

-<p>"What!" I cried angrily.</p>

-

-<p>"A man, I think, disguised as a priest, and

-he has a mask on. He must have climbed up

-by the bay tree."</p>

-

-<p>I was down the stairs and out of doors in no

-time. The moonlit garden was absolutely deserted.

-Tregunc came up, and together we

-<span class="pb" id="Pg72">[72]</span>

-searched the hedge and shrubbery around the

-house and out to the road.</p>

-

-<p>"Jean Marie," said I at length, "loose my

-bulldog&mdash;he knows you&mdash;and take your supper

-on the porch where you can watch. My wife

-says the fellow is disguised as a priest, and wears

-a mask."</p>

-

-<p>Tregunc showed his white teeth in a smile.

-"He will not care to venture in here again, I

-think, Monsieur Darrel."</p>

-

-<p>I went back and found Lys seated quietly

-at the table.</p>

-

-<p>"The soup is ready, dear," she said.

-"Don't worry; it was only some foolish lout

-from Bannalec. No one in St. Gildas or St.

-Julien would do such a thing."</p>

-

-<p>I was too much exasperated to reply at first,

-but Lys treated it as a stupid joke, and after a

-while I began to look at it in that light.</p>

-

-<p>Lys told me about Yvonne, and reminded

-me of my promise to have Herbert Stuart down

-to meet her.</p>

-

-<p>"You wicked diplomat!" I protested.

-"Herbert is in Paris, and hard at work for the

-Salon."</p>

-

-<p>"Don't you think he might spare a week to

-flirt with the prettiest girl in Finistère?" inquired

-Lys innocently.</p>

-

-<p>"Prettiest girl! Not much!" I said.</p>

-

-<p>"Who is, then?" urged Lys.</p>

-

-<p>I laughed a trifle sheepishly.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg73">[73]</span>

-"I suppose you mean me, Dick," said Lys,

-colouring up.</p>

-

-<p>"Now I bore you, don't I?"</p>

-

-<p>"Bore me? Ah, no, Dick."</p>

-

-<p>After coffee and cigarettes were served I

-spoke about Tregunc, and Lys approved.</p>

-

-<p>"Poor Jean! he will be glad, won't he?

-What a dear fellow you are!"</p>

-

-<p>"Nonsense," said I; "we need a gardener;

-you said so yourself, Lys."</p>

-

-<p>But Lys leaned over and kissed me, and then

-bent down and hugged Môme, who whistled

-through his nose in sentimental appreciation.</p>

-

-<p>"I am a very happy woman," said Lys.</p>

-

-<p>"Môme was a very bad dog to-day," I observed.</p>

-

-<p>"Poor Môme!" said Lys, smiling.</p>

-

-<p>When dinner was over and Môme lay snoring

-before the blaze&mdash;for the October nights

-are often chilly in Finistère&mdash;Lys curled up in

-the chimney corner with her embroidery, and

-gave me a swift glance from under her drooping

-lashes.</p>

-

-<p>"You look like a schoolgirl, Lys," I said

-teasingly. "I don't believe you are sixteen

-yet."</p>

-

-<p>She pushed back her heavy burnished hair

-thoughtfully. Her wrist was as white as surf

-foam.</p>

-

-<p>"Have we been married four years? I

-don't believe it," I said.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg74">[74]</span>

-She gave me another swift glance and

-touched the embroidery on her knee, smiling

-faintly.</p>

-

-<p>"I see," said I, also smiling at the embroidered

-garment. "Do you think it will

-fit?"</p>

-

-<p>"Fit?" repeated Lys. Then she laughed.</p>

-

-<p>"And," I persisted, "are you perfectly sure

-that you&mdash;er&mdash;we shall need it?"</p>

-

-<p>"Perfectly," said Lys. A delicate colour

-touched her cheeks and neck. She held up the

-little garment, all fluffy with misty lace and

-wrought with quaint embroidery.</p>

-

-<p>"It is very gorgeous," said I; "don't use

-your eyes too much, dearest. May I smoke a

-pipe?"</p>

-

-<p>"Of course," she said, selecting a skein of

-pale blue silk.</p>

-

-<p>For a while I sat and smoked in silence,

-watching her slender fingers among the tinted

-silks and thread of gold.</p>

-

-<p>Presently she spoke: "What did you say

-your crest is, Dick?"</p>

-

-<p>"My crest? Oh, something or other rampant

-on a something or other&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

-

-<p>"Dick!"</p>

-

-<p>"Dearest?"</p>

-

-<p>"Don't be flippant."</p>

-

-<p>"But I really forget. It's an ordinary

-crest; everybody in New York has them. No

-family should be without 'em."</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg75">[75]</span>

-"You are disagreeable, Dick. Send Josephine

-upstairs for my album."</p>

-

-<p>"Are you going to put that crest on the&mdash;the&mdash;whatever

-it is?"</p>

-

-<p>"I am; and my own crest, too."</p>

-

-<p>I thought of the Purple Emperor and wondered

-a little.</p>

-

-<p>"You didn't know I had one, did you?"

-she smiled.</p>

-

-<p>"What is it?" I replied evasively.</p>

-

-<p>"You shall see. Ring for Josephine."</p>

-

-<p>I rang, and, when 'Fine appeared, Lys gave

-her some orders in a low voice, and Josephine

-trotted away, bobbing her white-coiffed head

-with a "Bien, madame!"</p>

-

-<p>After a few minutes she returned, bearing

-a tattered, musty volume, from which the gold

-and blue had mostly disappeared.</p>

-

-<p>I took the book in my hands and examined

-the ancient emblazoned covers.</p>

-

-<p>"Lilies!" I exclaimed.</p>

-

-<p>"Fleur-de-lis," said my wife demurely.</p>

-

-<p>"Oh!" said I, astonished, and opened the

-book.</p>

-

-<p>"You have never before seen this book?"

-asked Lys, with a touch of malice in her eyes.</p>

-

-<p>"You know I haven't. Hello! what's this?

-Oho! So there should be a <em>de</em> before Trevec?

-Lys de Trevec? Then why in the world did

-the Purple Emperor&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

-

-<p>"Dick!" cried Lys.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg76">[76]</span>

-"All right," said I. "Shall I read about

-the Sieur de Trevec who rode to Saladin's tent

-alone to seek for medicine for St. Louis? or

-shall I read about&mdash;what is it? Oh, here it is,

-all down in black and white&mdash;about the Marquis

-de Trevec who drowned himself before

-Alva's eyes rather than surrender the banner

-of the fleur-de-lis to Spain? It's all written

-here. But, dear, how about that soldier named

-Trevec who was killed in the old fort on the

-cliff yonder?"</p>

-

-<p>"He dropped the <em>de</em>, and the Trevecs since

-then have been Republicans," said Lys&mdash;"all

-except me."</p>

-

-<p>"That's quite right," said I; "it is time

-that we Republicans should agree upon some

-feudal system. My dear, I drink to the king!"

-and I raised my wine-glass and looked at Lys.</p>

-

-<p>"To the king," said Lys, flushing. She

-smoothed out the tiny garment on her knees;

-she touched the glass with her lips; her eyes

-were very sweet. I drained the glass to the

-king.</p>

-

-<p>After a silence I said: "I will tell the king

-stories. His Majesty shall be amused."</p>

-

-<p>"His Majesty," repeated Lys softly.</p>

-

-<p>"Or hers," I laughed. "Who knows?"</p>

-

-<p>"Who knows?" murmured Lys, with a

-gentle sigh.</p>

-

-<p>"I know some stories about Jack the Giant-Killer,"

-I announced. "Do you, Lys?"</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg77">[77]</span>

-"I? No, not about a giant-killer, but I

-know all about the were-wolf, and Jeanne-la-Flamme,

-and the Man in Purple Tatters, and&mdash;O

-dear me! I know lots more."</p>

-

-<p>"You are very wise," said I. "I shall

-teach his Majesty English."</p>

-

-<p>"And I Breton," cried Lys jealously.</p>

-

-<p>"I shall bring playthings to the king," said

-I&mdash;"big green lizards from the gorse, little

-gray mullets to swim in glass globes, baby rabbits

-from the forest of Kerselec&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

-

-<p>"And I," said Lys, "will bring the first

-primrose, the first branch of aubepine, the first

-jonquil, to the king&mdash;my king."</p>

-

-<p>"Our king," said I; and there was peace in

-Finistère.</p>

-

-<p>I lay back, idly turning the leaves of the

-curious old volume.</p>

-

-<p>"I am looking," said I, "for the crest."</p>

-

-<p>"The crest, dear? It is a priest's head with

-an arrow-shaped mark on the forehead, on a

-field&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

-

-<p>I sat up and stared at my wife.</p>

-

-<p>"Dick, whatever is the matter?" she

-smiled. "The story is there in that book.

-Do you care to read it? No? Shall I tell it

-to you? Well, then: It happened in the third

-crusade. There was a monk whom men called

-the Black Priest. He turned apostate, and sold

-himself to the enemies of Christ. A Sieur de

-Trevec burst into the Saracen camp, at the

-<span class="pb" id="Pg78">[78]</span>

-head of only one hundred lances, and carried

-the Black Priest away out of the very midst of

-their army."</p>

-

-<p>"So that is how you come by the crest," I

-said quietly; but I thought of the branded skull

-in the gravel pit, and wondered.</p>

-

-<p>"Yes," said Lys. "The Sieur de Trevec

-cut the Black Priest's head off, but first he

-branded him with an arrow mark on the forehead.

-The book says it was a pious action, and

-the Sieur de Trevec got great merit by it. But

-I think it was cruel, the branding," she sighed.</p>

-

-<p>"Did you ever hear of any other Black

-Priest?"</p>

-

-<p>"Yes. There was one in the last century,

-here in St. Gildas. He cast a white shadow in

-the sun. He wrote in the Breton language.

-Chronicles, too, I believe. I never saw them.

-His name was the same as that of the old

-chronicler, and of the other priest, Jacques

-Sorgue. Some said he was a lineal descendant

-of the traitor. Of course the first Black Priest

-was bad enough for anything. But if he did

-have a child, it need not have been the ancestor

-of the last Jacques Sorgue. They say this one

-was a holy man. They say he was so good he

-was not allowed to die, but was caught up to

-heaven one day," added Lys, with believing

-eyes.</p>

-

-<p>I smiled.</p>

-

-<p>"But he disappeared," persisted Lys.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg79">[79]</span>

-"I'm afraid his journey was in another direction,"

-I said jestingly, and thoughtlessly

-told her the story of the morning. I had utterly

-forgotten the masked man at her window,

-but before I finished I remembered him fast

-enough, and realized what I had done as I saw

-her face whiten.</p>

-

-<p>"Lys," I urged tenderly, "that was only

-some clumsy clown's trick. You said so yourself.

-You are not superstitious, my dear?"</p>

-

-<p>Her eyes were on mine. She slowly drew

-the little gold cross from her bosom and kissed

-it. But her lips trembled as they pressed the

-symbol of faith.</p>

-

-<h3>III.</h3>

-

-<p>About nine o'clock the next morning I

-walked into the Groix Inn and sat down at the

-long discoloured oaken table, nodding good-day

-to Marianne Bruyère, who in turn bobbed

-her white coiffe at me.</p>

-

-<p>"My clever Bannalec maid," said I, "what

-is good for a stirrup-cup at the Groix Inn?"</p>

-

-<p>"Schist?" she inquired in Breton.</p>

-

-<p>"With a dash of red wine, then," I replied.</p>

-

-<p>She brought the delicious Quimperlé cider,

-and I poured a little Bordeaux into it. Marianne

-watched me with laughing black eyes.</p>

-

-<p>"What makes your cheeks so red, Marianne?"

-I asked. "Has Jean Marie been

-here?"</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg80">[80]</span>

-"We are to be married, Monsieur Darrel,"

-she laughed.</p>

-

-<p>"Ah! Since when has Jean Marie Tregunc

-lost his head?"</p>

-

-<p>"His head? Oh, Monsieur Darrel&mdash;his

-heart, you mean!"</p>

-

-<p>"So I do," said I. "Jean Marie is a practical

-fellow."</p>

-

-<p>"It is all due to your kindness&mdash;&mdash;" began

-the girl, but I raised my hand and held up the

-glass.</p>

-

-<p>"It's due to himself. To your happiness,

-Marianne;" and I took a hearty draught of the

-schist. "Now," said I, "tell me where I can

-find Le Bihan and Max Fortin."</p>

-

-<p>"Monsieur Le Bihan and Monsieur Fortin

-are above in the broad room. I believe they are

-examining the Red Admiral's effects."</p>

-

-<p>"To send them to Paris? Oh, I know.

-May I go up, Marianne?"</p>

-

-<p>"And God go with you," smiled the girl.</p>

-

-<p>When I knocked at the door of the broad

-room above little Max Fortin opened it. Dust

-covered his spectacles and nose; his hat, with

-the tiny velvet ribbons fluttering, was all awry.</p>

-

-<p>"Come in, Monsieur Darrel," he said; "the

-mayor and I are packing up the effects of the

-Purple Emperor and of the poor Red Admiral."</p>

-

-<p>"The collections?" I asked, entering the

-room. "You must be very careful in packing

-<span class="pb" id="Pg81">[81]</span>

-those butterfly cases; the slightest jar might

-break wings and antennæ, you know."</p>

-

-<p>Le Bihan shook hands with me and pointed

-to the great pile of boxes.</p>

-

-<p>"They're all cork lined," he said, "but

-Fortin and I are putting felt around each box.

-The Entomological Society of Paris pays the

-freight."</p>

-

-<p>The combined collections of the Red Admiral

-and the Purple Emperor made a magnificent

-display.</p>

-

-<p>I lifted and inspected case after case set

-with gorgeous butterflies and moths, each specimen

-carefully labelled with the name in Latin.

-There were cases filled with crimson tiger

-moths all aflame with colour; cases devoted to

-the common yellow butterflies; symphonies in

-orange and pale yellow; cases of soft gray and

-dun-coloured sphinx moths; and cases of

-garish nettle-bred butterflies of the numerous

-family of <em>Vanessa</em>.</p>

-

-<p>All alone in a great case by itself was pinned

-the purple emperor, the Apatura Iris, that fatal

-specimen that had given the Purple Emperor

-his name and quietus.</p>

-

-<p>I remembered the butterfly, and stood looking

-at it with bent eyebrows.</p>

-

-<p>Le Bihan glanced up from the floor where

-he was nailing down the lid of a box full of

-cases.</p>

-

-<p>"It is settled, then," said he, "that madame,

-<span class="pb" id="Pg82">[82]</span>

-your wife, gives the Purple Emperor's entire

-collection to the city of Paris?"</p>

-

-<p>I nodded.</p>

-

-<p>"Without accepting anything for it?"</p>

-

-<p>"It is a gift," I said.</p>

-

-<p>"Including the purple emperor there in

-the case? That butterfly is worth a great deal

-of money," persisted Le Bihan.</p>

-

-<p>"You don't suppose that we would wish to

-sell that specimen, do you?" I answered a

-trifle sharply.</p>

-

-<p>"If I were you I should destroy it," said the

-mayor in his high-pitched voice.</p>

-

-<p>"That would be nonsense," said I&mdash;"like

-your burying the brass cylinder and scroll yesterday."</p>

-

-<p>"It was not nonsense," said Le Bihan doggedly,

-"and I should prefer not to discuss the

-subject of the scroll."</p>

-

-<p>I looked at Max Fortin, who immediately

-avoided my eyes.</p>

-

-<p>"You are a pair of superstitious old women,"

-said I, digging my hands into my pockets;

-"you swallow every nursery tale that is invented."</p>

-

-<p>"What of it?" said Le Bihan sulkily;

-"there's more truth than lies in most of 'em."</p>

-

-<p>"Oh!" I sneered, "does the Mayor of St.

-Gildas and St. Julien believe in the Loup-garou?"</p>

-

-<p>"No, not in the Loup-garou."</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg83">[83]</span>

-"In what, then&mdash;Jeanne-la-Flamme?"</p>

-

-<p>"That," said Le Bihan with conviction,

-"is history."</p>

-

-<p>"The devil it is!" said I; "and perhaps,

-monsieur the mayor, your faith in giants is unimpaired?"</p>

-

-<p>"There were giants&mdash;everybody knows it,"

-growled Max Fortin.</p>

-

-<p>"And you a chemist!" I observed scornfully.</p>

-

-<p>"Listen, Monsieur Darrel," squeaked Le

-Bihan; "you know yourself that the Purple

-Emperor was a scientific man. Now suppose I

-should tell you that he always refused to include

-in his collection a Death's Messenger?"</p>

-

-<p>"A what?" I exclaimed.</p>

-

-<p>"You know what I mean&mdash;that moth that

-flies by night; some call it the Death's Head,

-but in St. Gildas we call it 'Death's Messenger.'"</p>

-

-<p>"Oh!" said I, "you mean that big sphinx

-moth that is commonly known as the 'death's-head

-moth.' Why the mischief should the

-people here call it death's messenger?"</p>

-

-<p>"For hundreds of years it has been known

-as death's messenger in St. Gildas," said Max

-Fortin. "Even Froissart speaks of it in his

-commentaries on Jacques Sorgue's Chronicles.

-The book is in your library."</p>

-

-<p>"Sorgue? And who was Jacques Sorgue?

-I never read his book."</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg84">[84]</span>

-"Jacques Sorgue was the son of some unfrocked

-priest&mdash;I forget. It was during the

-crusades."</p>

-

-<p>"Good Heavens!" I burst out, "I've been

-hearing of nothing but crusades and priests and

-death and sorcery ever since I kicked that skull

-into the gravel pit, and I am tired of it, I tell

-you frankly. One would think we lived in the

-dark ages. Do you know what year of our Lord

-it is, Le Bihan?"</p>

-

-<p>"Eighteen hundred and ninety-six," replied

-the mayor.</p>

-

-<p>"And yet you two hulking men are afraid

-of a death's-head moth."</p>

-

-<p>"I don't care to have one fly into the window,"

-said Max Fortin; "it means evil to the

-house and the people in it."</p>

-

-<p>"God alone knows why he marked one of

-his creatures with a yellow death's head on the

-back," observed Le Bihan piously, "but I

-take it that he meant it as a warning; and

-I propose to profit by it," he added triumphantly.</p>

-

-<p>"See here, Le Bihan," I said; "by a stretch

-of imagination one can make out a skull on the

-thorax of a certain big sphinx moth. What

-of it?"</p>

-

-<p>"It is a bad thing to touch," said the mayor,

-wagging his head.</p>

-

-<p>"It squeaks when handled," added Max

-Fortin.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg85">[85]</span>

-"Some creatures squeak all the time," I observed,

-looking hard at Le Bihan.</p>

-

-<p>"Pigs," added the mayor.</p>

-

-<p>"Yes, and asses," I replied. "Listen, Le

-Bihan: do you mean to tell me that you saw

-that skull roll uphill yesterday?"</p>

-

-<p>The mayor shut his mouth tightly and

-picked up his hammer.</p>

-

-<p>"Don't be obstinate," I said; "I asked you

-a question."</p>

-

-<p>"And I refuse to answer," snapped Le Bihan.

-"Fortin saw what I saw; let him talk

-about it."</p>

-

-<p>I looked searchingly at the little chemist.</p>

-

-<p>"I don't say that I saw it actually roll up

-out of the pit, all by itself," said Fortin with a

-shiver, "but&mdash;but then, how did it come up

-out of the pit, if it didn't roll up all by itself?"</p>

-

-<p>"It didn't come up at all; that was a yellow

-cobblestone that you mistook for the skull

-again," I replied. "You were nervous, Max."</p>

-

-<p>"A&mdash;a very curious cobblestone, Monsieur

-Darrel," said Fortin.</p>

-

-<p>"I also was a victim to the same hallucination,"

-I continued, "and I regret to say that I

-took the trouble to roll two innocent cobblestones

-into the gravel pit, imagining each time

-that it was the skull I was rolling."</p>

-

-<p>"It was," observed Le Bihan with a morose

-shrug.</p>

-

-<p>"It just shows," said I, ignoring the

-<span class="pb" id="Pg86">[86]</span>

-mayor's remark, "how easy it is to fix up a train

-of coincidences so that the result seems to savour

-of the supernatural. Now, last night my

-wife imagined that she saw a priest in a mask

-peer in at her window&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

-

-<p>Fortin and Le Bihan scrambled hastily from

-their knees, dropping hammer and nails.</p>

-

-<p>"W-h-a-t&mdash;what's that?" demanded the

-mayor.</p>

-

-<p>I repeated what I had said. Max Fortin

-turned livid.</p>

-

-<p>"My God!" muttered Le Bihan, "the

-Black Priest is in St. Gildas!"</p>

-

-<p>"D-don't you&mdash;you know the old prophecy?"

-stammered Fortin; "Froissart quotes it

-from Jacques Sorgue:</p>

-

-<div class="poetry-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<div class="verse">'When the Black Priest rises from the dead,</div>

-<div class="verse">St. Gildas folk shall shriek in bed;</div>

-<div class="verse">When the Black Priest rises from his grave,</div>

-<div class="verse">May the good God St. Gildas save!'"</div>

-</div></div></div>

-

-<p>"Aristide Le Bihan," I said angrily, "and

-you, Max Fortin, I've got enough of this nonsense!

-Some foolish lout from Bannalec has

-been in St. Gildas playing tricks to frighten old

-fools like you. If you have nothing better to

-talk about than nursery legends I'll wait until

-you come to your senses. Good-morning."

-And I walked out, more disturbed than I cared

-to acknowledge to myself.</p>

-

-<p>The day had become misty and overcast.

-<span class="pb" id="Pg87">[87]</span>

-Heavy, wet clouds hung in the east. I heard

-the surf thundering against the cliffs, and the

-gray gulls squealed as they tossed and turned

-high in the sky. The tide was creeping across

-the river sands, higher, higher, and I saw

-the seaweed floating on the beach, and the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">lançons</i>

-springing from the foam, silvery thread-like

-flashes in the gloom. Curlew were flying

-up the river in twos and threes; the timid sea

-swallows skimmed across the moors toward

-some quiet, lonely pool, safe from the coming

-tempest. In every hedge field birds were

-gathering, huddling together, twittering restlessly.</p>

-

-<p>When I reached the cliffs I sat down, resting

-my chin on my clenched hands. Already

-a vast curtain of rain, sweeping across the ocean

-miles away, hid the island of Groix. To the

-east, behind the white semaphore on the hills,

-black clouds crowded up over the horizon.

-After a little the thunder boomed, dull, distant,

-and slender skeins of lightning unravelled across

-the crest of the coming storm. Under the cliff

-at my feet the surf rushed foaming over the

-shore, and the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">lançons</i> jumped and skipped and

-quivered until they seemed to be but the reflections

-of the meshed lightning.</p>

-

-<p>I turned to the east. It was raining over

-Groix, it was raining at Sainte Barbe, it was

-raining now at the semaphore. High in the

-storm whirl a few gulls pitched; a nearer cloud

-<span class="pb" id="Pg88">[88]</span>

-trailed veils of rain in its wake; the sky was

-spattered with lightning; the thunder boomed.</p>

-

-<p>As I rose to go, a cold raindrop fell upon the

-back of my hand, and another, and yet another

-on my face. I gave a last glance at the sea,

-where the waves were bursting into strange

-white shapes that seemed to fling out menacing

-arms toward me. Then something moved on

-the cliff, something black as the black rock it

-clutched&mdash;a filthy cormorant, craning its hideous

-head at the sky.</p>

-

-<p>Slowly I plodded homeward across the

-sombre moorland, where the gorse stems glimmered

-with a dull metallic green, and the

-heather, no longer violet and purple, hung

-drenched and dun-coloured among the dreary

-rocks. The wet turf creaked under my heavy

-boots, the black-thorn scraped and grated

-against knee and elbow. Over all lay a strange

-light, pallid, ghastly, where the sea spray

-whirled across the landscape and drove into my

-face until it grew numb with the cold. In

-broad bands, rank after rank, billow on billow,

-the rain burst out across the endless moors, and

-yet there was no wind to drive it at such a pace.</p>

-

-<p>Lys stood at the door as I turned into the

-garden, motioning me to hasten; and then for

-the first time I became conscious that I was

-soaked to the skin.</p>

-

-<p>"How ever in the world did you come to

-stay out when such a storm threatened?" she

-<span class="pb" id="Pg89">[89]</span>

-said. "Oh, you are dripping! Go quickly

-and change; I have laid your warm underwear

-on the bed, Dick."</p>

-

-<p>I kissed my wife, and went upstairs to

-change my dripping clothes for something more

-comfortable.</p>

-

-<p>When I returned to the morning room there

-was a driftwood fire on the hearth, and Lys

-sat in the chimney corner embroidering.</p>

-

-<p>"Catherine tells me that the fishing fleet

-from Lorient is out. Do you think they are

-in danger, dear?" asked Lys, raising her blue

-eyes to mine as I entered.</p>

-

-<p>"There is no wind, and there will be no

-sea," said I, looking out of the window. Far

-across the moor I could see the black cliffs looming

-in the mist.</p>

-

-<p>"How it rains!" murmured Lys; "come

-to the fire, Dick."</p>

-

-<p>I threw myself on the fur rug, my hands in

-my pockets, my head on Lys's knees.</p>

-

-<p>"Tell me a story," I said. "I feel like a

-boy of ten."</p>

-

-<p>Lys raised a finger to her scarlet lips. I

-always waited for her to do that.</p>

-

-<p>"Will you be very still, then?" she said.</p>

-

-<p>"Still as death."</p>

-

-<p>"Death," echoed a voice, very softly.</p>

-

-<p>"Did you speak, Lys?" I asked, turning so

-that I could see her face.</p>

-

-<p>"No; did you, Dick?"</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg90">[90]</span>

-"Who said 'death'?" I asked, startled.</p>

-

-<p>"Death," echoed a voice, softly.</p>

-

-<p>I sprang up and looked about. Lys rose

-too, her needles and embroidery falling to the

-floor. She seemed about to faint, leaning heavily

-on me, and I led her to the window and

-opened it a little way to give her air. As I did

-so the chain lightning split the zenith, the

-thunder crashed, and a sheet of rain swept into

-the room, driving with it something that fluttered&mdash;something

-that flapped, and squeaked,

-and beat upon the rug with soft, moist wings.</p>

-

-<p>We bent over it together, Lys clinging to

-me, and we saw that it was a death's-head moth

-drenched with rain.</p>

-

-<p>The dark day passed slowly as we sat beside

-the fire, hand in hand, her head against my

-breast, speaking of sorrow and mystery and

-death. For Lys believed that there were things

-on earth that none might understand, things

-that must be nameless forever and ever, until

-God rolls up the scroll of life and all is ended.

-We spoke of hope and fear and faith, and the

-mystery of the saints; we spoke of the beginning

-and the end, of the shadow of sin, of

-omens, and of love. The moth still lay on the

-floor, quivering its sombre wings in the warmth

-of the fire, the skull and ribs clearly etched

-upon its neck and body.</p>

-

-<p>"If it is a messenger of death to this house,"

-I said, "why should we fear, Lys?"</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg91">[91]</span>

-"Death should be welcome to those who

-love God," murmured Lys, and she drew the

-cross from her breast and kissed it.</p>

-

-<p>"The moth might die if I threw it out into

-the storm," I said after a silence.</p>

-

-<p>"Let it remain," sighed Lys.</p>

-

-<p>Late that night my wife lay sleeping, and

-I sat beside her bed and read in the Chronicle

-of Jacques Sorgue. I shaded the candle, but

-Lys grew restless, and finally I took the book

-down into the morning room, where the ashes

-of the fire rustled and whitened on the hearth.</p>

-

-<p>The death's-head moth lay on the rug before

-the fire where I had left it. At first I

-thought it was dead, but, when I looked closer

-I saw a lambent fire in its amber eyes. The

-straight white shadow it cast across the floor

-wavered as the candle flickered.</p>

-

-<p>The pages of the Chronicle of Jacques

-Sorgue were damp and sticky; the illuminated

-gold and blue initials left flakes of azure and

-gilt where my hand brushed them.</p>

-

-<p>"It is not paper at all; it is thin parchment,"

-I said to myself; and I held the discoloured

-page close to the candle flame and read,

-translating laboriously:</p>

-

-<p>"I, Jacques Sorgue, saw all these things.

-And I saw the Black Mass celebrated in the

-chapel of St. Gildas-on-the-Cliff. And it was

-said by the Abbé Sorgue, my kinsman: for

-which deadly sin the apostate priest was seized

-<span class="pb" id="Pg92">[92]</span>

-by the most noble Marquis of Plougastel and

-by him condemned to be burned with hot irons,

-until his seared soul quit its body and fly to its

-master the devil. But when the Black Priest

-lay in the crypt of Plougastel, his master Satan

-came at night and set him free, and carried him

-across land and sea to Mahmoud, which is Soldan

-or Saladin. And I, Jacques Sorgue,

-travelling afterward by sea, beheld with my own

-eyes my kinsman, the Black Priest of St. Gildas,

-borne along in the air upon a vast black

-wing, which was the wing of his master Satan.

-And this was seen also by two men of the crew."</p>

-

-<p>I turned the page. The wings of the moth

-on the floor began to quiver. I read on and

-on, my eyes blurring under the shifting candle

-flame. I read of battles and of saints, and I

-learned how the great Soldan made his pact

-with Satan, and then I came to the Sieur de

-Trevec, and read how he seized the Black

-Priest in the midst of Saladin's tents and carried

-him away and cut off his head, first branding

-him on the forehead. "And before he

-suffered," said the Chronicle, "he cursed the

-Sieur de Trevec and his descendants, and he

-said he would surely return to St. Gildas. 'For

-the violence you do to me, I will do violence to

-you. For the evil I suffer at your hands, I will

-work evil on you and your descendants. Woe

-to your children, Sieur de Trevec!'" There

-was a whirr, a beating of strong wings, and my

-<span class="pb" id="Pg93">[93]</span>

-candle flashed up as in a sudden breeze. A

-humming filled the room; the great moth

-<ins class="corr" title="dated" id="C093">darted</ins> hither and thither, beating, buzzing, on

-ceiling and wall. I flung down my book and

-stepped forward. Now it lay fluttering upon

-the window sill, and for a moment I had it

-under my hand, but the thing squeaked and I

-shrank back. Then suddenly it darted across

-the candle flame; the light flared and went out,

-and at the same moment a shadow moved in the

-darkness outside. I raised my eyes to the window.

-A masked face was peering in at me.</p>

-

-<p>Quick as thought I whipped out my revolver

-and fired every cartridge, but the face advanced

-beyond the window, the glass melting away before

-it like mist, and through the smoke of my

-revolver I saw something creep swiftly into the

-room. Then I tried to cry out, but the thing

-was at my throat, and I fell backward among

-the ashes of the hearth.</p>

-

-<hr class="tb"/>

-

-<p>When my eyes unclosed I was lying on the

-hearth, my head among the cold ashes. Slowly

-I got on my knees, rose painfully, and groped

-my way to a chair. On the floor lay my revolver,

-shining in the pale light of early morning.

-My mind clearing by degrees, I looked,

-shuddering, at the window. The glass was unbroken.

-I stooped stiffly, picked up my revolver

-and opened the cylinder. Every cartridge

-had been fired. Mechanically I closed

-<span class="pb" id="Pg94">[94]</span>

-the cylinder and placed the revolver in my

-pocket. The book, the Chronicles of Jacques

-Sorgue, lay on the table beside me, and as I

-started to close it I glanced at the page. It

-was all splashed with rain, and the lettering

-had run, so that the page was merely a confused

-blur of gold and red and black. As I stumbled

-toward the door I cast a fearful glance over my

-shoulder. The death's-head moth crawled

-shivering on the rug.</p>

-

-<h3>IV.</h3>

-

-<p>The sun was about three hours high. I

-must have slept, for I was aroused by the sudden

-gallop of horses under our window. People

-were shouting and calling in the road. I sprang

-up and opened the sash. Le Bihan was there,

-an image of helplessness, and Max Fortin stood

-beside him, polishing his glasses. Some gendarmes

-had just arrived from Quimperlé, and

-I could hear them around the corner of the

-house, stamping, and rattling their sabres and

-carbines, as they led their horses into my

-stable.</p>

-

-<p>Lys sat up, murmuring half-sleepy, half-anxious

-questions.</p>

-

-<p>"I don't know," I answered. "I am going

-out to see what it means."</p>

-

-<p>"It is like the day they came to arrest you,"

-Lys said, giving me a troubled look. But I

-<span class="pb" id="Pg95">[95]</span>

-kissed her, and laughed at her until she smiled

-too. Then I flung on coat and cap and hurried

-down the stairs.</p>

-

-<p>The first person I saw standing in the road

-was the Brigadier Durand.</p>

-

-<p>"Hello!" said I, "have you come to arrest

-me again? What the devil is all this fuss

-about, anyway?"</p>

-

-<p>"We were telegraphed for an hour ago,"

-said Durand briskly, "and for a sufficient

-reason, I think. Look there, Monsieur Darrel!"</p>

-

-<p>He pointed to the ground almost under my

-feet.</p>

-

-<p>"Good heavens!" I cried, "where did that

-puddle of blood come from?"</p>

-

-<p>"That's what I want to know, Monsieur

-Darrel. Max Fortin found it at daybreak.

-See, it's splashed all over the grass, too. A trail

-of it leads into your garden, across the flower

-beds to your very window, the one that opens

-from the morning room. There is another

-trail leading from this spot across the road to

-the cliffs, then to the gravel pit, and thence

-across the moor to the forest of Kerselec. We

-are going to mount in a minute and search the

-bosquets. Will you join us? Bon Dieu! but

-the fellow bled like an ox. Max Fortin says

-it's human blood, or I should not have believed

-it."</p>

-

-<p>The little chemist of Quimperlé came up at

-<span class="pb" id="Pg96">[96]</span>

-that moment, rubbing his glasses with a coloured

-handkerchief.</p>

-

-<p>"Yes, it is human blood," he said, "but

-one thing puzzles me: the corpuscles are yellow.

-I never saw any human blood before with

-yellow corpuscles. But your English Doctor

-Thompson asserts that he has&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

-

-<p>"Well, it's human blood, anyway&mdash;isn't

-it?" insisted Durand, impatiently.</p>

-

-<p>"Ye-es," admitted Max Fortin.</p>

-

-<p>"Then it's my business to trail it," said the

-big gendarme, and he called his men and gave

-the order to mount.</p>

-

-<p>"Did you hear anything last night?" asked

-Durand of me.</p>

-

-<p>"I heard the rain. I wonder the rain did

-not wash away these traces."</p>

-

-<p>"They must have come after the rain

-ceased. See this thick splash, how it lies over

-and weighs down the wet grass blades. Pah!"</p>

-

-<p>It was a heavy, evil-looking clot, and I

-stepped back from it, my throat closing in disgust.</p>

-

-<p>"My theory," said the brigadier, "is this:

-Some of those Biribi fishermen, probably the

-Icelanders, got an extra glass of cognac into

-their hides and quarrelled on the road. Some

-of them were slashed, and staggered to your

-house. But there is only one trail, and yet&mdash;and

-yet, how could all that blood come from

-only one person? Well, the wounded man,

-<span class="pb" id="Pg97">[97]</span>

-let us say, staggered first to your house and

-then back here, and he wandered off, drunk

-and dying, God knows where. That's my

-theory."</p>

-

-<p>"A very good one," said I calmly. "And

-you are going to trail him?"</p>

-

-<p>"Yes."</p>

-

-<p>"When?"</p>

-

-<p>"At once. Will you come?"</p>

-

-<p>"Not now. I'll gallop over by-and-bye.

-You are going to the edge of the Kerselec forest?"</p>

-

-<p>"Yes; you will hear us calling. Are you

-coming, Max Fortin? And you, Le Bihan?

-Good; take the dog-cart."</p>

-

-<p>The big gendarme tramped around the corner

-to the stable and presently returned

-mounted on a strong gray horse; his sabre shone

-on his saddle; his pale yellow and white facings

-were spotless. The little crowd of white-coiffed

-women with their children fell back, as

-Durand touched spurs and clattered away followed

-by his two troopers. Soon after Le

-Bihan and Max Fortin also departed in the

-mayor's dingy dog-cart.</p>

-

-<p>"Are you coming?" piped Le Bihan shrilly.</p>

-

-<p>"In a quarter of an hour," I replied, and

-went back to the house.</p>

-

-<p>When I opened the door of the morning

-room the death's-head moth was beating its

-strong wings against the window. For a second

-<span class="pb" id="Pg98">[98]</span>

-I hesitated, then walked over and opened

-the sash. The creature fluttered out, whirred

-over the flower beds a moment, then darted

-across the moorland toward the sea. I called

-the servants together and questioned them.

-Josephine, Catherine, Jean Marie Tregunc, not

-one of them had heard the slightest disturbance

-during the night. Then I told Jean Marie to

-saddle my horse, and while I was speaking Lys

-came down.</p>

-

-<p>"Dearest," I began, going to her.</p>

-

-<p>"You must tell me everything you know,

-Dick," she interrupted, looking me earnestly

-in the face.</p>

-

-<p>"But there is nothing to tell&mdash;only a

-drunken brawl, and some one wounded."</p>

-

-<p>"And you are going to ride&mdash;where,

-Dick?"</p>

-

-<p>"Well, over to the edge of Kerselec forest.

-Durand and the mayor, and Max Fortin, have

-gone on, following a&mdash;a trail."</p>

-

-<p>"What trail?"</p>

-

-<p>"Some blood."</p>

-

-<p>"Where did they find it?"</p>

-

-<p>"Out in the road there." Lys crossed

-herself.</p>

-

-<p>"Does it come near our house?"</p>

-

-<p>"Yes."</p>

-

-<p>"How near?"</p>

-

-<p>"It comes up to the morning-room window,"

-said I, giving in.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg99">[99]</span>

-Her hand on my arm grew heavy. "I

-dreamed last night&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

-

-<p>"So did I&mdash;&mdash;" but I thought of the empty

-cartridges in my revolver, and stopped.</p>

-

-<p>"I dreamed that you were in great danger,

-and I could not move hand or foot to save you;

-but you had your revolver, and I called out to

-you to fire&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

-

-<p>"I did fire!" I cried excitedly.</p>

-

-<p>"You&mdash;you fired?"</p>

-

-<p>I took her in my arms. "My darling," I

-said, "something strange has happened&mdash;something

-that I can not understand as yet. But,

-of course, there is an explanation. Last night

-I thought I fired at the Black Priest."</p>

-

-<p>"Ah!" gasped Lys.</p>

-

-<p>"Is that what you dreamed?"</p>

-

-<p>"Yes, yes, that was it! I begged you to

-fire&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

-

-<p>"And I did."</p>

-

-<p>Her heart was beating against my breast.

-I held her close in silence.</p>

-

-<p>"Dick," she said at length, "perhaps you

-killed the&mdash;the thing."</p>

-

-<p>"If it was human I did not miss," I answered

-grimly. "And it was human," I went

-on, pulling myself together, ashamed of having

-so nearly gone to pieces. "Of course it was

-human! The whole affair is plain enough.

-Not a drunken brawl, as Durand thinks; it was

-a drunken lout's practical joke, for which he

-<span class="pb" id="Pg100">[100]</span>

-has suffered. I suppose I must have filled him

-pretty full of bullets, and he has crawled away

-to die in Kerselec forest. It's a terrible affair;

-I'm sorry I fired so hastily; but that idiot Le

-Bihan and Max Fortin have been working on

-my nerves till I am as hysterical as a schoolgirl,"

-I ended angrily.</p>

-

-<p>"You fired&mdash;but the window glass was not

-shattered," said Lys in a low voice.</p>

-

-<p>"Well, the window was open, then. And

-as for the&mdash;the rest&mdash;I've got nervous indigestion,

-and a doctor will settle the Black Priest

-for me, Lys."</p>

-

-<p>I glanced out of the window at Tregunc

-waiting with my horse at the gate.</p>

-

-<p>"Dearest, I think I had better go to join

-Durand and the others."</p>

-

-<p>"I will go too."</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, no!"</p>

-

-<p>"Yes, Dick."</p>

-

-<p>"Don't, Lys."</p>

-

-<p>"I shall suffer every moment you are

-away."</p>

-

-<p>"The ride is too fatiguing, and we can't

-tell what unpleasant sight you may come upon.

-Lys, you don't really think there is anything

-supernatural in this affair?"</p>

-

-<p>"Dick," she answered gently, "I am a Bretonne."

-With both arms around my neck, my

-wife said, "Death is the gift of God. I do

-not fear it when we are together. But alone&mdash;oh,

-<span class="pb" id="Pg101">[101]</span>

-my husband, I should fear a God who could

-take you away from me!"</p>

-

-<p>We kissed each other soberly, simply, like

-two children. Then Lys hurried away to

-change her gown, and I paced up and down the

-garden waiting for her.</p>

-

-<p>She came, drawing on her slender gauntlets.

-I swung her into the saddle, gave a hasty order

-to Jean Marie, and mounted.</p>

-

-<p>Now, to quail under thoughts of terror on a

-morning like this, with Lys in the saddle beside

-me, no matter what had happened or might

-happen, was impossible. Moreover, Môme

-came sneaking after us. I asked Tregunc to

-catch him, for I was afraid he might be brained

-by our horses' hoofs if he followed, but the wily

-puppy dodged and bolted after Lys, who was

-trotting along the high-road. "Never mind,"

-I thought; "if he's hit he'll live, for he has no

-brains to lose."</p>

-

-<p>Lys was waiting for me in the road beside

-the Shrine of Our Lady of St. Gildas when I

-joined her. She crossed herself, I doffed my

-cap, then we shook out our bridles and galloped

-toward the forest of Kerselec.</p>

-

-<p>We said very little as we rode. I always

-loved to watch Lys in the saddle. Her exquisite

-figure and lovely face were the incarnation

-of youth and grace; her curling hair

-glistened like threaded gold.</p>

-

-<p>Out of the corner of my eye I saw the

-<span class="pb" id="Pg102">[102]</span>

-spoiled puppy Môme come bounding cheerfully

-alongside, oblivious of our horses' heels. Our

-road swung close to the cliffs. A filthy cormorant

-rose from the black rocks and flapped

-heavily across our path. Lys's horse reared, but

-she pulled him down, and pointed at the bird

-with her riding crop.</p>

-

-<p>"I see," said I; "it seems to be going our

-way. Curious to see a cormorant in a forest,

-isn't it?"</p>

-

-<p>"It is a bad sign," said Lys. "You know

-the Morbihan proverb: 'When the cormorant

-turns from the sea, Death laughs in the forest,

-and wise woodsmen build boats.'"</p>

-

-<p>"I wish," said I sincerely, "that there were

-fewer proverbs in Brittany."</p>

-

-<p>We were in sight of the forest now; across

-the gorse I could see the sparkle of gendarmes'

-trappings, and the glitter of Le Bihan's silver-buttoned

-jacket. The hedge was low and we

-took it without difficulty, and trotted across the

-moor to where Le Bihan and Durand stood gesticulating.</p>

-

-<p>They bowed ceremoniously to Lys as we

-rode up.</p>

-

-<p>"The trail is horrible&mdash;it is a river," said

-the mayor in his squeaky voice. "Monsieur

-Darrel, I think perhaps madame would scarcely

-care to come any nearer."</p>

-

-<p>Lys drew bridle and looked at me.</p>

-

-<p>"It is horrible!" said Durand, walking up

-<span class="pb" id="Pg103">[103]</span>

-beside me; "it looks as though a bleeding regiment

-had passed this way. The trail winds and

-winds about there in the thickets; we lose it

-at times, but we always find it again. I can't

-understand how one man&mdash;no, nor twenty&mdash;could

-bleed like that!"</p>

-

-<p>A halloo, answered by another, sounded

-from the depths of the forest.</p>

-

-<p>"It's my men; they are following the trail,"

-muttered the brigadier. "God alone knows

-what is at the end!"</p>

-

-<p>"Shall we gallop back, Lys?" I asked.</p>

-

-<p>"No; let us ride along the western edge of

-the woods and dismount. The sun is so hot

-now, and I should like to rest for a moment,"

-she said.</p>

-

-<p>"The western forest is clear of anything

-disagreeable," said Durand.</p>

-

-<p>"Very well," I answered; "call me, Le Bihan,

-if you find anything."</p>

-

-<p>Lys wheeled her mare, and I followed across

-the springy heather, Môme trotting cheerfully

-in the rear.</p>

-

-<p>We entered the sunny woods about a quarter

-of a kilometre from where we left Durand. I

-took Lys from her horse, flung both bridles over

-a limb, and, giving my wife my arm, aided her

-to a flat mossy rock which overhung a shallow

-brook gurgling among the <ins class="corr" title="beach" id="C103">beech</ins> trees. Lys

-sat down and drew off her gauntlets. Môme

-pushed his head into her lap, received an undeserved

-<span class="pb" id="Pg104">[104]</span>

-caress, and came doubtfully toward

-me. I was weak enough to condone his offence,

-but I made him lie down at my feet, greatly

-to his disgust.</p>

-

-<p>I rested my head on Lys's knees, looking up

-at the sky through the crossed branches of the

-trees.</p>

-

-<p>"I suppose I have killed him," I said. "It

-shocks me terribly, Lys."</p>

-

-<p>"You could not have known, dear. He

-may have been a robber, and&mdash;if&mdash;not&mdash;&mdash; Did&mdash;have

-you ever fired your revolver since that

-day four years ago, when the Red Admiral's

-son tried to kill you? But I know you have

-not."</p>

-

-<p>"No," said I, wondering. "It's a fact, I

-have not. Why?"</p>

-

-<p>"And don't you remember that I asked

-you to let me load it for you the day when

-Yves went off, swearing to kill you and his

-father?"</p>

-

-<p>"Yes, I do remember. Well?"</p>

-

-<p>"Well, I&mdash;I took the cartridges first to St.

-Gildas chapel and dipped them in holy water.

-You must not laugh, Dick," said Lys gently,

-laying her cool hands on my lips.</p>

-

-<p>"Laugh, my darling!"</p>

-

-<p>Overhead the October sky was pale amethyst,

-and the sunlight burned like orange flame

-through the yellow leaves of <ins class="corr" title="beach" id="C104">beech</ins> and oak.

-Gnats and midges danced and wavered overhead;

-<span class="pb" id="Pg105">[105]</span>

-a spider dropped from a twig halfway

-to the ground and hung suspended on the end

-of his gossamer thread.</p>

-

-<p>"Are you sleepy, dear?" asked Lys, bending

-over me.</p>

-

-<p>"I am&mdash;a little; I scarcely slept two hours

-last night," I answered.</p>

-

-<p>"You may sleep, if you wish," said Lys, and

-touched my eyes caressingly.</p>

-

-<p>"Is my head heavy on your knees?"</p>

-

-<p>"No, Dick."</p>

-

-<p>I was already in a half doze; still I heard the

-brook babbling under the beeches and the humming

-of forest flies overhead. Presently even

-these were stilled.</p>

-

-<p>The next thing I knew I was sitting bolt

-upright, my ears ringing with a scream, and I

-saw Lys cowering beside me, covering her white

-face with both hands.</p>

-

-<p>As I sprang to my feet she cried again and

-clung to my knees. I saw my dog rush growling

-into a thicket, then I heard him whimper,

-and he came backing out, whining, ears flat,

-tail down. I stooped and disengaged Lys's

-hand.</p>

-

-<p>"Don't go, Dick!" she cried. "O God, it's

-the Black Priest!"</p>

-

-<p>In a moment I had leaped across the brook

-and pushed my way into the thicket. It was

-empty. I stared about me; I scanned every

-tree trunk, every bush. Suddenly I saw him.

-<span class="pb" id="Pg106">[106]</span>

-He was seated on a fallen log, his head resting

-in his hands, his rusty black robe gathered

-around him. For a moment my hair stirred

-under my cap; sweat started on forehead and

-cheek-bone; then I recovered my reason, and

-understood that the man was human and was

-probably wounded to death. Ay, to death; for

-there, at my feet, lay the wet trail of blood, over

-leaves and stones, down into the little hollow,

-across to the figure in black resting silently

-under the trees.</p>

-

-<p>I saw that he could not escape even if he

-had the strength, for before him, almost at his

-very feet, lay a deep, shining swamp.</p>

-

-<p>As I stepped forward my foot broke a twig.

-At the sound the figure started a little, then its

-head fell forward again. Its face was masked.

-Walking up to the man, I bade him tell where

-he was wounded. Durand and the others broke

-through the thicket at the same moment and

-hurried to my side.</p>

-

-<p>"Who are you who hide a masked face in a

-priest's robe?" said the gendarme loudly.</p>

-

-<p>There was no answer.</p>

-

-<p>"See&mdash;see the stiff blood all over his robe!"

-muttered Le Bihan to Fortin.</p>

-

-<p>"He will not speak," said I.</p>

-

-<p>"He may be too badly wounded," whispered

-Le Bihan.</p>

-

-<p>"I saw him raise his head," I said; "my

-wife saw him creep up here."</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg107">[107]</span>

-Durand stepped forward and touched the

-figure.</p>

-

-<p>"Speak!" he said.</p>

-

-<p>"Speak!" quavered Fortin.</p>

-

-<p>Durand waited a moment, then with a sudden

-upward movement he stripped off the mask

-and threw back the man's head. We were looking

-into the eye sockets of a skull. Durand

-stood rigid; the mayor shrieked. The skeleton

-burst out from its rotting robes and collapsed

-on the ground before us. From between the

-staring ribs and the grinning teeth spurted a

-torrent of black blood, showering the shrinking

-grasses; then the thing shuddered, and fell over

-into the black ooze of the bog. Little bubbles

-of iridescent air appeared from the mud; the

-bones were slowly engulfed, and, as the last fragments

-sank out of sight, up from the depths

-and along the bank crept a creature, shiny, shivering,

-quivering its wings.</p>

-

-<p>It was a death's-head moth.</p>

-

-<hr class="tb"/>

-

-<p>I wish I had time to tell you how Lys outgrew

-superstitions&mdash;for she never knew the

-truth about the affair, and she never will know,

-since she has promised not to read this book.

-I wish I might tell you about the king and his

-coronation, and how the coronation robe fitted.

-I wish that I were able to write how Yvonne

-and Herbert Stuart rode to a boar hunt in

-Quimperlé, and how the hounds raced the

-<span class="pb" id="Pg108">[108]</span>

-quarry right through the town, overturning

-three gendarmes, the notary, and an old woman.

-But I am becoming garrulous, and Lys is calling

-me to come and hear the king say that he is

-sleepy. And his Highness shall not be kept

-waiting.</p>

-

-<hr class="tb"/>

-

-<div class="poetry-container">

-<div class="poem">

-<div class="center">THE KING'S CRADLE SONG.</div>

-<div class="stanza">

-<div class="verse indent4">Seal with a seal of gold</div>

-<div class="verse indent4">The scroll of a life unrolled;</div>

-<div class="verse indent2">Swathe him deep in his purple stole;</div>

-<div class="verse indent2">Ashes of diamonds, crystalled coal,</div>

-<div class="verse indent4">Drops of gold in each scented fold.</div></div>

-

-<div class="stanza">

-<div class="verse indent2">Crimson wings of the Little Death,</div>

-<div class="verse indent2">Stir his hair with your silken breath;</div>

-<div class="verse indent2">Flaming wings of sins to be,</div>

-<div class="verse indent2">Splendid pinions of prophecy,</div>

-<div class="verse indent4">Smother his eyes with hues and dyes,</div>

-<div class="verse">While the white moon spins and the winds arise,</div>

-<div class="verse indent4">And the stars drip through the skies.</div></div>

-

-<div class="stanza">

-<div class="verse indent4">Wave, O wings of the Little Death!</div>

-<div class="verse indent4">Seal his sight and stifle his breath,</div>

-<div class="verse indent2">Cover his breast with the gemmed shroud pressed;</div>

-<div class="verse indent2">From north to north, from west to west,</div>

-<div class="verse indent4">Wave, O wings of the Little Death!</div>

-<div class="verse">Till the white moon reels in the cracking skies,</div>

-<div class="verse indent4">And the ghosts of God arise.</div>

-</div></div></div>

-

-<hr /></div>

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<h2>THE WHITE SHADOW.<span class="pb" id="Pg109">[109]</span></h2>

-

-<div class="poetry-container">

-<div class="poem "><div class="stanza">

-<span class="pb" id="Pg110">[110]</span>

-<div class="verse">We are no other than a moving row</div>

-<div class="verse">Of magic shadow-shapes, that come and go</div>

-<div class="verse indent2">  Round with this sun-illumined lantern, held</div>

-<div class="verse">In midnight by the master of the show.</div></div>

-

-<div class="stanza">

-<div class="verse">A moment's halt&mdash;a momentary taste</div>

-<div class="verse">Of being from the well amid the waste&mdash;</div>

-<div class="verse indent2">  And lo! the phantom caravan has reached</div>

-<div class="verse">The nothing it set out from. Oh, make haste!</div></div>

-

-<div class="stanza">

-<div class="verse">Ah, Love! could you and I with him conspire</div>

-<div class="verse">To grasp this sorry scheme of things entire,</div>

-<div class="verse indent2">Would not we shatter it to bits&mdash;and then</div>

-<div class="verse">Remould it nearer to the heart's desire!</div></div>

-

-<div class="stanza">

-<div class="verse indent32"><span class="smcap">Fitzgerald.</span></div>

-</div></div></div>

-

-<hr />

-

-<p class="center"><big>THE WHITE SHADOW.</big><span class="pb" id="Pg111">[111]</span></p>

-

-<div class="poetry-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<div class="verse">Listen, then, love, and with your white hand clear</div>

-<div class="verse">Your forehead from its cloudy hair.</div>

-</div></div></div>

-

-<h3>I.</h3>

-

-<p>"Three great hulking cousins," said she,

-closing her gray eyes disdainfully.</p>

-

-<p>We accepted the rebuke in astonished silence.

-Presently she opened her eyes, and

-seemed surprised to see us there yet.</p>

-

-<p>"O," she said, "if you think I am going to

-stay here until you make up your minds&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

-

-<p>"I've made up mine," said Donald. "We

-will go to the links. You may come."</p>

-

-<p>"I shall not," she announced. "Walter,

-what do you propose?"</p>

-

-<p>Walter looked at his cartridge belt and then

-at the little breech-loader standing in a corner

-of the arbour.</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, I know," she said, "but I won't! I

-won't! I won't!"</p>

-

-<p>The uncles and aunts on the piazza turned

-to look at us; her mother arose from a steamer-chair

-and came across the lawn.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg112">[112]</span>

-"Won't what, Sweetheart?" she asked,

-placing both hands on her daughter's shoulders.</p>

-

-<p>"Mamma, Walter wants me to shoot, and

-Don wants me to play golf, and I&mdash;won't!"</p>

-

-<p>"She doesn't know what she wants," said I.</p>

-

-<p>"Don't I?" she said, flushing with displeasure.</p>

-

-<p>"Her mother might suggest something,"

-hazarded Donald. We looked at our aunt.</p>

-

-<p>"Sweetheart is spoiled," said that lady decisively.

-"If you children don't go away at

-once and have a good time, I shall find employment

-for her."</p>

-

-<p>"Algebra?" I asked maliciously.</p>

-

-<p>"How dare you!" cried Sweetheart, sitting

-up. "Oh, isn't he mean! isn't he ignoble!&mdash;and

-I've done my algebra; haven't I, mamma?"</p>

-

-<p>"But your French?" I began.</p>

-

-<p>Donald laughed, and so did Walter. As for

-Sweetheart, she arose in all the dignity of sixteen

-years, closed her eyes with superb insolence,

-and, clasping her mother's waist with

-one round white arm, marched out of the arbour.</p>

-

-<p>"We tease her too much," said Donald.</p>

-

-<p>"She's growing up fast; we ought not to

-call her 'Sweetheart' when she puts her hair

-up," added Walter.</p>

-

-<p>"She's going to put it up in October, when

-she goes back to school," said Donald. "Jack,

-<span class="pb" id="Pg113">[113]</span>

-she will hate you if you keep reminding her of

-her algebra and French."</p>

-

-<p>"Then I'll stop," said I, suddenly conscious

-what an awful thing it would be if she

-hated me.</p>

-

-<p>Donald's two pointers came frisking across

-the lawn from the kennels, and Donald picked

-up his gun.</p>

-

-<p>"Here we go again," said I. "Donny's

-going to the coverts after grouse, Walter's going

-up on the hill with his dust-shot and arsenic,

-and I'm going across the fields after butterflies.

-Why the deuce can't we all go together, just for

-once?"</p>

-

-<p>"And take Sweetheart? She would like

-it if we all went together," said Walter; "she

-is tired of seeing Jack net butterflies."</p>

-

-<p>"Collecting birds and shooting grouse are

-two different things," began Donald. "You

-spoil my dogs by shooting your confounded

-owls and humming birds."</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, your precious dogs!" I cried. "Shut

-up, Donny, and give Sweetheart a good day's

-tramp. It's a pity if three cousins can't pool

-their pleasures for once."</p>

-

-<p>Donald nodded uncertainly.</p>

-

-<p>"Come on," said Walter, "we'll find Sweetheart.

-Jack, you get your butterfly togs and

-come back here."</p>

-

-<p>I nodded, and watched my two cousins

-sauntering across the lawn&mdash;big, clean-cut fellows,

-<span class="pb" id="Pg114">[114]</span>

-resembling each other enough to be

-brothers instead of cousins.</p>

-

-<p>We all resembled each other more or less,

-Donald, Walter, and I. As for Sweetheart,

-she looked like none of us.</p>

-

-<p>It was all very well for her mother to call

-her Sweetheart, and for her aunts to echo it in

-chorus, but the time was coming when we saw

-we should have to stop. A girl of sixteen with

-such a name is ridiculous, and Sweetheart was

-nearly seventeen; and her hair was "going up"

-and her gowns were "coming down" in October.</p>

-

-<p>Her own name was pretty enough. I don't

-know that I ought to tell it, but I will: it was

-the same as her mother's. We called her Sweetheart

-sometimes, sometimes "The Aspen

-Beauty." Donald had given her that name

-from a butterfly in my collection, the Vanessa

-Pandora, commonly known as the Aspen

-beauty, from its never having been captured

-in America except in our village of Aspen.</p>

-

-<p>Here, in the north of New York State, we

-four cousins spent our summers in the family

-house. There was not much to do in Aspen.

-We used the links, we galloped over the sandy

-roads, we also trotted our several hobbies, Donald,

-Walter, and I. Sweetheart had no hobby;

-to make up for this, however, she owned a magnificent

-team of bêtes-noires&mdash;Algebra and

-French.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg115">[115]</span>

-As for me, my butterfly collection languished.

-I had specimens of nearly every butterfly

-in New York State, and I rather longed

-for new states to conquer. Anyway, there

-were plenty of Aspen beauties&mdash;I mean the

-butterflies&mdash;flying about the roads and balm-of-Gilead

-trees, and perhaps that is why I lingered

-there long enough to collect hundreds of

-duplicates for exchange. And perhaps it

-wasn't.</p>

-

-<p>I thought of these things as I sat in the sun-flecked

-arbour, watching the yellow elm leaves

-flutter down from the branches. I thought,

-too, of Sweetheart, and wondered how she

-would look with her hair up. And while I sat

-there smoking, watching the yellow leaves drifting

-across the lawn, a sharp explosion startled

-me and I raised my head.</p>

-

-<p>Sweetheart was standing on the lawn, gazing

-dreamily at the smoking débris of a large firecracker.</p>

-

-<p>"What's that for?" I asked.</p>

-

-<p>"It proclaims my independence," said

-Sweetheart&mdash;"my independence forever. Hereafter

-my cousins will ask to accompany me on

-my walks; they need no longer charitably permit

-me to accompany them. Are you three

-boys going to ride your hobbies?"</p>

-

-<p>"We are," I said.</p>

-

-<p>"Then good-bye. I am going to walk."</p>

-

-<p>"Can't we come too?" I asked, laughing.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg116">[116]</span>

-"Oh," she said graciously, "if you put it

-in that way I could not refuse."</p>

-

-<p>"May we bring our guns?" asked Donald

-from the piazza.</p>

-

-<p>"May I bring my net?" I added, half

-amused, half annoyed.</p>

-

-<p>She made a gesture, indifferent, condescending.</p>

-

-<p>"Dear me!" murmured the aunts in chorus

-from the piazza as we trooped after the Aspen

-beauty, "Sweetheart is growing very fast."</p>

-

-<p>I smiled vaguely at Sweetheart. I was wondering

-how she would look in long frocks and

-coiled hair.</p>

-

-<h3>II.</h3>

-

-<p>In the fall of the year the meadows of Aspen

-glimmer in the sunlight like crumpled

-sheets of beaten gold; for Aspen is the land of

-golden-rod, of yellow earth and gilded fern.</p>

-

-<p>There the crisp oaks rustle, every leaf a blot

-of yellow; there the burnished pines sound,

-sound, tremble, and resound, like gilt-stringed

-harps aquiver in the wind.</p>

-

-<p>Sweet fern, sun-dried, bronzed, fills all the

-hills with incense, vague and delicate as the

-white down drifting from the frothy milkweed.</p>

-

-<p>And where the meadow brook prattled,

-limpid, filtered with sunlight, Sweetheart stood

-knee-deep in fragrant mint, watching the aimless

-minnows swimming in circles. On a distant

-<span class="pb" id="Pg117">[117]</span>

-hill, dark against the blue, Donald moved

-with his dogs, and I saw the sun-glint on his

-gun, and I heard the distant "Hi&mdash;on! Hi&mdash;on!"

-long after he disappeared below the

-brown hill's brow.</p>

-

-<p>Walter, too, had gone, leaving us there

-by the brook together, Sweetheart and I; and

-I saw the crows flapping and circling far over

-the woods, and I heard the soft report of his

-dust-shot shells among the trees.</p>

-

-<p>"The ruling passion, Sweetheart," I said.

-"Donny chases the phantom of pleasure with

-his dogs. The phantom flies from Walter, and

-he follows with his dust-shot."</p>

-

-<p>"Then," said Sweetheart, "follow your

-phantom also; there are butterflies everywhere."

-She raised both arms and turned

-from the brook. "Everywhere flying I see

-butterflies&mdash;phantoms of pleasure; and, Jack,

-you do not follow with your net."</p>

-

-<p>"No," said I, "the world to-day is too fair

-to&mdash;slay in. I even doubt that the happiness

-of empires hinges on the discovery of a new species

-of anything. Do I bore you?"</p>

-

-<p>"A little," said Sweetheart, touching the

-powdered gold of the blossoms about her. She

-laid the tip of her third finger on her lips and

-then on the golden-rod. "I shall not pick it;

-the world is too fair to-day," she said. "What

-are you going to do, Jack?"</p>

-

-<p>"I could doze," I said. "Could you?"</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg118">[118]</span>

-"Yes&mdash;if you told me stories."</p>

-

-<p>I contemplated her in silence for a moment.

-After a while she sat down under an oak and

-clasped her hands.</p>

-

-<p>"I am growing so old," she sighed, "I no

-longer take pleasure in childish things&mdash;Donald's

-dogs, Walter's humming birds, your butterflies.

-Jack?"</p>

-

-<p>"What?"</p>

-

-<p>"Sit down on the grass."</p>

-

-<p>"What for?"</p>

-

-<p>"Because I ask you."</p>

-

-<p>I sat down.</p>

-

-<p>Presently she said: "I am as tall as mamma.

-Why should I study algebra?"</p>

-

-<p>"Because," I answered evasively.</p>

-

-<p>"Your answer is as rude as though I were

-twenty, instead of sixteen," said Sweetheart.

-"If you treat me as a child from this moment, I

-shall hate you."</p>

-

-<p>"Me&mdash;Sweetheart?"</p>

-

-<p>"And that name!&mdash;it is good for children

-and kittens."</p>

-

-<p>I looked at her seriously. "It is good for

-women, too&mdash;when it is time," I said. "I

-prophesy that one day you will hear it again.

-As for me, I shall not call you by that name if

-you dislike it."</p>

-

-<p>"I am a woman&mdash;now," she said.</p>

-

-<p>"Oh! at sixteen."</p>

-

-<p>"To-morrow I am to be seventeen."</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg119">[119]</span>

-Presently, looking off at the blue hills, I

-said: "For a long time I have recognised that

-that subtle, indefinable attitude&mdash;we call it

-deference&mdash;due from men to women is due

-from us to you. Donny and Walter are slower

-to accept this. You know what you have been

-to us as a child; we can't bear to lose you&mdash;to

-meet you in another way&mdash;to reckon with you

-as we reckon with a woman. But it is true:

-our little Sweetheart has vanished, and&mdash;<em>you</em>

-are here!"</p>

-

-<p>The oak leaves began to rustle in the hill

-winds; the crows cawed from the woods.</p>

-

-<p>"Oui c'est moi," she said at length.</p>

-

-<p>"I shall never call you Sweetheart again,"

-I said, smiling.</p>

-

-<p>"Who knows?" she laughed, and leaned

-over to pick a blade of wild wheat. She coloured

-faintly a moment later, and said: "I

-didn't mean that, Jack."</p>

-

-<p>And so Sweetheart took her first step across

-that threshold of mystery, the Temple of Idols.

-And of the gilded idols within the temple, one

-shall turn to living flesh at the sound of a voice.

-And lo! where a child had entered, a woman

-returned with the key to the Temple of Gilded

-Idols.</p>

-

-<p>"Jack," said Sweetheart, "you are wrong.

-No day is too fair to kill in. I shall pick my

-arms full&mdash;full of flowers."</p>

-

-<p>Over the yellow fields, red with the stalks

-<span class="pb" id="Pg120">[120]</span>

-of the buckwheat, crowned with a glimmering

-cloud of the dusty gold of the golden-rod,

-Sweetheart passed, pensive, sedate, awed by the

-burden of sixteen years.</p>

-

-<p>I followed.</p>

-

-<p>Over the curling fern and wind-stirred

-grasses the silken milkweed seeds sailed, sailed,

-and the great red-brown butterflies drifted

-above, ruddy as autumn leaves aglow in the sun.</p>

-

-<p>"On the sand-cliff there are marigolds," said

-Sweetheart.</p>

-

-<p>I looked at the mass of wild flowers in her

-arms; her white polished skin reflected the

-blaze of colour, warming like ivory under their

-glow.</p>

-

-<p>"Marigolds," I repeated; "we will get

-some."</p>

-

-<p>"The sand slides on the face of the cliff;

-you must be careful," she said.</p>

-

-<p>"And I may see one of those rare cliff butterflies.

-I haven't any good examples."</p>

-

-<p>I fancy she was not listening; the crows

-were clamouring above the beech woods; the

-hill winds filled our ears with a sound like the

-sound of the sea on shoals. Her gray eyes,

-touched with the sky's deep blue and the blue

-of the misty hills, looked out across the miles of

-woods and fields, and saw a world; not a world

-old, scarred, rock-ribbed, and salt with tears,

-but a new world, youthful, ripe, sunny, hazy

-with the splendour of wonders hidden behind

-<span class="pb" id="Pg121">[121]</span>

-the horizon&mdash;a world jewelled with gems,

-spanned by rose-mist rainbows&mdash;a world of sixteen

-years.</p>

-

-<p>"We are already at the cliff's edge," I said.</p>

-

-<p>She stepped to the edge and looked over. I

-drew her back. The sand started among the

-rocks, running, running with a sound like

-silver water.</p>

-

-<p>"Then you shall not go either," she said.

-"I do not care for marigolds."</p>

-

-<p>But I was already on the edge, stooping for

-a blossom. The next instant I fell.</p>

-

-<p>There was a whistle of sand, a flurry and a

-rush of wind, a blur of rock, fern, dead grasses&mdash;a cry!</p>

-

-<p>For I remember as I fell, falling I called,

-"Sweetheart!" and again "Sweetheart!"

-Then my body struck the rocks below.</p>

-

-<h3>III.</h3>

-

-<p>Of all the seconds that tick the whole year

-through, of all the seconds that have slipped onward

-marking the beat of time since time was

-loosed, there is one, one brief moment, steeped

-in magic and heavy with oblivion, that sometimes

-lingers in the soul of man, annihilating

-space and time. If, at the feet of God, a year

-is a second passed unnoted, this magic second,

-afloat on the tide of time, moves on and on till,

-<span class="pb" id="Pg122">[122]</span>

-caught in the vortex of some life's whirl, it sinks

-into the soul of a being near to death.</p>

-

-<p>And in that soul the magic second glows

-and lingers, stretching into minutes, hours,

-days&mdash;aye, days and days, till, if the magic

-hold, the calm years crowd on one by one; and

-yet it all is but a second&mdash;that magic moment

-that comes on the tide of time&mdash;that came to me

-and was caught up in my life's whirl as I fell,

-dropping there between sky and earth.</p>

-

-<p>And so that magic moment grew to minutes,

-to hours; and when my body, whirling, pitching,

-struck and lay flung out on the earth, the

-magic second grew until the crystal days fell

-from my life, as beads, one by one, fall from the

-rosaries that saints tell kneeling.</p>

-

-<p>Those days of a life that I have lived, those

-years that linger still aglow in the sun behind

-me, dim yet splendid as dust-dimmed jewels,

-they also have ended, not in vague night, but in

-the sunburst of another second&mdash;such a second

-as ticks from my watch as I write, quick, sharp,

-joyous, irrevocable! So, of that magic second,

-or day, or year, I shall tell&mdash;I, as I was, standing

-beside my body flung there across the earth.</p>

-

-<p>I looked at my body, lying in a heap, then

-turned to the sand cliff smiling.</p>

-

-<p>"Sweetheart!" I called.</p>

-

-<p>But she was already at my side.</p>

-

-<p>We walked on through fragrant pastures,

-watching the long shadows stretch from field

-<span class="pb" id="Pg123">[123]</span>

-to field, speaking of what had been and of all

-that was to be. It was so simple&mdash;everything

-was clear before us. Had there been doubts,

-fears, sudden alarms, startled heartbeats?</p>

-

-<p>If there had been, now they were ended forever.</p>

-

-<p>"Not forever," said Sweetheart; "who

-knows how long the magic second may last?"</p>

-

-<p>"But we&mdash;what difference can that make?" I asked.</p>

-

-<p>"To us?"</p>

-

-<p>"Yes."</p>

-

-<p>"None," said Sweetheart decisively.</p>

-

-<p>We looked out into the west. The sun

-turned to a mound of cinders; the hills loomed

-in opalescent steam.</p>

-

-<p>"But&mdash;but&mdash;your shadow!" said Sweetheart.</p>

-

-<p>I bent my head, thrilled with happiness.</p>

-

-<p>"And yours," I whispered.</p>

-

-<p>The shadows we cast were whiter than snow.</p>

-

-<p>I still heard the hill winds, soft in my ears

-as breaking surf; a bird-note came from the

-dusky woodland; a star broke out overhead.</p>

-

-<p>"What is your pleasure, Sweetheart, now all

-is said?" I asked.</p>

-

-<p>"The world is all so fair," she sighed; "is

-it fairer beyond the hills, Jack?"</p>

-

-<p>"It is fair where you pass by, north, south,

-and from west to west again. In France the

-poplars are as yellow as our oaks. In Morbihan

-<span class="pb" id="Pg124">[124]</span>

-the gorse gilds all the hills, yellow as

-golden-rod. Shall we go?"</p>

-

-<p>"But in the spring&mdash;let us wait until spring."</p>

-

-<p>"Where?"</p>

-

-<p>"Here."</p>

-

-<p>"Until spring?"</p>

-

-<p>"It is written that Time shall pass as a

-shadow across the sea. What is that book there

-under your feet&mdash;that iron-bound book, half

-embedded like a stone in the grass."</p>

-

-<p>"I did not see it!"</p>

-

-<p>"Bring it to me."</p>

-

-<p>I raised the book; it left a bare mark in the

-sod as a stone that is turned. Then, holding it

-on my knees, I opened it, and Sweetheart, leaning

-on my shoulder, read. The tall stars flared

-like candles, flooding the page with diamond

-light; the earth, perfumed with blossoms,

-stirred with the vague vibration of countless

-sounds, tiny voices swaying breathless in the

-hidden surge of an endless harmony.</p>

-

-<p>"The white shadow is the shadow of the

-soul," she read. Even the winds were hushed

-as her sweet lips moved.</p>

-

-<p>"And what shall make thee to understand

-what hell is?... When the sun shall be folded

-up as a garment that is laid away; when the

-stars fall, and the seas boil, and when souls shall

-be joined again to their bodies; and when the

-girl who hath been buried alive shall be asked

-<span class="pb" id="Pg125">[125]</span>

-for what crime; when books shall be laid open,

-when hell shall burn fiercely, and when paradise

-shall be brought very near:</p>

-

-<p>"Every soul shall know what it hath wrought!"</p>

-

-<p>I closed my eyes; the splendour of the starlight

-on the page was more than my eyes could bear.</p>

-

-<p>But she read on; for what can dim her eyes?</p>

-

-<p>"O man, verily, labouring, thou labourest

-to meet thy <span class="smcap">Lord</span>.</p>

-

-<p>"And thou shalt meet <span class="smcap">Him</span>!</p>

-

-<p>"When the earth shall be stretched like a

-skin, and shall cast forth that which is therein;</p>

-

-<p>"By the heaven adorned with signs, by the

-witness and the witnessed;</p>

-

-<p>"By that which appeareth by night; by the

-daybreak and the ten nights&mdash;the ten nights;</p>

-

-<p>"The night of Al Kadr is better than a

-thousand months.</p>

-

-<p>"Praise be to God, the Lord of all creatures;

-the Most Merciful, the King of the Day of

-Judgment. Thee do we worship, and of thee

-do we beg assistance. Direct us in the right

-way, in the way of those to whom thou hast

-been gracious; not of those against whom thou

-art incensed, nor of those who go astray!"</p>

-

-<hr class="tb"/>

-

-<p>In the sudden silence that spread across

-earth and heaven I heard the sound of a voice

-under the earth, calling, calling, calling.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg126">[126]</span>

-"It is already spring," said Sweetheart; and

-she rose, placing her white hands in mine.

-"Shall we go?"</p>

-

-<p>"But we are already there," I stammered,

-turning my eyes fearfully; for the tall pines

-dwindled and clustered and rose again cool

-and gray in the morning air, all turned to stone,

-fretted and carved like lacework; and where

-the pines had faded, the twin towers of a cathedral

-loomed; and where the hills swept across

-the horizon, the roofs of a white city glimmered

-in the morning sun. Bridges and

-quays and streets and domes and the hum of

-traffic and rattle of arms; and over all, the

-veil of haze and the twin gray towers of Notre

-Dame!</p>

-

-<p>"Sweetheart!" I faltered.</p>

-

-<p>But we were already in my studio.</p>

-

-<h3>IV.</h3>

-

-<p>The studio had not changed. The sun

-flooded it.</p>

-

-<p>Sweetheart sat in the broken armchair and

-watched me struggle with the packing. Every

-now and then she made an impulsive movement

-toward the heap of clothes on the floor, which

-I checked with a "Thanks! I can fix it all alone,

-Sweetheart."</p>

-

-<p>Clifford seemed to extract amusement from

-it all, and said as much to Rowden, who was as

-<span class="pb" id="Pg127">[127]</span>

-usual ruining my zitherine by trying to play it

-like a banjo.</p>

-

-<p>Elliott, knowing he could be of no use to

-us, had the decency to sit outside the studio

-on one of the garden benches. He appeared

-at intervals at the studio door, saying, "Come

-along, Clifford; they don't want you messing

-about. Drop that banjo, Rowden, or Jack will

-break your head with it&mdash;won't you, Jack?"</p>

-

-<p>I said I would, but not with the zitherine.</p>

-

-<p>Clifford flatly refused to move unless Sweetheart

-would take him out into our garden and

-show him the solitary goldfish which lurked

-in the fountain under the almond trees. But

-Sweetheart, apparently fascinated by the mysteries

-of packing, turned a deaf ear to Clifford's

-blandishments and Rowden's discords.</p>

-

-<p>"I imagined," said Clifford, somewhat hurt,

-"that you would delight in taking upon yourself

-the duties of a hostess. I should be pleased

-to believe that I am not an unwelcome guest."</p>

-

-<p>"So should I," echoed Rowden; "I'd be

-pleased too."</p>

-

-<p>"What a shame for you to bother, Jack!"

-she said. "Mr. Clifford shall go and make some

-tea directly. Mr. Rowden, you may take a

-table out by the fountain&mdash;and stay there."</p>

-

-<p>Clifford, motioning Elliott to take the other

-end of the Japanese table, backed with it

-through the hallway and out to the gravel walk,

-expostulating.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg128">[128]</span>

-"The sugar is there in that tin box by the

-model stand," she said, when he reappeared,

-"and the extra spoons are lying in a long box

-on Jack's big easel."</p>

-

-<p>When Rowden, reluctantly relinquishing

-the zitherine, followed Clifford, bearing the

-cups and alcohol lamp, I raised my head and

-wiped the dust from my forehead. I believe I

-swore a little in French. Sweetheart looked

-startled. She knew more French than I supposed

-she did.</p>

-

-<p>"What is it, Jack?"</p>

-

-<p>"Mais&mdash;rien, ça m'embête&mdash;cette espèce de malle&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

-

-<p>"Then why won't you let me help you,

-Jack? I can at least put in my gowns."</p>

-

-<p>"But I must pack my colour box first, and

-the gun case, and the box of reels, and the pastel

-case, and our shooting boots, and the water-colour

-box, and the cartridge belt, and your

-golf shoes, and&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

-

-<p>"O dear!" said Sweetheart with a shudder.</p>

-

-<p>I stood up and scowled at the trunk.</p>

-

-<p>"To look at you, Jack," murmured Sweetheart,

-"one might think you unhappy."</p>

-

-<p>Unhappy! At the thought our eyes met

-across the table.</p>

-

-<p>"Unhappy!" I whispered.</p>

-

-<p>Then Clifford came stumbling in, wearing

-a pair of Joseph's sabots, and, imitating that

-faithful domestic in voice and manner, invited

-<span class="pb" id="Pg129">[129]</span>

-us to tea under the lilacs and almond

-blossoms.</p>

-

-<p>"In a moment," cried Sweetheart impatiently.

-"Go and pour the tea."</p>

-

-<p>Clifford looked aghast. "No, no!" he

-cried; "it's impossible&mdash;I won't believe that

-you two are deliberately getting rid of me so

-you can be alone to spoon! And your honeymoon

-already a year old, and&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

-

-<p>Sweetheart frowned, and tapped her foot.</p>

-

-<p>Clifford retired indignant.</p>

-

-<p>Then she raised her eyes to mine, and a delicate

-colour stained her cheeks and neck.</p>

-

-<p>"Yes," I said, "we have been married nearly

-a year, Sweetheart."</p>

-

-<p>We looked at our white shadows on the floor.</p>

-

-<h3>V.</h3>

-

-<p>Sweetheart sat under the lilac blossoms

-pouring out tea for Clifford, Elliott, and Rowden.

-She was gracious to Clifford, gentle to

-Elliott, and she took Rowden under her wing

-in the sweetest way possible, to which Clifford

-stated his objections.</p>

-

-<p>"Mr. Rowden is younger than you are," she

-said gravely. "Monsieur Clifford, I do not

-wish you to torment him."</p>

-

-<p>"Rowden's no baby; he's as old as Jack is,

-and Jack doesn't murder music."</p>

-

-<p>"I am glad to see you acknowledge Jack's

-<span class="pb" id="Pg130">[130]</span>

-superiority in all matters," said Sweetheart

-with a dangerous smile.</p>

-

-<p>"I don't," cried Clifford laughing; "and

-I don't see what you find to care about in a

-man who clips his hair like a gendarme and

-paints everything purple."</p>

-

-<p>"Everything is purple&mdash;if Jack paints it

-so," said Sweetheart, smiling at her reflected

-face in the water. She stood at the rim of the

-little stone fountain with her hands clasped

-behind her back. Elliott and Clifford were

-poking about in the water plants to dislodge

-the solitary goldfish, while Rowden

-gathered dewy clusters of lilacs as an offering.</p>

-

-<p>"There he goes!" said Elliott.</p>

-

-<p>"Poor fellow, living there all alone!" said

-Sweetheart. "Jack must leave word with

-Joseph to get him a little lady fish to pay his

-court to."</p>

-

-<p>"Better put in another gentleman fish,

-then, if you're following Nature," said Clifford,

-with an attempt at cynicism which drew the

-merriest laugh from Sweetheart.</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, how funny is Monsieur Clifford when

-he wants to be like Frenchmen!" she murmured.</p>

-

-<p>"Jack," said Elliott, as I came from the

-studio and picked up a cup of tea grown cold,

-"Clifford's doing the world-worn disenchanted

-roué."</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg131">[131]</span>

-"And&mdash;and I fear he will next make love

-to me!" cried Sweetheart.</p>

-

-<p>"You'd better look out, Jack," said Clifford

-darkly, and pretended to sulk until Sweetheart

-sent him off to buy the bonbons she would

-need for the train.</p>

-

-<p>"They're packed," I said, "every trunk of them!"</p>

-

-<p>Sweetheart was enchanted. "All my new

-gowns, and the shoes from Rix's&mdash;O Jack, you

-didn't forget the shoes&mdash;and the bath robes&mdash;and&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

-

-<p>"All packed," I said, swallowing the tea

-with a wry face.</p>

-

-<p>"Oh," she cried reproachfully, "don't drink

-that! Here, I will have some hot tea in a moment,"

-and she ran over and perched on the

-arm of the garden bench while I lighted the

-alcohol lamp and then a cigarette.</p>

-

-<p>Rowden came up with his offering of lilacs,

-and she decorated each of us with a spray.</p>

-

-<p>It was growing late. The long shadows fell

-across the gravel walks and flecked the white

-walls of the sculptor's studio opposite.</p>

-

-<p>"It's the nine-o'clock train, isn't it?" said

-Elliott.</p>

-

-<p>"We will meet you at the station at eight-thirty,"

-added Rowden.</p>

-

-<p>"You don't mind, do you, our dining

-alone?" said Sweetheart shyly; "it's our last

-day&mdash;Jack's and mine&mdash;in the old studio."</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg132">[132]</span>

-"Not the last, I hope," said Elliott sincerely.</p>

-

-<p>We all sat silent for a moment.</p>

-

-<p>"O Paris, Paris&mdash;how I fear it!" murmured

-Sweetheart to me; and in the same

-breath, "No, no, we must love it, you and I."</p>

-

-<p>Then Elliott said aloud, "I suppose you

-have no idea when you will return?"</p>

-

-<p>"No," I replied, thinking of the magic second

-that had become a year.</p>

-

-<p>And so we dined alone, Sweetheart and I,

-in the old studio.</p>

-

-<p>At half-past eight o'clock the cab stood at

-the gate with all our traps piled on top, and

-Joseph and his wife and the two brats were crying,

-"Au revoir, madame! au revoir, monsieur!

-We will keep the studio well dusted. Bon voyage!

-bon voyage!" and all of a sudden my arm

-was caught by Sweetheart's little gloved hand,

-and she drew me back through the long ivy-covered

-alley to the garden where the studio

-stood, its doorway closed and silent, the hollow

-windows black and grim. Truly the light

-had passed away with the passing of Sweetheart.

-Her hand slipped from my arm, and

-she went and knelt down at the threshold and kissed it.</p>

-

-<p>"I first knew happiness when I first crossed

-it," she said; "it breaks my heart to leave it.

-Only that magic second! but it seems years

-that we have lived here."</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg133">[133]</span>

-"It was you who brought happiness to it," I said.</p>

-

-<p>"Good-bye! good-bye, dear, dear, old studio!"

-she cried. "Oh, if Jack is always the

-same to me as he has been here&mdash;if he will be

-faithful and true in that new home!"</p>

-

-<p>The new home was to be in a strange land.

-Sweetheart was a little frightened, but was

-dying to go there. Sweetheart had never seen

-the golden gorse ablaze on the moors of Morbihan.</p>

-

-<h3>VI.</h3>

-

-<p>I went inside the brass railing and waited my

-turn to buy the tickets. When it came, I took

-two first class to Quimperlé, for it was to be an

-all-night ride, and there was no sleeping car.

-Clifford had taken charge of the baggage, and

-I went with him to have it registered, leaving

-Sweetheart with Elliott and Rowden. All the

-traps were there&mdash;the big trunks, the big valises,

-my sketching kit, the zitherine in a

-leather case, two handbags, a bundle of umbrellas

-and canes, and a huge package of

-canvases. The toilet case and the rugs and

-waterproofs we took with us into the compartment.</p>

-

-<p>The compartment was empty. Sweetheart

-nestled into one corner, and when I had placed

-our traps in the racks overhead I sat down opposite,

-while Clifford handed in our sandwiches,

-<span class="pb" id="Pg134">[134]</span>

-a bottle of red wine, and Sweetheart's box of

-bonbons.</p>

-

-<p>We didn't say much; most had been said before

-starting. Clifford was more affected than

-he cared to show&mdash;I know by the way he

-grasped my hand. They are dear fellows, every

-one. We did not realize that we were actually

-going&mdash;going, perhaps, forever. She laughed,

-and chatted, and made fun of Clifford, and

-teased Rowden, aided and abetted by Elliott,

-until the starting gong clanged and a warning

-whistle sounded along the gaslit platform.</p>

-

-<p>"Jack," cried Clifford, leaning in the window,

-"God bless you! God bless you both!"</p>

-

-<p>Elliott touched her hand and wrung mine,

-and Rowden risked his neck to give us both

-one last cordial grasp.</p>

-

-<p>"Count on me&mdash;on us," cried Clifford,

-speaking in English, "if you are&mdash;troubled!"</p>

-

-<p>By what, my poor Clifford? Can you, with

-all your gay courage, turn back the hands of the

-dials? Can you, with all your warm devotion,

-add one second to the magic second and make

-it two? The shadows we cast are white.</p>

-

-<p>The train stole out into the night, and I

-saw them grouped on the platform, silhouettes

-in the glare of the yellow signals. I drew in

-my head and shut the window. Sweetheart's

-face had grown very serious, but now she smiled

-across from her corner.</p>

-

-<p>"Aren't you coming over by me, Jack?"</p>

-

-<h3>VII.<span class="pb" id="Pg135">[135]</span></h3>

-

-<p>We must have been moving very swiftly, for

-the car rocked and trembled, and it was probably

-that which awoke me. I looked across at

-Sweetheart. She was lying on her side, one

-cheek resting on her gloved hand, her travelling

-cap pushed back, her eyes shut. I smoothed

-away the curly strands of hair which straggled

-across her cheeks, and tucked another rug well

-about her feet. Her feet were small as a child's.

-I speak as if she were not a child. She was

-eighteen then.</p>

-

-<p>The next time I awoke we lay in a long

-gaslit station. Some soldiers were disembarking

-from the forward carriages, and a gendarme

-stalked up and down the platform.</p>

-

-<p>I looked sleepily about for the name of the

-station. It was painted in blue over the buffet&mdash;"Petit

-St. Yves." "Is it possible we are in

-Brittany?" I thought. Then the voices of

-the station hands, who were hoisting a small

-boat upon the forward carriage, settled my

-doubts. "Allons! tire hardiment, Jean Louis!

-mets le cannotte deboutte."</p>

-

-<p>"Arrête toi Yves! doucement! doucement! <ins class="corr" title="Sacré" id="C135">Sacrée</ins> garce!"</p>

-

-<p>Somewhere in the darkness a mellow bell

-tolled. I settled back to slumber, my eyes on Sweetheart.</p>

-

-<p>She slept.</p>

-

-<h3>VIII.<span class="pb" id="Pg136">[136]</span></h3>

-

-<p>I awoke in a flood of brightest sunshine.

-From our window I could look into the centre

-of a most enchanting little town, all built of

-white limestone and granite. The June sunshine

-slanted on thatched roof and painted gable, and

-fairly blazed on the little river slipping by under

-the stone bridge in the square.</p>

-

-<p>The streets and the square were alive

-with rosy-faced women in white head-dresses.

-Everywhere the constant motion of blue skirts

-and spotless coiffes, the twinkle of varnished

-socks, the clump! clump! of sabots.</p>

-

-<p>Like a black shadow a priest stole across the

-square. Above him the cross on the church

-glowed like a live cinder, flashing its reflection

-along the purple-slated roof from the eaves

-of which a cloud of ash-gray pigeons drifted

-into the gutter below. I turned from the window

-to encounter Sweetheart's eyes. Her lips

-moved a little, her long lashes heavy with

-slumber drooped lower, then with a little sigh

-she sat bolt upright. When I laughed, as I

-always did, she smiled, a little confused, a little

-ashamed, murmuring: "Bonjour, mon chéri!

-Quelle heure est-il?" That was always the way

-Sweetheart awoke.</p>

-

-<p>"O dear, I am so rumpled!" she said.

-"Jack, get me the satchel this minute, and

-don't look at me until I ask you to."</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg137">[137]</span>

-I unlocked the satchel, and then turning to

-the window again threw it wide open. Oh,

-how sweet came the morning air from the

-meadows! Some young fellows below on the

-bank of the stream were poking long cane fishing-rods

-under the arches of the bridge.</p>

-

-<p>"Sweetheart," I said over my shoulder, "I

-believe there are trout in this stream."</p>

-

-<p>"Mr. Elliott says that whenever you see a

-puddle you always say that," she replied.</p>

-

-<p>"What does he know about it?" I answered,

-for I am touchy on the subject; "he

-doesn't know a catfish from a&mdash;a dogfish."</p>

-

-<p>"Neither do I, Jack dear, but I'm going to

-learn. Don't be cross."</p>

-

-<p>She had finished her toilet and came over to

-the window, leaning out over my shoulder.</p>

-

-<p>"Where are we?" she cried in startled

-wonder at the little white town and the acres

-of swaying clover. "Oh, Jack, is&mdash;is this the country?"</p>

-

-<p>A man in uniform passing under our window

-looked up surprised.</p>

-

-<p>"What are you doing here?" he demanded;

-then, seeing Sweetheart, he took off his gold-laced

-cap, and added, with a bow: "This carriage

-goes no farther, monsieur&mdash;madame&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

-

-<p>"Merci!" exclaimed Sweetheart, "we wish

-to go to Quimperlé!"</p>

-

-<p>"And we have tickets for Quimperlé," I insisted.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg138">[138]</span>

-"But," smiled the official, "this is Quimperlé."</p>

-

-<p>It was true. There was the name written

-over the end of the station; and, looking ahead,

-I saw that our car had been detached and was

-standing in stately seclusion under the freight

-shed. How long it had been standing so

-Heaven alone knows; but they evidently had

-neglected to call us, and there we were inhabiting

-a detached carriage in the heart of Quimperlé.

-I managed to get a couple of porters,

-and presently we found all our traps piled up

-on the platform, and a lumbering vehicle with

-a Breton driver waiting to convey us to the hotel.</p>

-

-<p>"Which," said I to the docile Breton, "is

-the best hotel in Quimperlé?"</p>

-

-<p>"The Hôtel Lion d'Or," he replied.</p>

-

-<p>"How do you know?" I demanded.</p>

-

-<p>"Because," said he mildly, "it is the only

-hotel in Quimperlé."</p>

-

-<p>Sweetheart observed that this ought to be

-convincing, even to me, and she tormented me

-all the way to the square, where I got even by

-pretending to be horrified at her dishevelled

-condition incident to a night's railway ride in

-a stuffy compartment.</p>

-

-<p>"Don't, Jack! people will look at us."</p>

-

-<p>"Let 'em."</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, this is cruel! Oh, I'll pay you for this!"</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg139">[139]</span>

-And they did look at us&mdash;or rather at her;

-for from the time Sweetheart and I had

-cast our lots together, I noticed that I seemed

-to escape the observation of passers-by. When

-I lived alone in Paris I attracted a fair share of

-observation from the world as it wagged on its

-Parisian way. It was pleasant to meet a pretty

-girl's eyes now and then in the throng which

-flowed through the park and boulevard. I

-really never flattered myself that it was because

-of my personal beauty; but in Paris, any young

-fellow who is dressed in the manner of Albion,

-hatted and gloved in the same style, is not entirely

-a cipher. But now it was not the same,

-by a long shot.</p>

-

-<p>Sweetheart's beauty simply put me in my

-place as an unnoticed but perhaps correct supplement

-to her.</p>

-

-<p>She knew she was a beauty, and was delighted

-when she looked into her mirror.

-Nothing escaped her. The soft hair threaded

-with sunshine, which, when loosened, curled to

-her knees; the clear white forehead and straight

-brows; the nose delicate and a trifle upturned;

-the scarlet lips and fine cut chin&mdash;she knew the

-value of each of these. She was pleased with

-the soft, full curve of her throat, the little ears,

-and the colour which came and went in her cheeks.</p>

-

-<p>But her eyes were the first thing one noticed.

-They were the most beautiful gray eyes

-<span class="pb" id="Pg140">[140]</span>

-that ever opened under silken lashes. She approved

-of my telling her this, which duty I fulfilled

-daily. Perhaps it may be superfluous to

-say that we were very much in love. Did I

-say <em>were</em>?</p>

-

-<p>I think that, as I am chanting the graces of

-Sweetheart, it might not be amiss to say that

-she is just an inch shorter than I am, and that

-no Parisienne carried a pretty gown with more

-perfection than she did. I have seen gowns

-that looked like the devil on the manikin, but

-when Sweetheart wore them they were the astonishment

-and admiration of myself. And I

-do know when a woman is well dressed, though

-I am an art critic.</p>

-

-<p>Sweetheart regarded her beauty as an intimate

-affair between ourselves, a precious gift

-for our mutual benefit, to be carefully treasured

-and petted. Her attitude toward the world

-was unmistakable. The world might look&mdash;she

-was indifferent. With our intimate friends

-she was above being flattered. Clifford said to

-me once: "She carries her beauty as a princess

-would carry the Koh-i-noor&mdash;she knows she is

-worthy of it, and hopes it is worthy of her."</p>

-

-<p>"We ought to be so happy that I am beautiful!"

-she would say to me. "Just think, supposing

-I were not!"</p>

-

-<p>I used to try to make her believe that it

-would have made no difference.</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, not now," she would say gravely. "I

-<span class="pb" id="Pg141">[141]</span>

-know that if I lost it it would be the same to

-us both, now; but you can't make me believe

-that, at first, when you used to lean over the

-terrace of the Luxembourg and wait patiently

-for hours just to see me walk out of the Odeon."</p>

-

-<p>"I didn't," I would always explain; "I was

-there by accident."</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, what a funny accident to happen

-every day for two months!"</p>

-

-<p>"Stop teasing! Of course, after the first week&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

-

-<p>"And what a funny accident that I should

-pass the same way every day for two months,

-when before I always went by the Rue de Seine!"</p>

-

-<p>There was once such an accident, and such

-a girl. I never knew her; she is dead. I wondered

-sometimes that Sweetheart knew, and

-believed it was she herself. Yet the other

-woman's shadow was black.</p>

-

-<p>Sweetheart had a most peculiar and unworldly

-habit of not embellishing facts. She

-presently displayed it when we arrived at the

-Hôtel Lion d'Or.</p>

-

-<p>"Jack," said she nervously, "the cinders

-have made your face unpleasant. I am ashamed.

-They may not believe you are my husband."</p>

-

-<p>"As monsieur and madame," I said, "we

-may have dirty faces and be honest."</p>

-

-<p>"Do you suppose they&mdash;they will believe it?

-These queer people&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg142">[142]</span>

-"They'd better!" I said fiercely.</p>

-

-<p>"I&mdash;I hadn't thought of that," she said.

-"You see, in our own little place in Paris everybody

-knew it, but here&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

-

-<p>I said, "Dearest, what nonsense!" and we

-marched unceremoniously up to the register,

-where I wrote our names. Then, with a hasty

-little squeeze of her gloved hand, she turned to

-the maid and tripped off to inspect our quarters.

-While I was pumping the fat-headed old proprietor

-about the trout fishing in the vicinity,

-the maid returned with the request that I

-mount to the room above. I followed her along

-the tiled passages and found Sweetheart sitting

-on a trunk.</p>

-

-<p>"It's charming! charming!" she said.

-"Just look at the roses outside, and the square,

-and the river! and oh, Jack, the funny little

-Breton cattle, and the old man with knee-breeches!

-It's charming! and"&mdash;here she

-caught sight of the enraptured and fascinated

-maid&mdash;"and you are charming, with your red

-cheeks and white coiffe," she said. "Oh, how pretty!"</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, madame!" murmured the servant in dire confusion.</p>

-

-<p>I said, "Dearest, that will do. Nobody

-speaks of my peculiar charms, and I wish to be

-noticed."</p>

-

-<p>The presence of the maid prevented Sweetheart

-from making amends, so we told her we

-<span class="pb" id="Pg143">[143]</span>

-were satisfied, and we would spare her life if

-she prepared breakfast in seventeen seconds.</p>

-

-<p>She accepted the gift of existence with a

-dazed courtsey, and vanished.</p>

-

-<p>It was refreshing to get hold of a sponge

-and cold water after fourteen hours in a cramped

-compartment. Hunger drove us to hurry&mdash;a

-thing we rarely did in the morning&mdash;and the

-way we splashed cold water about would have

-been fatal to any but a tiled floor.</p>

-

-<p>"Dear," I said, "you have not yet seen me

-in my Tyrolese knickerbockers and beautiful

-shooting jacket. You have never beheld my

-legs clothed in Tyrolese stockings, at twenty

-francs a pair."</p>

-

-<p>"The legs?" she inquired from the depths

-of a bath robe.</p>

-

-<p>I ignored the question, and parted my hair

-with care. Then I sat down on the window

-and whistled.</p>

-

-<p>Of course I was ready first. Sweetheart's

-hair had got into a tangle and needed to be all

-combed out.</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, I know you are impatient, because

-you're whistling the Chant du Départ," she said

-from the door of her toilet room.</p>

-

-<p>"As usual," I said, "I am ready first."</p>

-

-<p>"If you say that again&mdash;&mdash;" she threatened.</p>

-

-<p>I said it, and dodged a sponge. Presently I

-was requested to open the trunk and select a

-gown for her. Dear little Sweetheart! she

-<span class="pb" id="Pg144">[144]</span>

-loved to pretend that she had so many it needed

-long consultation to decide which.</p>

-

-<p>"The dark blue?" I inquired.</p>

-

-<p>"Don't you think it is too warm?"</p>

-

-<p>"The pale blue, then&mdash;or the pink and white?"</p>

-

-<p>"Why not the white, with the cuffs à

-l'Anglaise, and the canoe hat?"</p>

-

-<p>I hauled it out.</p>

-

-<p>Then, of course, she changed her mind.</p>

-

-<p>"I think the gray is better for the morning;

-then I can wear the big chip hat."</p>

-

-<p>I fished up the gray. It was light, almost

-silvery, and had white spots on it.</p>

-

-<p>"Jack, dear," she said, coming out with her

-hair tucked up in a knot, drawing the bath robe

-up to her chin with both hands, "I think that

-the white cloth would be better, and that I

-can wear the béret."</p>

-

-<p>By this time the trunk was in a pretty mess,

-which amused her; but at last I ferreted out

-the white cloth dress, and, refusing to listen to

-further discussion, sat down on the window

-seat. Sweetheart enjoyed it.</p>

-

-<p>"Stop telling me to hurry," she said; "I

-can't, if you keep saying it all the time."</p>

-

-<p>After a while she called me to fasten her

-corsage, which hooked with about ten hundred

-hooks along the side and collar. I hated to do

-it, and my finger ends stung for hours after,

-but, as Sweetheart very rightly says, "When we

-<span class="pb" id="Pg145">[145]</span>

-are rich enough to have a maid you needn't," I

-submitted with an air which delighted her.

-Her tormenting "Thank you, Jack," was the

-last straw, so I calmly picked her up and carried

-her out, and almost to the dining room,

-where I set her down just in time to avoid the

-proprietor and three domestics issuing from the

-office.</p>

-

-<p>Sweetheart was half inclined to laugh, half

-indignant, and wholly scandalized. But she

-did not dare say anything, for we were at the

-dining-room door.</p>

-

-<p>There were some people there, but except

-for a slight inclination we did not notice each

-other. We had a small table to ourselves by

-the rose-bowered window.</p>

-

-<p>We were very hungry. Breakfast began

-with fresh sardines just caught, and ended with

-little Breton cakes and a demi-tasse. I finished

-first; I always do, because the wretched habit

-of bolting my food, contracted while studying

-under Bouguereau at Julian's, clings to me yet.

-Oh, I shall have a merry time paying for it when

-I am forty! I began, as usual, to tease Sweetheart.</p>

-

-<p>"If you continue to eat like this, dear, you

-will never be able to wear your new frocks.

-This one seems a trifle too tight now."</p>

-

-<p>Sweetheart, who prided herself as much on

-her figure as on her lovely face, repelled the

-insult with disdain and nibbled her Breton biscuit

-<span class="pb" id="Pg146">[146]</span>

-defiantly. When at last she condescended

-to rise, we strolled out under the trees in front

-of the hotel, and sat down on the low stone wall

-surrounding the garden. The noon sun hung

-in the zenith, flooding the town with a dazzling

-downpour. Sunbeams glanced and danced on

-the water; sunbeams filtered through the foliage;

-sunbeams stole under Sweetheart's big

-straw hat, searching the depths of the gray eyes.

-Sunbeams played merry mischief with my ears

-and neck, which were beginning to sting in the

-first sunburn of the year. Through the square

-the white-coiffed women passed and repassed;

-small urchins with silver-buckled hatbands

-roamed about the bridge and market-place until

-collected and trooped off to school by a black-robed

-Jesuit frère; and in the shade of the trees

-a dozen sprawling men in Breton costume

-smoked their microscopical pipes and watched

-the water.</p>

-

-<p>"They are an industrious race," said I

-with fine irony, watching a happy inebriate

-pursuing a serpentine course toward the café

-opposite.</p>

-

-<p>Sweetheart, who was as patriotic a little girl

-as ever hummed the Marseillaise, and adopted

-France as long as she lived in it, was up in arms

-in an instant.</p>

-

-<p>"I have read," she said with conviction,

-"that the Bretons are a brave, industrious race.

-They are French."</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg147">[147]</span>

-"They speak a different language," I said&mdash;"not

-a word of French in it."</p>

-

-<p>"They are French," repeated Sweetheart,

-with an inflection which decided me to shun the

-subject until I could unpack my guide-book.</p>

-

-<p>We sat a little while longer under the trees,

-until we both began nodding and mutually accused

-each other. Then Sweetheart went up

-to the room to take a nap, and I, scorning

-such weakness, lay down in a steamer chair

-under our window and fell fast asleep in no time.</p>

-

-<p>I was aroused by a big pink rose which hit

-me squarely on the mouth. Sweetheart was

-perched in the window seat above, and as I

-looked up she sent a shower of blossoms down upon me.</p>

-

-<p>"Jack, you lazy creature, it's five o'clock,

-and I'm dressed and ready for a walk!"</p>

-

-<p>"So am I," I said, jumping up.</p>

-

-<p>"But not like that. You must come up

-and make yourself nice for dinner."</p>

-

-<p>"Nice? What's the matter with these

-tweeds? Aren't these new stockings presentable?"</p>

-

-<p>"Look at your hair!" she said evasively.

-"Come up this minute and brush it."</p>

-

-<p>I went, and was compelled to climb into a

-white collar and shirt, and trousers of an English

-cut. But before we had gone far along

-the great military road that climbed the heights

-<span class="pb" id="Pg148">[148]</span>

-above the little river, I took Sweetheart's hand

-in mine and imparted to her my views and intentions

-upon the subject of my costume for the future.</p>

-

-<p>"You see, dearest, we are here in Brittany

-for three reasons. The first is, that I should

-paint outdoors. The second is, that we should

-economize like the deuce. The third is, our

-shadows&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

-

-<p>"I know," she interrupted faintly. "Never

-mind, Jack, dear."</p>

-

-<p>We walked silently for a while, hand clasping

-hand very tightly, for we were both thinking

-of the third reason.</p>

-

-<p>I broke the silence first, speaking cheerfully,

-and she looked up with a quick smile while the

-shadow fell from her brow.</p>

-

-<p>"You see, dear, in this place, where we are

-going, there are no people but peasants. Your

-frocks are all right for a place like this; we must

-both wear our free-and-easy togs&mdash;I for painting,

-and you for scrambling about after your

-wild flowers or fishing with me. If you get

-tired of seeing me in corduroys or tweeds, I'll

-dress for you when you think you can't stand

-it any longer."</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, Jack, I do like your knickerbockers&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

-

-<p>"And you shall wear your most gorgeous gown for me&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

-

-<p>"Indeed I won't," she laughed, adding impulsively,

-<span class="pb" id="Pg149">[149]</span>

-"indeed I will&mdash;every day, if you wish it!"</p>

-

-<p>At the top of the hill stood an ancient Ursuline

-convent surrounded by a high wall, which

-also inclosed the broad acres of the wealthy

-sisterhood. We sat down by the roadside hedge

-and looked across the valley, where the hurrying

-river had ceased to hasten and now lingered

-in placid pools and long, deep reaches. The

-sun had set behind the forest, and the sky threw

-a purple light over woods and meadow. The

-grassy pools below were swept by flocks of whistling

-martins and swallows. One or two white

-gulls flapped slowly toward the tide water below,

-and a young curlew, speeding high overhead,

-uttered a lonesome cry. The grass&mdash;the

-brilliant green grass of Brittany&mdash;had turned

-a deep metallic blue in the twilight. A pale

-primrose light grew and died in the sky, and

-the forest changed from rose to ashes. Then a

-dull red bar shot across the parting clouds in

-the west, the forest smouldered an instant, and

-the pools glowed crimson. Slowly the red bar

-melted away, the light died out among the

-branches, the pools turned sombre. Looking

-up, we saw the new moon flashing in the sky

-above our heads. Sweetheart sighed in perfect

-contentment.</p>

-

-<p>"It's beautiful!" I said, with another sigh.</p>

-

-<p>"Ah, yes," she murmured, "beautiful to

-<span class="pb" id="Pg150">[150]</span>

-you, and to me&mdash;to me, Jack, who have never

-before seen this land of Morbihan."</p>

-

-<p>After a while she said, "And the ocean&mdash;oh,

-how I long to see it! Is it near us, Jack?"</p>

-

-<p>"The river runs into it twenty kilometres

-below. We feel the tide at Quimperlé." I

-did not add, "Baedeker."</p>

-

-<p>"I wonder," I said presently, "what are

-the feelings of a little American who sees

-this country&mdash;the real country&mdash;for the first time?"</p>

-

-<p>"I suppose you mean me," she said. "I

-don't know&mdash;I don't think I understand it yet,

-but I know I shall love it, and never want to go back."</p>

-

-<p>"Perhaps we never shall," I said. "The

-magic second may stretch into years that end

-at last as all ends."</p>

-

-<p>Then our hands met in that sudden nervous

-clasp which seemed to help and steady us

-when we were thinking of the real world, so

-long, so long forgotten.</p>

-

-<h3>IX.</h3>

-

-<p>I was awakened next morning by a spongeful

-of cold water in the face, which I hate. I

-started up to wreak vengeance upon Sweetheart,

-but she fled to the toilet room and locked herself

-in. From this retreat she taunted me until

-further sleep was out of the question, and I

-<span class="pb" id="Pg151">[151]</span>

-bowed to the inevitable&mdash;indignantly, when I

-saw my watch pointed to five o'clock.</p>

-

-<p>Sweetheart was perfectly possessed to row;

-so when I had bolted my coffee and sat watching

-her placidly sip hers, we decided to go

-down to the bank of the little stream and hire

-a boat. The boat was a wretched, shapeless

-affair, with two enormous oars and the remnants

-of rowlocks. It was the best boat in

-town, so we took it. I managed to get away

-from the bank, and, conscious of Sweetheart's

-open admiration, pulled boldly down the stream.

-It was easy work, for the tide was ebbing. The

-river up to the bridge was tidal, but above the

-bridge it leaped and flowed, a regular salmon

-stream. Sweetheart was so impatient to take

-the oars that I relinquished them and picked

-up my rod. The boat swung down the stream

-and under the high stone viaduct, where I insisted

-on anchoring and whipping the promising-looking

-water. The water was likely

-enough, and the sudden splash of a leaping

-grilse added to its likelihood. I was in hopes

-a grilse might become entangled with one of

-the flies, but though a big one shot up out of the

-water within five feet of Sweetheart, causing

-her to utter a suppressed scream, neither grilse

-nor trout rose to the beautiful lures I trailed

-about, and I only hooked two or three enormous

-dace, which came up like logs and covered the

-bottom of the boat with their coarse scales.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg152">[152]</span>

-Sweetheart had never seen a French trout

-uncooked, and scarcely shared my disappointment.</p>

-

-<p>"They are splendid fish," she repeated;

-"you are unreasonable."</p>

-

-<p>There was an ancient Breton squatting on

-the bank; from his sulky attitude I took

-him to be a poacher visiting his infernal set

-lines and snares; but I hailed him pleasantly

-with a bonjour, which he returned civilly enough.</p>

-

-<p>"Are there trout in this stream?"</p>

-

-<p>"About the bridge," he replied cautiously.</p>

-

-<p>"Have you caught any?"</p>

-

-<p>"I ain't fishing," he said, much alarmed.</p>

-

-<p>"What's that?" I demanded, pointing to

-as plump a trout as ever I saw, floating on the

-end of a string under the bank.</p>

-

-<p>"Where?" he asked, looking about him

-with affected concern.</p>

-

-<p>"There!"</p>

-

-<p>He looked around, everywhere except where

-I pointed. He examined the horizon, and the

-tree tops, as though he expected a fish on

-every twig. I poled the boat up to the bank

-and pointed out the fish.</p>

-

-<p>"Ma doui!" he exclaimed, "there <em>is</em> a fish!"</p>

-

-<p>"Yes, a trout," I said.</p>

-

-<p>"Trout?" He burst into a forced laugh.

-"Trout! Ha! ha! Why, monsieur, that is a

-<span class="pb" id="Pg153">[153]</span>

-dace&mdash;a poor little dace!" He hastily jerked it

-up with a long homemade gaff which lay&mdash;of

-course quite by accident&mdash;at his feet.</p>

-

-<p>"A poor little dace!" he mumbled. "Of

-course, monsieur would not care to claim such

-a poor, coarse little fish; but I am only too

-glad to eat it&mdash;ah, yes, only too glad!"</p>

-

-<p>"You see," said Sweetheart impulsively,

-"that you are wrong. Give him our fish; that

-will make four dace for the poor fellow."</p>

-

-<p>I placed the three dace across the blade of

-my oar and held it out to the poacher. He

-took them as if he were really glad to get them.

-Then I said, "These are dace, and they don't

-have red spots."</p>

-

-<p>He stood as if ready to bolt, but I laughed,

-and settled back on my oars, saying: "You're

-a poacher; but I don't care a continental, and

-you can poach all day in this confounded country,

-where there is about one trout to the kilometre.

-Don't look scared. What do I care?

-Only don't tell me I'm unable to distinguish a

-trout when I can see the tip of his nose."</p>

-

-<p>I then sailed majestically out into the

-stream.</p>

-

-<p>Sweetheart wanted to know whether that

-was really a real poacher. She had read about

-them. Her ideal poacher was a young, stalwart,

-eagle-eyed giant, with a tangle of hair

-and a disposition toward assassination. The

-reality shocked her.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg154">[154]</span>

-"Anyway," she said, "you frightened the

-poor old thing. How rough men are!"</p>

-

-<p>We returned to the landing place with difficulty,

-for the tide was still on the ebb, and we

-got aground more than once. My hands were

-in a fine condition when at last I drove that

-wretched scow into the mud and lifted Sweetheart

-out to the firm bank. The evil-eyed old

-man who rented us the boat glanced sardonically

-at my rod and blistered hands, and I was

-glad enough to pay him all he asked and break

-away for the hotel.</p>

-

-<p>We had an hour to lunch in, pack, and be

-ready for the trap which was to bear us to our

-destination&mdash;the distant village of Faöuet, in

-Morbihan.</p>

-

-<h3>X.</h3>

-

-<p>A long drive on a smooth white road, acres

-of gorse and broom, beech woods and oak thickets,

-and the "Heu! heu! Allo! Allons! en

-route!" of the Breton driver, these are my

-recollections of the ride to Faöuet. There are

-others, too&mdash;the hedges heavy with bloom, the

-perfume of the wild honeysuckle, the continual

-bird chorus from every grove and every bramble

-patch&mdash;and Sweetheart's veil flying into my

-face.</p>

-

-<p>We have spoken of it since together, but

-she has few recollections of that journey. She

-<span class="pb" id="Pg155">[155]</span>

-only remembers it as her first steps into our

-heritage.</p>

-

-<p>And so we entered into our heritage, Sweetheart

-and I; and our heritage was very fair, for

-it lay everywhere about us. It was a world

-which we alone inhabited. Men said, "This

-land is Gloanec's," "This is Gurnalec's," "This

-is Kerdec's"; they spoke of "my woods" and

-"his meadows" and "their pastures." And

-how we laughed; for when we passed together

-through their lands, around us, far as the eye

-could reach, our heritage lay in the sunshine.</p>

-

-<h3>XI.</h3>

-

-<p>One day, when Sweetheart had been weeping&mdash;for

-we were thinking of the end to the

-magic second&mdash;I spoke of our heritage which

-swept far as the eye could reach across the

-moors of Faöuet.</p>

-

-<p>She said: "The past is ours, Jack; the present

-is ours; the future&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

-

-<p>We tried to smile, but our hearts were like

-lead. Yet we know that the future will also

-be ours. I know it as I write.</p>

-

-<h3>XII.</h3>

-

-<p>The letter from St. Gildas, bringing with it

-a breath of salt air, lay on the table before us.

-Sweetheart clasped her hands and looked at me.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg156">[156]</span>

-"I'm in favour of going at once," I said

-for the third time. Over by the wall were piled

-my canvases, the result of three months in Faöuet.</p>

-

-<p>The first was a study of Sweetheart under

-the trees of the ancient orchard in the convent

-grounds. What trouble I had had with that

-canvas! I remembered the morning that the

-old gardener came over and stood behind me

-as I painted; and when I had replied to his

-"Good-morning," I recalled the pang his next

-words gave me:</p>

-

-<p>"I am so sorry, monsieur, but it is forbidden

-to enter the convent grounds."</p>

-

-<p>My canvas was almost finished, and, as the

-romancers have it, "my despair was great!"

-A month's work for nothing&mdash;or next to nothing!</p>

-

-<p>Sweetheart rose from her pose on the low

-bough of the apple tree and came over to my

-side. "Never mind, Jack; I shall go and ask

-the Mother Superior about it."</p>

-

-<p>I knew that she would win over the Mother

-Superior; and when, that evening, she came

-back radiant, crying, "She is lovely!&mdash;she says

-you may finish the picture, and I think you

-ought to go and thank her," I put on my cap,

-and stepping across the street, we rang at the gate.</p>

-

-<p>The old gardener let us in, and in a moment

-I stood before the latticed windows behind

-<span class="pb" id="Pg157">[157]</span>

-which some one was moving. In a low voice the

-invisible nun told us that the Superior granted

-to us the privilege of working in the orchard,

-but we must be careful of the grass, because it

-was almost time to cut it.</p>

-

-<p>"I am sure we may have confidence in you," she said.</p>

-

-<p>"We will not trample the grass, my sister,

-and I thank you for us both."</p>

-

-<p>The lattice trembled, was raised a little, and

-then fell.</p>

-

-<p>"You are English," said the hidden nun.</p>

-

-<p>"I am American, my sister."</p>

-

-<p>I looked at the lattice a moment, then

-dropped my eyes. I may have been mistaken,

-but I think she sighed.</p>

-

-<p>Sweetheart came closer to the lattice and

-murmured her thanks.</p>

-

-<p>There was a pause.</p>

-

-<p>Then came the voice again, sweet and

-gentle: "May Our Lady of Saint Gildas protect

-you"; and we went out by the little iron wicket.</p>

-

-<p>The next picture was another study of

-Sweetheart in the woods; the next, another

-study of Sweetheart; and the others were

-studies of the same young lady.</p>

-

-<p>The light in the room had grown dim, and

-I walked to the window which overlooked the

-convent chapel. The chapel windows were

-open; within, the nuns stood or knelt chanting.

-<span class="pb" id="Pg158">[158]</span>

-Three white-veiled figures were advancing

-to the altar, and the others, draped in black

-now knelt behind. I didn't think I had any

-business to look at them, so I did not. After

-all, they were cloistered nuns, and it was only

-on hot nights that they opened the chapel windows.

-Sweetheart was speaking beside my shoulder.</p>

-

-<p>"Poor things! The ones in white, they

-are the novices; they will never see parents

-or friends again. When they enter the

-gates they never leave&mdash;never; they are buried

-there."</p>

-

-<p>I said: "After all, we are much like them.

-We have left all; we have nothing now but

-each other, for the world is dead, and we are

-bound by vows which keep us within the narrow

-confines of our heritage."</p>

-

-<p>"But our heritage is everywhere&mdash;as far as

-we can see."</p>

-

-<p>"Ah, yes, but we can only see to the horizon.

-There is a world beyond."</p>

-

-<p>"I have renounced it," said Sweetheart faintly.</p>

-

-<h3>XIII.</h3>

-

-<p>The letter from St. Gildas had been lying

-on our table for a week before I thought of

-answering it, and even then it was Sweetheart

-who wrote:</p>

-

-<div class="blockquote">

-<span class="pb" id="Pg159">[159]</span>

-<p>"<span class="smcap">Dear Mr. Stuart</span>:</p>

-

-<p>"Jack is too lazy to answer your kind note,

-so, in pure shame for his discourtesy, I hasten

-to reply to your questions.</p>

-

-<p>"First: Yes; we have been working very

-hard, and Jack's pictures are charming, though

-he growls over them all day.</p>

-

-<p>"Second: Yes; we intend to stay in Brittany

-this winter for lots of reasons&mdash;one being

-economy, and another, Jack's outdoor painting.</p>

-

-<p>"Third: Yes; we are coming to St. Gildas.</p>

-

-<p>"Fourth: To-morrow.</p>

-

-<p>"Fifth: No; we had not heard of Mr.

-Clifford's affair with the policeman; and oh, I

-am so sorry he was locked up and fined! Jack

-laughs. I suspect he, too, was as wicked as

-you all when he was a student, alone in Paris.</p>

-

-<p>"Sixth: I know you are Jack's oldest and

-most intimate friend, so I allow you more liberty

-than I do Messieurs Clifford and Elliott;

-therefore I will answer your question as to

-whether the honeymoon is not on the wane.

-No! no! no! There are three answers to one

-question. See how generous I can be!"</p>

-</div>

-

-<p>Sweetheart called me to see whether or not

-I approved. I did, and added my answer to

-Stuart's last question as follows: "No, you

-idiot!" Then I signed the note, and Sweetheart

-sealed and directed it.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg160">[160]</span>

-So we left for St. Gildas next morning before

-sunrise and in the rain. This leaving at

-such an unearthly hour was not my doing, but

-Sweetheart was determined, and rose by candlelight

-in spite of desperate opposition on my

-part. It was cold, and the rain beat against

-the windows.</p>

-

-<p>It was many kilometres to St. Gildas, but before

-we had gone six, the rain had ceased and

-the eastern sky flushed to a pale rose.</p>

-

-<p>"Thank goodness!" I said, "we shall have the sun."</p>

-

-<p>Then the daily repeated miracle of the coming

-of dawn was wrought before our eyes. The

-heavens glowed in rainbow tints; the shredded

-mist rising along the river was touched with

-purple and gold, and acres of meadow and pasture

-dripped precious stones. Shreds of the

-fading night-mist drifted among the tree tops,

-now tipped with fire, while in the forest depths

-faint sparkles came from some lost ray of morning

-light falling on wet leaves. Then of a

-sudden up shot the sun, and against it, black

-and gigantic, a peasant towered, leaning upon

-his spade.</p>

-

-<h3>XIV.</h3>

-

-<p>We were fast nearing the end of our long

-journey. The sun blazed on us from the

-zenith, and the wheels creaked with the heat of

-the white road. The driver leaned back, saying,

-<span class="pb" id="Pg161">[161]</span>

-"We enter Finistère here by this granite

-post." Presently he added, "The ocean!"</p>

-

-<p>There it lay, a basin of silver and blue.

-Sweetheart had started to her feet, speechless,

-one hand holding to my shoulder, the other

-clasped to her breast. And now, as the road

-wound through the hills and down to the coast,

-long stretches of white sand skirted the distant

-cliffs, and over the cliffs waved miles and miles

-of yellow gorse. A cluster of white and gray

-houses lay in the hollow to the left almost at

-the mouth of the river, and beyond, the waves

-were beating in the bar&mdash;beating the same

-rhythm which we were to hear so long there

-together, day and night. There was not a boat

-to be seen, not a creature, nor was there any

-sign of life save for the smoke curling from

-a cottage chimney below. The ocean lay

-sparkling beneath, and beyond its deeper blue

-melted into the haze on the horizon.</p>

-

-<p>Suddenly, in the road below, the figure of a

-man appeared, and at the same moment a

-pointer pup came gambolling up beside us in

-an ecstasy of self-abnegation and apology. I

-sprang out of the lumbering vehicle and lifted

-Sweetheart to the ground, and in an instant we

-were shaking hands with a stalwart young fellow

-in knickerbockers and jersey, who said we

-were a pretty pair not to have come sooner,

-and told Sweetheart he pitied her lot&mdash;meaning me.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg162">[162]</span>

-Then we walked arm in arm down a fragrant

-lane to the river bank, where the dearest old

-lady toddled out of the granite house to welcome

-us and show us our rooms. Sweetheart went

-with her, while I stopped an instant to chat with Stuart.</p>

-

-<p>"That is Madame Ylven," he said. "She

-is the most stunning peasant woman in Finistère,

-and you will want for nothing." Then,

-after a moment, "Good heavens! Jack, what a

-beauty your wife&mdash;&mdash;" He stopped short, but

-added, "What a delicious little beauty Sweetheart

-has grown to be!"</p>

-

-<p>A white-coiffed maid came to the door, and

-said, "Will monsieur have the goodness to

-come? Madame wishes him to see the rooms."</p>

-

-<p>The wind blew from the south, and the

-thunder of the sea was in my ears as I mounted

-the stairs to our new quarters.</p>

-

-<p>Sweetheart met me at the door, saying, "It

-seems almost too much happiness to bear, but

-I feel that we are at home at last&mdash;alone together

-for all time."</p>

-

-<p>Alone together? The ocean at our threshold,

-the moors and forests at our back, and a

-good slate roof above us. Before me through

-the open door I could see the great old-fashioned

-room, warm in the afternoon sunlight&mdash;the

-room we were to live in so long, the room

-in which we were to pass the happiest and bitterest

-moments of our lives.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg163">[163]</span>

-She hesitated an instant before the threshold.

-I think we knew that we stood upon the

-threshold of our destiny. Then I said, half in

-earnest: "Are you afraid to cross with me into

-the unknown future? See, the room is filled

-with sunshine. Are you afraid?"</p>

-

-<p>She sprang across the threshold, and, turning

-to me, held out both hands.</p>

-

-<h3>XV.</h3>

-

-<p>The sun slipped lower and lower into the

-sea, until a distant tossing wave washed it out

-against the sky. Light died in the room, and

-shadows closed around us; yet it was in the

-darkness and shadows that we drew nearer to

-each other, then and after.</p>

-

-<h3>XVI.</h3>

-

-<p>Stuart stood under our window and yelled

-up at me, "Oh, Jack! I say, Jack!"</p>

-

-<p>Sweetheart, who was fussing over the half-unpacked

-trunk, went to the window and threw

-open the panes.</p>

-

-<p>"You don't mean to say you have had your

-coffee?" she said. "Jack isn't up yet."</p>

-

-<p>"Jack is up," I explained, coming to the

-window in pajamas. "Hello!"</p>

-

-<p>"I only wanted to say that I haven't had

-my coffee," he explained, "and I'm going to

-take it with you when you're ready."</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg164">[164]</span>

-Sweetheart picked up her béret, and, passing

-a hatpin through it, turned to me with a

-warning, "I shall eat all the breakfast, monsieur!"

-and vanished down the stairs. A moment

-later I heard her clear voice below:</p>

-

-<div class="poetry-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<div class="verse">Sonnez le chœur,</div>

-<div class="verse indent2">Chasseur!</div>

-<div class="verse">Sonnez la mort!</div>

-</div></div></div>

-

-<p>Before I had finished dressing, Sweetheart

-tripped in with my coffee and toast.</p>

-

-<p>"Of course I've finished," she said, "and

-you don't deserve this. Mr. Stuart has gone off

-with his canvases, and says he'll see you at

-lunch."</p>

-

-<p>I swallowed the coffee and browsed on little

-squares of toast which she condescendingly buttered

-for me, and then, lighting a cigarette,

-I announced my intention of commanding an

-exploring expedition consisting of Sweetheart

-and myself. A scratching at the door and a

-patter of feet announced that I had been overheard.</p>

-

-<p>Sweetheart unlatched the door, and the

-pointer pup of the evening before charged into

-the room and covered us with boisterous caresses,

-which we took to indicate that he not

-only approved of the expedition, but intended

-to undertake the general supervision of it himself.

-I resigned the leadership at once.</p>

-

-<p>"His name," said Sweetheart in the tone

-<span class="pb" id="Pg165">[165]</span>

-of one who presents a distinguished guest, "is

-'Luff.'"</p>

-

-<p>I gravely acknowledged the honour by patting

-his head.</p>

-

-<p>"I'm afraid," I said to Sweetheart, "that

-there is a bar sinister upon his escutcheon, but

-possibly it is only the indelible mark of the

-conquering British foxhound."</p>

-

-<p>Sweetheart said, "Nonsense!" and the expedition

-moved, Luff leading with a series of

-ear-splitting orders in the dog language which

-we perfectly understood.</p>

-

-<p>In ten minutes we stood on the cliffs, the

-salt wind whipping our faces. Saint-Gildas-des-Prés

-lay at our feet.</p>

-

-<p>"I know," observed Sweetheart calmly, "all

-about this place. Captain Ylven told me at

-breakfast."</p>

-

-<p>"Well," said I, "what's that island on the

-horizon?"</p>

-

-<p>Then she overwhelmed me with erudition,

-until I longed for Baedeker and revenge.</p>

-

-<p>"That is the Isle de Groix, and all about us

-is the Bay of Biscay. This little hamlet on the

-cliff is St. Julien, and if we follow the coast

-far enough we come to Lorient."</p>

-

-<p>"Follow the coast? Which way?"</p>

-

-<p>Sweetheart had forgotten, and I triumphed

-in silence, until she stamped her foot and

-marched off to assist Luff in investigating a

-suspicious hole in the cliff.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg166">[166]</span>

-I went to the edge of the plateau and looked

-over. The surf thundered against the rocks,

-tossing long strands of seaweed over the pebbly

-beach. A man with a wooden rake stood in the

-water up to his knees. He raked the seaweed

-from the breakers as a farmer rakes weeds from

-the lawn. The salt wind began to sting my lips

-and eyes. My throat felt dry and salty. I

-turned toward the hamlet of St. Gildas. I had

-not imagined it so small. Besides our house

-there were but three others clustered under

-the river bank. Behind it stretched woods and

-grain fields broken by patches of yellow gorse.

-Across the river stood a stone chapel almost lost

-in the miles of moorland. To the east and

-west the downs covered with gorse and heather

-rolled to the horizon. Here and there along the

-cliffs stood what appeared to be the ruins of ancient

-forts, and on a rock, just where the river

-sweeps out into the sea, rose a dirty white signal

-tower. The tower was low and squatty

-and wet. It looked like some saline excrescence

-which had slowly exuded from the brine-soaked

-rock. On the bar hundreds of white gulls rose

-and settled as the tide encroached; curlew were

-running along the foam-splashed shore under

-the eastern cliffs across the river.</p>

-

-<p>On our side of the river the cliffs were covered

-with blackthorn and hawthorn, with here

-and there a stunted oak, probably so placed by

-Providence as general rendezvous for all the

-<span class="pb" id="Pg167">[167]</span>

-small twittering birds of Finistère. Birds were

-everywhere. From the clouds came the ceaseless

-carol of skylarks; from the grain fields and

-the flowering gorse rose an unbroken chorus,

-taken up and repeated by flocks of microscopical

-songsters among the blackthorns on the cliffs.</p>

-

-<p>"This is paradise, this wilderness," I thought.</p>

-

-<p>Then, as I heard Sweetheart's mocking voice

-from the cliff:</p>

-

-<div class="poetry-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<div class="verse">O frère <ins class="corr" title="Jaques" id="C167">Jacques</ins>,</div>

-<div class="verse">Dormez vous!</div>

-</div></div></div>

-

-<p>"I'm not asleep!" I cried in answer.

-"What is it?"</p>

-

-<p>"Luff has unearthed a poor little mole, but

-I won't allow him to hurt it."</p>

-

-<p>"Jack, dear," she said, as I came up,

-"couldn't we keep it as a pet? See, the poor

-little thing is blind."</p>

-

-<p>As it was blind we called it "Love," which

-later was changed to "Cupid," and finally, when

-we discovered it true gormandizing character,

-for "Cupid" we substituted "Cupidity," by

-which name it flourished and fattened.</p>

-

-<p>"What a change," said Sweetheart sadly,

-"from Blind Love to Blind Greed!"</p>

-

-<p>The mole grew very fat.</p>

-

-<h3>XVII.<span class="pb" id="Pg168">[168]</span></h3>

-

-<p>When the winds stir the leaves among the

-poplars, and the long shadows fall athwart the

-fields; when the winds rise at night, and the

-branches scrape and crack above the moonlit

-snow; when in the long hot days the earth is

-bathed in fragrance, and all the little creatures

-of the fields are silent; when in the still evenings

-the flowers perfume the air, and the gravel

-walks shine white in the moonlight; when the

-breezes quicken from the distant coast; when

-the sand shakes beneath the shock of the breakers,

-and every wave is plumed with white; when

-the calm eye of the beacon turns to mine, lingers,

-and turn away, and the surf is yeasty and

-thick; when I start at the sound of a voice from

-the cliffs, and my eyes are raised in vain;

-when the white gulls toss and drift in the storm-clouds,

-and the water hurries out in the black

-ebb tide; when I rise and look from the window;

-when I dress; when I work with pen and

-colour; when I rest; when I walk; when I

-sleep&mdash;there is one face before my eyes, one

-name on my lips. For the white shadow is

-turning gray, and God alone knows the end.</p>

-

-<h3>XVIII.</h3>

-

-<p>And God alone knows the end, for the mists

-are crowding, brooding like angry-browed

-<span class="pb" id="Pg169">[169]</span>

-clouds, and I hear the whistle of unseen winds,

-and my life-flame wavers and sinks and flares,

-blown hither and thither, tossing, fading, leaping,

-but fading, always fading.</p>

-

-<p>In a flash, like a printed picture on a screen,

-illuminated, keenly etched in the white glare,

-I see the bed, and the people around me, the

-black gowns, the pale eyes of the doctor, the

-sponge and basin, the rolls of lint.</p>

-

-<p>Voices, minute but clean-cut and clear as

-picked harp-strings, tinkle in my ears; the voice

-of the doctor, other voices, but always the voice

-of the doctor&mdash;"The splinter of bone on the

-brain; the splinter pressing on the tissues; the

-depression."</p>

-

-<p>The doctor! That is the man! That is the

-man who comes to my side, who follows, follows

-where I go, who seeks me throughout the

-world! I saw him as I lay flung on the turf,

-limp, unconscious, below the cliffs on the Aspen

-hills; I felt his presence in the studio; I heard

-him creeping at my heels across the gorse thickets

-of St. Gildas. And now he has come

-to cut short the magic second, to turn back

-time&mdash;back, back, into the old worn channels,

-rock-ribbed and salt with tears.</p>

-

-<p>As a leaf of written paper torn in two, so

-shall my life be torn in two; and the long tear

-shall mangle the chapter written in rose and gold.</p>

-

-<p>Then, too, my shadow, already turned from

-<span class="pb" id="Pg170">[170]</span>

-white to gray, shall fall with a deeper stain

-wherever I pass; and I shall see the yellow gorse

-glimmer and turn to golden-rod, and the poplars

-turn to oaks; and the twin towers of Notre

-Dame, filmy, lace-carved, and gray with centuries,

-shall dwindle as I look&mdash;dwindle and

-sway and turn to pines, singing pines that murmur

-to the winds, blowing across the Aspen

-hills.</p>

-

-<hr class="tb"/>

-

-<p>All that is fair shall pass away; all that I

-love, all that I fear for&mdash;these shall the doctor

-take away, lifting them from my memory on

-the point of a steel blade. What has he to

-give in return? A hell of vapour, distorting

-sight; a hell of sound, drowning the soul.</p>

-

-<hr class="tb"/>

-

-<p>Gigantic apparitions arise across the world

-of water, wavering like shadows on the clouds.

-Steel-clad, clothed in skins, casqued in steel,

-their winged heads bend and nod and move

-against the clouds. And even they are changing

-as clouds change shape. I see steel limbs

-turn red and naked. I see winged casques trail

-to the earth, feathered, painted in colours of

-earth.</p>

-

-<p>Ihó! Inâh! Etó! E-hó!</p>

-

-<p>The bridge of stars spans the vast lake of air;

-the sun and the moon travel over it.</p>

-

-<hr class="tb"/>

-

-<p>My shadow is turning dark; I can scarcely

-<span class="pb" id="Pg171">[171]</span>

-see the doctor, but now&mdash;God have mercy!&mdash;<em>I

-can touch him.</em></p>

-

-<hr class="tb"/>

-

-<p>All the high spectres are stooping from the

-clouds, bending above me to watch. I know

-them and their eyes of shadow&mdash;I know them

-now; Hârpen that was to Chaské what Hárpstinâ

-shall be to Hapéda; and Hârka shall come after

-all with the voice of winter winds:</p>

-

-<p>"Aké u, aké u, aké u!"</p>

-

-<p>But the magic second shall never return.</p>

-

-<p>"Mâ cânté maséca!"</p>

-

-<hr class="tb"/>

-

-<p>Now they leave my bed, the people who

-crowded there under the shadowy forms of the

-spectres; now the doctor bends over; I see and

-feel him. His hands are tangled in the threads

-of time; he is cutting a thread; he&mdash;&mdash;</p>

-

-<h3>XIX.</h3>

-

-<p>When I spoke to him first I spoke in the

-French language. Before he answered, the

-scream of a blue jay in the elms outside set my

-nerves aquiver, and I called for Donald and

-Walter.</p>

-

-<p>As I lay there I could see the Aspen hills

-from the window, heaps of crumpled gold

-bathed in sunshine. Over them sailed the froth

-from the silken milkweed; over them drifted

-<span class="pb" id="Pg172">[172]</span>

-the big brown-red butterflies, luminous as richest

-autumn leaves.</p>

-

-<p>Some one closed the door softly. The doctor

-had gone.</p>

-

-<p>The sunlight poured into the window, etching

-my shadow on the wall behind. Lying

-very still there I saw it motionless beside me.

-<em>The shadow was black.</em></p>

-

-<p>Somebody said in the next room, "Will he die?"</p>

-

-<p>"Die?" I said aloud.</p>

-

-<p>A bird twittered outside my window.</p>

-

-<p>The door opened again, noiselessly.</p>

-

-<p>"Sweetheart?" I whispered.</p>

-

-<p>"Yes, Jack."</p>

-

-<p>After a moment I said, "When do you go

-back to school?"</p>

-

-<p>"I? I finished school a year ago."</p>

-

-<p>"Come nearer."</p>

-

-<p>"I am here, Jack."</p>

-

-<p>"Time stopped a year ago."</p>

-

-<p>"A year ago to-day."</p>

-

-<p>The same gray eyes, the same face, paler, perhaps.</p>

-

-<p>"We have journeyed far," I sighed, "always

-together, but in those days our shadows

-were white as snow. Am I going to die? There

-are tears in your eyes."</p>

-

-<p>They fell on my cheek; her arms fell too,

-closer, closer, around my neck.</p>

-

-<p>"Life has begun," she said.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg173">[173]</span>

-"Life? What was the year that ends to-day?

-The magic second of life?"</p>

-

-<p>"A year of death, to me!"</p>

-

-<p>Ah, but her soul knows of a life in death!

-And she shall know it, too, when her shadow

-turns whiter than snow. For the Temple of

-Idols has closed its doors at the sound of a

-voice, and an idol of gilt has turned to flesh and

-blood.</p>

-

-<p>I-hó!</p>

-

-<p>So shall she know of the life in death when

-her soul and her body are one.</p>

-

-<hr /></div>

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<h2>PASSEUR.<span class="pb" id="Pg175">[175]</span></h2>

-

-<div class="poetry-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="pb" id="Pg176">[176]</span>

-<div class="verse">O friends, I've served ye food and bed;</div>

-<div class="verse indent2">O friends, the mist is rising wet;</div>

-<div class="verse">Then bide a moment, O my dead,</div>

-<div class="verse indent2">Where, lonely, I must linger yet!</div>

-</div></div></div>

-

-<hr />

-

-<p class="center"><big>PASSEUR.<span class="pb" id="Pg177">[177]</span></big></p>

-

-<div class="poetry-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<div class="verse">Because man goeth to his long home,</div>

-<div class="verse">And the mourners go about the streets.</div>

-</div></div></div>

-

-<p>When he had finished his pipe he tapped

-the brier bowl against the chimney until the

-ashes powdered the charred log smouldering

-across the andirons. Then he sank back in his

-chair, absently touching the hot pipe-bowl with

-the tip of each finger until it grew cool enough

-to be dropped into his coat pocket.</p>

-

-<p>Twice he raised his eyes to the little American

-clock ticking upon the mantel. He had

-half an hour to wait.</p>

-

-<p>The three candles that lighted the room

-might be trimmed to advantage; this would

-give him something to do. A pair of scissors

-lay open upon the bureau, and he rose and

-picked them up. For a while he stood dreamily

-shutting and opening the scissors, his eyes roaming

-about the room. There was an easel in the

-corner, and a pile of dusty canvases behind it;

-behind the canvases there was a shadow&mdash;that

-gray, menacing shadow that never moved.</p>

-

-<p>When he had trimmed each candle he wiped

-<span class="pb" id="Pg178">[178]</span>

-the smoky scissors on a paint rag and flung

-them on the bureau again. The clock pointed

-to ten; he had been occupied exactly three minutes.</p>

-

-<p>The bureau was littered with neckties, pipes,

-combs and brushes, matches, reels and fly-books,

-collars, shirt studs, a new pair of Scotch

-shooting stockings, and a woman's workbasket.</p>

-

-<p>He picked out all the neckties, folded them

-once, and hung them over a bit of twine that

-stretched across the looking-glass; the shirt

-studs he shovelled into the top drawer along

-with brushes, combs, and stockings; the reels

-and fly-books he dusted with his handkerchief

-and placed methodically along the mantel shelf.

-Twice he stretched out his hand toward the

-woman's workbasket, but his hand fell to his

-side again, and he turned away into the room

-staring at the dying fire.</p>

-

-<p>Outside the snow-sealed window a shutter

-broke loose and banged monotonously, until he

-flung open the panes and fastened it. The soft,

-wet snow, that had choked the window-panes

-all day, was frozen hard now, and he had to

-break the polished crust before he could find

-the rusty shutter hinge.</p>

-

-<p>He leaned out for a moment, his numbed

-hands resting on the snow, the roar of a rising

-snow-squall in his ears; and out across the desolate

-garden and stark hedgerow he saw the flat

-black river spreading through the gloom.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg179">[179]</span>

-A candle sputtered and snapped behind

-him; a sheet of drawing-paper fluttered across

-the floor, and he closed the panes and turned

-back into the room, both hands in his worn

-pockets.</p>

-

-<p>The little American clock on the mantel

-ticked and ticked, but the hands lagged, for

-he had not been occupied five minutes in all.

-He went up to the mantel and watched the

-hands of the clock. A minute&mdash;longer than a

-year to him&mdash;crept by.</p>

-

-<p>Around the room the furniture stood ranged&mdash;a

-chair or two of yellow pine, a table, the

-easel, and in one corner the broad curtained

-bed; and behind each lay shadows, menacing

-shadows that never moved.</p>

-

-<p>A little pale flame started up from the smoking

-log on the andirons; the room sang with

-the sudden hiss of escaping wood gases. After

-a little the back of the log caught fire; jets of

-blue flared up here and there with mellow

-sounds like the lighting of gas-burners in a

-row, and in a moment a thin sheet of yellow

-flame wrapped the whole charred log.</p>

-

-<p>Then the shadows moved; not the shadows

-behind the furniture&mdash;they never moved&mdash;but

-other shadows, thin, gray, confusing, that came

-and spread their slim patterns all around him,

-and trembled and trembled.</p>

-

-<p>He dared not step or tread upon them, they

-were too real; they meshed the floor around

-<span class="pb" id="Pg180">[180]</span>

-his feet, they ensnared his knees, they fell across

-his breast like ropes. Some night, in the silence

-of the moors, when wind and river were

-still, he feared these strands of shadow might

-tighten&mdash;creep higher around his throat and

-tighten. But even then he knew that those

-other shadows would never move, those gray

-shapes that knelt crouching in every corner.</p>

-

-<p>When he looked up at the clock again ten

-minutes had straggled past. Time was disturbed

-in the room; the strands of shadow

-seemed entangled among the hands of the

-clock, dragging them back from their rotation.

-He wondered if the shadows would strangle

-Time, some still night when the wind and the

-flat river were silent.</p>

-

-<p>There grew a sudden chill across the floor;

-the cracks of the boards let it in. He leaned

-down and drew his sabots toward him from

-their place near the andirons, and slipped them

-over his chaussons; and as he straightened up,

-his eyes mechanically sought the mantel above,

-where in the dusk another pair of sabots stood,

-little, slender, delicate sabots, carved from red

-<ins class="corr" title="beach" id="C180">beech</ins>. A year's dust grayed their surface; a

-year's rust dulled the silver band across the instep.

-He said this to himself aloud, knowing

-that it was within a few minutes of the

-year.</p>

-

-<p>His own sabots came from Mort-Dieu; they

-were shaved square and banded with steel. But

-<span class="pb" id="Pg181">[181]</span>

-in days past he had thought that no sabot in

-Mort-Dieu was delicate enough to touch the

-instep of the Mort-Dieu passeur. So he sent to

-the shore lighthouse, and they sent to Lorient,

-where the women are coquettish and show their

-hair under the coiffe, and wear dainty sabots;

-and in this town, where vanity corrupts and

-<ins class="corr" title="their" id="C181">there</ins> is much lace on coiffe and collarette, a pair

-of delicate sabots was found, banded with silver

-and chiselled in red <ins class="corr" title="beach" id="C181a">beech</ins>. The sabots stood

-on the mantel above the fire now, dusty and

-tarnished.</p>

-

-<p>There was a sound from the window, the soft

-murmur of snow blotting glass panes. The

-wind, too, muttered under the roof eaves. Presently

-it would begin to whisper to him from

-the chimney&mdash;he knew it&mdash;and he held his

-hands over his ears and stared at the clock.</p>

-

-<p>In the hamlet of Mort-Dieu the pines sing

-all day of the sea secrets, but in the night the

-ghosts of little gray birds fill the branches,

-singing of the sunshine of past years. He heard

-the song as he sat, and he crushed his hands

-over his ears; but the gray birds joined with

-the wind in the chimney, and he heard all that

-he dared not hear, and he thought all that he

-dared not hope or think, and the swift tears

-scalded his eyes.</p>

-

-<p>In Mort-Dieu the nights are longer than

-anywhere on earth; he knew it&mdash;why should he

-not know? This had been so for a year; it

-<span class="pb" id="Pg182">[182]</span>

-was different before. There were so many

-things different before; days and nights vanished

-like minutes then; the pines told no secrets

-of the sea, and the gray birds had not yet

-come to Mort-Dieu. Also, there was Jeanne,

-passeur at the Carmes.</p>

-

-<p>When he first saw her she was poling the

-square, flat-bottomed ferry skiff from the Carmes

-to Mort-Dieu, a red handkerchief bound across

-her silky black hair, a red skirt fluttering just

-below her knees. The next time he saw her he

-had to call to her across the placid river, "Ohé!

-Ohé, passeur!" She came, poling the flat skiff,

-her deep blue eyes fixed pensively on him, the

-scarlet skirt and kerchief idly flapping in the

-April wind. Then day followed day when the

-far call "Passeur!" grew clearer and more

-joyous, and the faint answering cry, "I come!"

-rippled across the water like music tinged with

-laughter. Then spring came, and with spring

-came love&mdash;love, carried free across the ferry

-from the Carmes to Mort-Dieu.</p>

-

-<p>The flame above the charred log whistled,

-flickered, and went out in a jet of wood vapour,

-only to play like lightning above the gas and

-relight again. The clock ticked more loudly,

-and the song from the pines filled the room.

-But in his straining eyes a summer landscape

-was reflected, where white clouds sailed and

-white foam curled under the square bow of a

-little skiff. And he pressed his numbed hands

-<span class="pb" id="Pg183">[183]</span>

-tighter to his ears to drown the cry, "Passeur!

-Passeur!"</p>

-

-<p>And now for a moment the clock ceased

-ticking. It was time to go&mdash;who but he should

-know it, he who went out into the night swinging

-his lantern? And he went. He had gone

-each night from the first&mdash;from that first

-strange winter evening when a strange voice

-had answered him across the river, the voice

-of the new passeur. He had never heard <em>her</em>

-voice again.</p>

-

-<p>So he passed down the windy wooden stairs,

-lantern hanging lighted in his hand, and

-stepped out into the storm. Through sheets of

-drifting snow, over heaps of frozen seaweed and

-icy drift he moved, shifting his lantern right

-and left, until its glimmer on the water warned

-him. Then he called out into the night,

-"Passeur!" The frozen spray spattered his

-face and crusted the lantern; he heard the distant

-boom of breakers beyond the bar, and the

-noise of mighty winds among the seaward cliffs.</p>

-

-<p>"Passeur!"</p>

-

-<p>Across the broad flat river, black as a sea of

-pitch, a tiny light sparkled a moment. Again

-he cried, "Passeur!"</p>

-

-<p>"I come!"</p>

-

-<p>He turned ghastly white, for it was her

-voice&mdash;or was he crazy?&mdash;and he sprang waist

-deep into the icy current and cried out again,

-but his voice ended in a sob.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg184">[184]</span>

-Slowly through the snow the flat skiff took

-shape, creeping nearer and nearer. But she

-was not at the pole&mdash;he saw that; there was

-only a tall, thin man, shrouded to the eyes in

-oilskin; and he leaped into the boat and bade

-the ferryman hasten.</p>

-

-<p>Halfway across he rose in the skiff, and

-called, "Jeanne!" But the roar of the storm

-and the thrashing of icy waves drowned his

-voice. Yet he heard her again, and she called

-to him by name.</p>

-

-<p>When at last the boat grated upon the invisible

-shore, he lifted his lantern, trembling,

-stumbling among the rocks, and calling to her,

-as though his voice could silence the voice that

-had spoken a year ago that night. And it could

-not. He sank shivering upon his knees, and

-looked out into the darkness, where an ocean

-rolled across a world. Then his stiff lips moved,

-and he repeated her name; but the hand of the

-ferryman fell gently upon his head.</p>

-

-<p>And when he raised his eyes he saw that the

-ferryman was Death.</p>

-

-<hr /></div>

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<h2>THE KEY TO GRIEF.<span class="pb" id="Pg185">[185]</span></h2>

-

-<div class="poetry-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="pb" id="Pg186">[186]</span>

-<div class="verse">The moving finger writes, and, having writ,</div>

-<div class="verse indent2">Moves on; nor all your piety nor wit</div>

-<div class="verse">Shall lure it back to cancel half a line,</div>

-<div class="verse indent2">Nor all your tears wash out a word of it.</div></div>

-

-<div class="stanza">

-<div class="verse indent32"><span class="smcap">Fitzgerald.</span></div>

-</div></div></div>

-

-<hr />

-

-<p class="center"><big>THE KEY TO GRIEF.</big><span class="pb" id="Pg187">[187]</span></p>

-

-<div class="poetry-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<div class="verse">The wild hawk to the wind-swept sky</div>

-<div class="verse indent2">The deer to the wholesome wold,</div>

-<div class="verse">And the heart of a man to the heart of a maid,</div>

-<div class="verse indent2">As it was in the days of old.</div></div>

-

-<div class="stanza">

-<div class="verse indent32"><span class="smcap">Kipling.</span></div>

-</div></div></div>

-

-<h3>I.</h3>

-

-<p>They were doing their work very badly.

-They got the rope around his neck, and tied his

-wrists with moose-bush withes, but again he

-fell, sprawling, turning, twisting over the leaves,

-tearing up everything around him like a trapped panther.</p>

-

-<p>He got the rope away from them; he clung

-to it with bleeding fists; he set his white teeth

-in it, until the jute strands relaxed, unravelled,

-and snapped, gnawed through by his white teeth.</p>

-

-<p>Twice Tully struck him with a gum hook.

-The dull blows fell on flesh rigid as stone.</p>

-

-<p>Panting, foul with forest mould and rotten

-leaves, hands and face smeared with blood, he

-sat up on the ground, glaring at the circle of

-men around him.</p>

-

-<p>"Shoot him!" gasped Tully, dashing the

-<span class="pb" id="Pg188">[188]</span>

-sweat from his bronzed brow; and Bates,

-breathing heavily, sat down on a log and

-dragged a revolver from his rear pocket. The

-man on the ground watched him; there was

-froth in the corners of his mouth.</p>

-

-<p>"Git back!" whispered Bates, but his voice

-and hand trembled. "Kent," he stammered,

-"won't ye hang?"</p>

-

-<p>The man on the ground glared.</p>

-

-<p>"Ye've got to die, Kent," he urged; "they

-all say so. Ask Lefty Sawyer; ask Dyce; ask

-Carrots.&mdash;He's got to swing fur it&mdash;ain't he,

-Tully?&mdash;Kent, fur God's sake, swing fur these

-here gents!"</p>

-

-<p>The man on the ground panted; his bright

-eyes never moved.</p>

-

-<p>After a moment Tully sprang on him again.

-There was a flurry of leaves, a crackle, a gasp

-and a grunt, then the thumping and thrashing

-of two bodies writhing in the brush. Dyce and

-Carrots jumped on the prostrate men. Lefty

-Sawyer caught the rope again, but the jute

-strands gave way and he stumbled. Tully began

-to scream, "He's chokin' me!" Dyce

-staggered out into the open, moaning over a

-broken wrist.</p>

-

-<p>"Shoot!" shouted Lefty Sawyer, and

-dragged Tully aside. "Shoot, Jim Bates!

-Shoot straight, b' God!"</p>

-

-<p>"Git back!" gasped Bates, rising from the

-fallen log.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg189">[189]</span>

-The crowd parted right and left; a quick

-report rang out&mdash;another&mdash;another. Then

-from the whirl of smoke a tall form staggered,

-dealing blows&mdash;blows that sounded sharp as the

-crack of a whip.</p>

-

-<p>"He's off! Shoot straight!" they cried.</p>

-

-<p>There was a gallop of heavy boots in the

-woods. Bates, faint and dazed, turned his

-head.</p>

-

-<p>"Shoot!" shrieked Tully.</p>

-

-<p>But Bates was sick; his smoking revolver

-fell to the ground; his white face and pale eyes

-contracted. It lasted only a moment; he started

-after the others, plunging, wallowing through

-thickets of osier and hemlock underbrush.</p>

-

-<p>Far ahead he heard Kent crashing on like a

-young moose in November, and he knew he was

-making for the shore. The others knew too.

-Already the gray gleam of the sea cut a straight

-line along the forest edge; already the soft

-clash of the surf on the rocks broke faintly

-through the forest silence.</p>

-

-<p>"He's got a canoe there!" bawled Tully.

-"He'll be into it!"</p>

-

-<p>And he was into it, kneeling in the bow,

-driving his paddle to the handle. The rising

-sun gleamed like red lightning on the flashing

-blade; the canoe shot to the crest of a wave,

-hung, bows dripping in the wind, dropped into

-the depths, glided, tipped, rolled, shot up again,

-staggered, and plunged on.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg190">[190]</span>

-Tully ran straight out into the cove surf;

-the water broke against his chest, bare and wet

-with sweat. Bates sat down on a worn black

-rock and watched the canoe listlessly.</p>

-

-<p>The canoe dwindled to a speck of gray and

-silver; and when Carrots, who had run back to

-the gum camp for a rifle, returned, the speck

-on the water might have been easier to hit than

-a loon's head at twilight. So Carrots, being

-thrifty by nature, fired once, and was satisfied

-to save the other cartridges. The canoe was

-still visible, making for the open sea. Somewhere

-beyond the horizon lay the keys, a string

-of rocks bare as skulls, black and slimy where

-the sea cut their base, white on the crests with

-the excrement of sea birds.</p>

-

-<p>"He's makin' fur the Key to Grief!" whispered

-Bates to Dyce.</p>

-

-<p>Dyce, moaning, and nursing his broken

-wrist, turned a sick face out to sea.</p>

-

-<p>The last rock seaward was the Key to Grief,

-a splintered pinnacle polished by the sea. From

-the Key to Grief, seaward a day's paddle, if a

-man dared, lay the long wooded island in the

-ocean known as Grief on the charts of the bleak coast.</p>

-

-<p>In the history of the coast, two men had

-made the voyage to the Key to Grief, and from

-there to the island. One of these was a rum-crazed

-pelt hunter, who lived to come back;

-the other was a college youth; they found his

-<span class="pb" id="Pg191">[191]</span>

-battered canoe at sea, and a day later his battered

-body was flung up in the cove.</p>

-

-<p>So, when Bates whispered to Dyce, and

-when Dyce called to the others, they knew that

-the end was not far off for Kent and his canoe;

-and they turned away into the forest, sullen,

-but satisfied that Kent would get his dues when

-the devil got his.</p>

-

-<p>Lefty spoke vaguely of the wages of sin.

-Carrots, with an eye to thrift, suggested a plan

-for an equitable division of Kent's property.</p>

-

-<p>When they reached the gum camp they piled

-Kent's personal effects on a blanket.</p>

-

-<p>Carrots took the inventory: a revolver, two

-gum hooks, a fur cap, a nickel-plated watch,

-a pipe, a pack of new cards, a gum sack, forty

-pounds of spruce gum, and a frying pan.</p>

-

-<p>Carrots shuffled the cards, picked out the

-joker, and flipped it pensively into the fire.

-Then he dealt cold decks all around.</p>

-

-<p>When the goods and chattels of their late

-companion had been divided by chance&mdash;for

-there was no chance to cheat&mdash;somebody remembered

-Tully.</p>

-

-<p>"He's down there on the coast, starin' after

-the canoe," said Bates huskily.</p>

-

-<p>He rose and walked toward a heap on the

-ground covered by a blanket. He started to

-lift the blanket, hesitated, and finally turned

-away. Under the blanket lay Tully's brother,

-shot the night before by Kent.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg192">[192]</span>

-"Guess we'd better wait till Tully comes,"

-said Carrots uneasily. Bates and Kent had

-been campmates. An hour later Tully walked

-into camp.</p>

-

-<p>He spoke to no one that day. In the morning

-Bates found him down on the coast digging,

-and said: "Hello, Tully! Guess we ain't

-much hell on lynchin'!"</p>

-

-<p>"Naw," said Tully. "Git a spade."</p>

-

-<p>"Goin' to plant him there?"</p>

-

-<p>"Yep."</p>

-

-<p>"Where he kin hear them waves?"</p>

-

-<p>"Yep."</p>

-

-<p>"Purty spot."</p>

-

-<p>"Yep."</p>

-

-<p>"Which way will he face?"</p>

-

-<p>"Where he kin watch fur that damned

-canoe!" cried Tully fiercely.</p>

-

-<p>"He&mdash;he can't see," ventured Bates uneasily.

-"He's dead, ain't he?"</p>

-

-<p>"He'll heave up that there sand when the

-canoe comes back! An' it's a-comin'! An'

-Bud Kent'll be in it, dead or alive! Git a

-spade!"</p>

-

-<p>The pale light of superstition flickered in

-Bates's eyes. He hesitated.</p>

-

-<p>"The&mdash;the dead can't see," he began; "kin

-they?"</p>

-

-<p>Tully turned a distorted face toward him.</p>

-

-<p>"Yer lie!" he roared. "My brother kin

-see, dead or livin'! An' he'll see the hangin'

-<span class="pb" id="Pg193">[193]</span>

-of Bud Kent! An' he'll git up outer the grave

-fur to see it, Bill Bates! I'm tellin' ye! I'm

-tellin' ye! Deep as I'll plant him, he'll heave

-that there sand and call to me, when the canoe

-comes in! I'll hear him; I'll be here! An'

-we'll live to see the hangin' of Bud Kent!"</p>

-

-<p>About sundown they planted Tully's

-brother, face to the sea.</p>

-

-<h3>II.</h3>

-

-<p>On the Key to Grief the green waves rub

-all day. White at the summit, black at the

-base, the shafted rocks rear splintered pinnacles,

-slanting like channel buoys. On the polished

-pillars sea birds brood&mdash;white-winged,

-bright-eyed sea birds, that nestle and preen

-and flap and clatter their orange-coloured beaks

-when the sifted spray drives and drifts across

-the reef.</p>

-

-<p>As the sun rose, painting crimson streaks

-criss-cross over the waters, the sea birds sidled

-together, huddling row on row, steeped in downy

-drowse.</p>

-

-<p>Where the sun of noon burnished the sea,

-an opal wave washed, listless, noiseless; a sea

-bird stretched one listless wing.</p>

-

-<p>And into the silence of the waters a canoe

-glided, bronzed by the sunlight, jewelled by the

-salt drops stringing from prow to thwart, seaweed

-a-trail in the diamond-flashing wake, and

-in the bow a man dripping with sweat.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg194">[194]</span>

-Up rose the gulls, sweeping in circles, turning,

-turning over rock and sea, and their

-clamour filled the sky, starting little rippling

-echoes among the rocks.</p>

-

-<p>The canoe grated on a shelf of ebony; the

-seaweed rocked and washed; the little sea crabs

-sheered sideways, down, down into limpid depths

-of greenest shadows. Such was the coming

-of Bud Kent to the Key to Grief.</p>

-

-<p>He drew the canoe halfway up the shelf

-of rock and sat down, breathing heavily, one

-brown arm across the bow. For an hour he

-sat there. The sweat dried under his eyes. The

-sea birds came back, filling the air with soft

-querulous notes.</p>

-

-<p>There was a livid mark around his neck, a

-red, raw circle. The salt wind stung it; the

-sun burned it into his flesh like a collar of red-hot

-steel. He touched it at times; once he

-washed it with cold salt water.</p>

-

-<p>Far in the north a curtain of mist hung on

-the sea, dense, motionless as the fog on the

-Grand Banks. He never moved his eyes from

-it; he knew what it was. Behind it lay the

-Island of Grief.</p>

-

-<p>All the year round the Island of Grief is

-hidden by the banks of mist, ramparts of dead

-white fog encircling it on every side. Ships give

-it wide berth. Some speak of warm springs on

-the island whose waters flow far out to sea, rising

-in steam eternally.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg195">[195]</span>

-The pelt hunter had come back with tales

-of forests and deer and flowers everywhere;

-but he had been drinking much, and much was

-forgiven him.</p>

-

-<p>The body of the college youth tossed up in

-the cove on the mainland was battered out of

-recognition, but some said, when found, one

-hand clutched a crimson blossom half wilted,

-but broad as a sap pan.</p>

-

-<p>So Kent lay motionless beside his canoe,

-burned with thirst, every nerve vibrating,

-thinking of all these things. It was not fear

-that whitened the firm flesh under the tan; it

-was the fear of fear. He must not think&mdash;he

-must throttle dread; his eyes must never falter,

-his head never turn from that wall of mist

-across the sea. With set teeth he crushed back

-terror; with glittering eyes he looked into the

-hollow eyes of fright. And so he conquered fear.</p>

-

-<p>He rose. The sea birds whirled up into the

-sky, pitching, tossing, screaming, till the sharp

-flapping of their pinions set the snapping echoes

-flying among the rocks.</p>

-

-<p>Under the canoe's sharp prow the kelp

-bobbed and dipped and parted; the sunlit

-waves ran out ahead, glittering, dancing.

-Splash! splash! bow and stern! And now he

-knelt again, and the polished paddle swung and

-dipped, and swept and swung and dipped again.</p>

-

-<p>Far behind, the clamour of the sea birds

-<span class="pb" id="Pg196">[196]</span>

-lingered in his ears, till the mellow dip of the

-paddle drowned all sound and the sea was a sea

-of silence.</p>

-

-<p>No wind came to cool the hot sweat on

-cheek and breast. The sun blazed a path

-of flame before him, and he followed out into

-the waste of waters. The still ocean divided

-under the bows and rippled innocently away

-on either side, tinkling, foaming, sparkling like

-the current in a woodland brook. He looked

-around at the world of flattened water, and the

-fear of fear rose up and gripped his throat

-again. Then he lowered his head, like a tortured

-bull, and shook the fear of fear from his

-throat, and drove the paddle into the sea as a

-butcher stabs, to the hilt.</p>

-

-<p>So at last he came to the wall of mist. It

-was thin at first, thin and cool, but it thickened

-and grew warmer, and the fear of fear dragged

-at his head, but he would not look behind.</p>

-

-<p>Into the fog the canoe shot; the gray water

-ran by, high as the gunwales, oily, silent. Shapes

-flickered across the bows, pillars of mist that

-rode the waters, robed in films of tattered

-shadows. Gigantic forms towered to dizzy

-heights above him, shaking out shredded

-shrouds of cloud. The vast draperies of the

-fog swayed and hung and trembled as he

-brushed them; the white twilight deepened to

-a sombre gloom. And now it grew thinner;

-the fog became a mist, and the mist a haze, and

-<span class="pb" id="Pg197">[197]</span>

-the haze floated away and vanished into the

-blue of the heavens.</p>

-

-<p>All around lay a sea of pearl and sapphire,

-lapping, lapping on a silver shoal.</p>

-

-<p>So he came to the Island of Grief.</p>

-

-<h3>III.</h3>

-

-<p>On the silver shoal the waves washed and

-washed, breaking like crushed opals where the

-sands sang with the humming froth.</p>

-

-<p>Troops of little shore birds, wading on the

-shoal, tossed their sun-tipped wings and scuttled

-inland, where, dappled with shadow from

-the fringing forest, the white beach of the

-island stretched.</p>

-

-<p>The water all around was shallow, limpid

-as crystal, and he saw the ribbed sand shining

-on the bottom, where purple seaweed floated,

-and delicate sea creatures darted and swarmed

-and scattered again at the dip of his paddle.</p>

-

-<p>Like velvet rubbed on velvet the canoe

-brushed across the sand. He staggered to his

-feet, stumbled out, dragged the canoe high up

-under the trees, turned it bottom upward, and

-sank beside it, face downward in the sand.

-Sleep came to drive away the fear of fear, but

-hunger, thirst, and fever fought with sleep, and

-he dreamed&mdash;dreamed of a rope that sawed his

-neck, of the fight in the woods, and the shots.

-He dreamed, too, of the camp, of his forty

-<span class="pb" id="Pg198">[198]</span>

-pounds of spruce gum, of Tully, and of Bates.

-He dreamed of the fire and the smoke-scorched

-kettle, of the foul odour of musty bedding, of the

-greasy cards, and of his own new pack, hoarded

-for weeks to please the others. All this he

-dreamed, lying there face downward in the

-sand; but he did not dream of the face of the

-dead.</p>

-

-<p>The shadows of the leaves moved on his

-blonde head, crisp with clipped curls. A butterfly

-flitted around him, alighting now on

-his legs, now on the back of his bronzed hands.

-All the afternoon the bees hung droning among

-the wildwood blossoms; the leaves above scarcely

-rustled; the shore birds brooded along the

-water's edge; the thin tide, sleeping on the

-sand, mirrored the sky.</p>

-

-<p>Twilight paled the zenith; a breeze moved

-in the deeper woods; a star glimmered, went

-out, glimmered again, faded, and glimmered.</p>

-

-<p>Night came. A moth darted to and fro

-under the trees; a beetle hummed around a

-heap of seaweed and fell scrambling in the

-sand. Somewhere among the trees a sound

-had become distinct, the song of a little brook,

-melodious, interminable. He heard it in his

-dream; it threaded all his dreams like a needle

-of silver, and like a needle it pricked him&mdash;pricked

-his dry throat and cracked lips. It

-could not awake him; the cool night swathed

-him head and foot.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg199">[199]</span>

-Toward dawn a bird woke up and piped.

-Other birds stirred, restless, half awakened; a

-gull spread a cramped wing on the shore,

-preened its feathers, scratched its tufted neck,

-and took two drowsy steps toward the sea.</p>

-

-<p>The sea breeze stirred out behind the mist

-bank; it raised the feathers on the sleeping

-gulls; it set the leaves whispering. A twig

-snapped, broke off, and fell. Kent stirred,

-sighed, trembled, and awoke.</p>

-

-<p>The first thing he heard was the song of

-the brook, and he stumbled straight into the

-woods. There it lay, a thin, deep stream in

-the gray morning light, and he stretched himself

-beside it and laid his cheek in it. A bird

-drank in the pool, too&mdash;a little fluffy bird,

-bright-eyed and fearless.</p>

-

-<p>His knees were firmer when at last he rose,

-heedless of the drops that beaded lips and chin.

-With his knife he dug and scraped at some

-white roots that hung half meshed in the bank

-of the brook, and when he had cleaned them

-in the pool he ate them.</p>

-

-<p>The sun stained the sky when he went down

-to the canoe, but the eternal curtain of fog, far

-out at sea, hid it as yet from sight.</p>

-

-<p>He lifted the canoe, bottom upwards, to his

-head, and, paddle and pole in either hand, carried

-it into the forest.</p>

-

-<p>After he had set it down he stood a moment,

-opening and shutting his knife. Then he looked

-<span class="pb" id="Pg200">[200]</span>

-up into the trees. There were birds there, if

-he could get at them. He looked at the brook.

-There were the prints of his fingers in the sand;

-there, too, was the print of something else&mdash;a

-deer's pointed hoof.</p>

-

-<p>He had nothing but his knife. He opened

-it again and looked at it.</p>

-

-<p>That day he dug for clams and ate them

-raw. He waded out into the shallows, too, and

-jabbed at fish with his setting pole, but hit

-nothing except a yellow crab.</p>

-

-<p>Fire was what he wanted. He hacked and

-chipped at flinty-looking pebbles, and scraped

-tinder from a stick of sun-dried driftwood. His

-knuckles bled, but no fire came.</p>

-

-<p>That night he heard deer in the woods, and

-could not sleep for thinking, until the dawn

-came up behind the wall of mist, and he rose

-with it to drink his fill at the brook and tear

-raw clams with his white teeth. Again he

-fought for fire, craving it as he had never

-craved water, but his knuckles bled, and the

-knife scraped on the flint in vain.</p>

-

-<p>His mind, perhaps, had suffered somewhat.

-The white beach seemed to rise and fall like a

-white carpet on a gusty hearth. The birds,

-too, that ran along the sand, seemed big and

-juicy, like partridges; and he chased them,

-hurling shells and bits of driftwood at them

-till he could scarcely keep his feet for the rising,

-plunging beach&mdash;or carpet, whichever it

-<span class="pb" id="Pg201">[201]</span>

-was. That night the deer aroused him at intervals.

-He heard them splashing and grunting

-and crackling along the brook. Once he arose

-and stole after them, knife in hand, till a false

-step into the brook awoke him to his folly, and

-he felt his way back to the canoe, trembling.</p>

-

-<p>Morning came, and again he drank at the

-brook, lying on the sand where countless heart-shaped

-hoofs had passed leaving clean imprints;

-and again he ripped the raw clams from their

-shells and swallowed them, whimpering.</p>

-

-<p>All day long the white beach rose and fell

-and heaved and flattened under his bright dry

-eyes. He chased the shore birds at times, till

-the unsteady beach tripped him up and he fell

-full length in the sand. Then he would rise

-moaning, and creep into the shadow of the

-wood, and watch the little song-birds in the

-branches, moaning, always moaning.</p>

-

-<p>His hands, sticky with blood, hacked steel

-and flint together, but so feebly that now even

-the cold sparks no longer came.</p>

-

-<p>He began to fear the advancing night; he

-dreaded to hear the big warm deer among the

-thickets. Fear clutched him suddenly, and he

-lowered his head and set his teeth and shook

-fear from his throat again.</p>

-

-<p>Then he started aimlessly into the woods,

-crowding past bushes, scraping trees, treading

-on moss and twig and mouldy stump, his

-bruised hands swinging, always swinging.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg202">[202]</span>

-The sun set in the mist as he came out of the

-woods on to another beach&mdash;a warm, soft beach,

-crimsoned by the glow in the evening clouds.</p>

-

-<p>And on the sand at his feet lay a young girl

-asleep, swathed in the silken garment of her

-own black hair, round limbed, brown, smooth

-as the bloom on the tawny beach.</p>

-

-<p>A gull flapped overhead, screaming. Her

-eyes, deeper than night, unclosed. Then her

-lips parted in a cry, soft with sleep, "Ihó!"</p>

-

-<p>She rose, rubbing her velvet eyes. "Ihó!"

-she cried in wonder; "Inâh!"</p>

-

-<p>The gilded sand settled around her little

-feet. Her cheeks crimsoned.</p>

-

-<p>"E-hó! E-hó!" she whispered, and hid her

-face in her hair.</p>

-

-<h3>IV.</h3>

-

-<p>The bridge of the stars spans the sky seas;

-the sun and the moon are the travellers who

-pass over it. This was also known in the lodges

-of the Isantee, hundreds of years ago. Chaské

-told it to Hârpam, and when Hârpam knew

-he told it to Hapéda; and so the knowledge

-spread to Hârka, and from Winona to Wehârka,

-up and down, across and ever across, woof and

-web, until it came to the Island of Grief. And

-how? God knows!</p>

-

-<p>Wehârka, prattling in the tules, may have

-told Ne-kâ; and Ne-kâ, high in the November

-<span class="pb" id="Pg203">[203]</span>

-clouds, may have told Kay-óshk, who told it to

-Shinge-bis, who told it to Skeé-skah, who told

-it to Sé-só-Kah.</p>

-

-<p>Ihó! Inâh! Behold the wonder of it! And

-this is the fate of all knowledge that comes to

-the Island of Grief.</p>

-

-<hr class="tb"/>

-

-<p>As the red glow died in the sky, and the

-sand swam in shadows, the girl parted the silken

-curtains of her hair and looked at him.</p>

-

-<p>"Ehó!" she whispered again in soft delight.</p>

-

-<p>For now it was plain to her that he was the

-sun! He had crossed the bridge of stars in the

-blue twilight; he had come!</p>

-

-<p>"E-tó!"</p>

-

-<p>She stepped nearer, shivering, faint with

-the ecstasy of this holy miracle wrought before

-her.</p>

-

-<p>He was the Sun! His blood streaked the

-sky at dawn; his blood stained the clouds at

-even. In his eyes the blue of the sky still

-lingered, smothering two blue stars; and his

-body was as white as the breast of the Moon.</p>

-

-<p>She opened both arms, hands timidly

-stretched, palm upward. Her face was raised

-to his, her eyes slowly closed; the deep-fringed

-lids trembled.</p>

-

-<p>Like a young priestess she stood, motionless

-save for the sudden quiver of a limb, a quick

-pulse-flutter in the rounded throat. And so

-she worshipped, naked and unashamed, even

-<span class="pb" id="Pg204">[204]</span>

-after he, reeling, fell heavily forward on his

-face; even when the evening breeze stealing

-over the sands stirred the hair on his head, as

-winds stir the fur of a dead animal in the

-dust.</p>

-

-<hr class="tb"/>

-

-<p>When the morning sun peered over the wall

-of mist, and she saw it was the sun, and she

-saw him, flung on the sand at her feet, then

-she knew that he was a man, only a man, pallid

-as death and smeared with blood.</p>

-

-<p>And yet&mdash;miracle of miracles!&mdash;the divine

-wonder in her eyes deepened, and her body

-seemed to swoon, and fall a-trembling, and

-swoon again.</p>

-

-<p>For, although it was but a man who lay at

-her feet, it had been easier for her to look upon

-a god.</p>

-

-<p>He dreamed that he breathed fire&mdash;fire, that

-he craved as he had never craved water.

-Mad with delirium, he knelt before the flames,

-rubbing his torn hands, washing them in the

-crimson-scented flames. He had water, too,

-cool scented water, that sprayed his burning

-flesh, that washed in his eyes, his hair, his

-throat. After that came hunger, a fierce rending

-agony, that scorched and clutched and tore

-at his entrails; but that, too, died away, and he

-dreamed that he had eaten and all his flesh was

-warm. Then he dreamed that he slept; and

-when he slept he dreamed no more.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg205">[205]</span>

-One day he awoke and found her stretched

-beside him, soft palms tightly closed, smiling,

-asleep.</p>

-

-<h3>V.</h3>

-

-<p>Now the days began to run more swiftly

-than the tide along the tawny beach; and the

-nights, star-dusted and blue, came and vanished

-and returned, only to exhale at dawn like

-perfume from a violet.</p>

-

-<p>They counted hours as they counted the

-golden bubbles, winking with a million eyes

-along the foam-flecked shore; and the hours

-ended, and began, and glimmered, iridescent,

-and ended as bubbles end in a tiny rainbow

-haze.</p>

-

-<p>There was still fire in the world; it flashed

-up at her touch and where she chose. A bow

-strung with the silk of her own hair, an arrow

-winged like a sea bird and tipped with shell,

-a line from the silver tendon of a deer, a hook

-of polished bone&mdash;these were the mysteries he

-learned, and learned them laughing, her silken

-head bent close to his.</p>

-

-<p>The first night that the bow was wrought

-and the glossy string attuned, she stole into

-the moonlit forest to the brook; and there they

-stood, whispering, listening, and whispering,

-though neither understood the voice they loved.</p>

-

-<p>In the deeper woods, Kaug, the porcupine,

-scraped and snuffed. They heard Wabóse, the

-<span class="pb" id="Pg206">[206]</span>

-rabbit, pit-a-pat, pit-a-pat, loping across dead

-leaves in the moonlight. Skeé-skah, the wood-duck,

-sailed past, noiseless, gorgeous as a floating

-blossom.</p>

-

-<p>Out on the ocean's placid silver, Shinge-bis,

-the diver, shook the scented silence with his

-idle laughter, till Kay-óshk, the gray gull,

-stirred in his slumber. There came a sudden

-ripple in the stream, a mellow splash, a soft

-sound on the sand.</p>

-

-<p>"Ihó! Behold!"</p>

-

-<p>"I see nothing."</p>

-

-<p>The beloved voice was only a wordless melody

-to her.</p>

-

-<p>"Ihó! Ta-hinca, the red deer! E-hó! The

-buck will follow!"</p>

-

-<p>"Ta-hinca," he repeated, notching the arrow.</p>

-

-<p>"E-tó! Ta-mdóka!"</p>

-

-<p>So he drew the arrow to the head, and the

-gray gull feathers brushed his ear, and the darkness

-hummed with the harmony of the singing

-string.</p>

-

-<p>Thus died Ta-mdóka, the buck deer of seven prongs.</p>

-

-<h3>VI.</h3>

-

-<p>As an apple tossed spinning into the air,

-so spun the world above the hand that tossed

-it into space.</p>

-

-<p>And one day in early spring, Sé-só-Kah, the

-<span class="pb" id="Pg207">[207]</span>

-robin, awoke at dawn, and saw a girl at the foot

-of the blossoming tree holding a babe cradled

-in the silken sheets of her hair.</p>

-

-<p>At its feeble cry, Kaug, the porcupine,

-raised his quilled head. Wabóse, the rabbit,

-sat still with palpitating sides. Kay-óshk, the

-gray gull, tiptoed along the beach.</p>

-

-<p>Kent knelt with one bronzed arm around

-them both.</p>

-

-<p>"Ihó! Inâh!" whispered the girl, and held

-the babe up in the rosy flames of dawn.</p>

-

-<p>But Kent trembled as he looked, and his

-eyes filled. On the pale green moss their

-shadows lay&mdash;three shadows. But the shadow

-of the babe was white as froth.</p>

-

-<p>Because it was the firstborn son, they named

-it Chaské; and the girl sang as she cradled it

-there in the silken vestments of her hair; all

-day long in the sunshine she sang:</p>

-

-<div class="poetry-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<div class="verse indent2">Wâ-wa, wâ-wa, wâ-we&mdash;yeá;</div>

-<div class="verse">Kah-wéen, nee-zhéka Ke-diaus-âi,</div>

-<div class="verse">Ke-gâh nau-wâi, ne-mé-go S'weén,</div>

-<div class="verse">Ne-bâun, ne-bâun, ne-dâun-is âis.</div>

-<div class="verse">E-we wâ-wa, wâ-we&mdash;yeá;</div>

-<div class="verse">E-we wâ-wa, wâ-we&mdash;yeá.</div>

-</div></div></div>

-

-<p>Out in the calm ocean, Shinge-bis, the

-diver, listened, preening his satin breast in silence.

-In the forest, Ta-hinca, the red deer,

-turned her delicate head to the wind.</p>

-

-<p>That night Kent thought of the dead, for

-<span class="pb" id="Pg208">[208]</span>

-the first time since he had come to the Key of

-Grief.</p>

-

-<p>"Aké-u! aké-u!" chirped Sé-só-Kah, the

-robin. But the dead never come again.</p>

-

-<p>"Beloved, sit close to us," whispered the

-girl, watching his troubled eyes. "Ma-cânte

-maséca."</p>

-

-<p>But he looked at the babe and its white

-shadow on the moss, and he only sighed: "Ma-cânte

-maséca, beloved! Death sits watching

-us across the sea."</p>

-

-<p>Now for the first time he knew more than

-the fear of fear; he knew fear. And with fear

-came grief.</p>

-

-<p>He never before knew that grief lay hidden

-there in the forest. Now he knew it. Still, that

-happiness, eternally reborn when two small

-hands reached up around his neck, when feeble

-fingers clutched his hand&mdash;that happiness that

-Sé-só-Kah understood, chirping to his brooding

-mate&mdash;that Ta-mdóka knew, licking his

-dappled fawns&mdash;that happiness gave him heart

-to meet grief calmly, in dreams or in the forest

-depths, and it helped him to look into the hollow

-eyes of fear.</p>

-

-<p>He often thought of the camp now; of

-Bates, his blanket mate; of Dyce, whose wrist

-he had broken with a blow; of Tully, whose

-brother he had shot. He even seemed to hear

-the shot, the sudden report among the hemlocks;

-again he saw the haze of smoke, he

-<span class="pb" id="Pg209">[209]</span>

-caught a glimpse of a tall form falling through

-the bushes.</p>

-

-<p>He remembered every minute incident of

-the trial: Bates's hand laid on his shoulder;

-Tully, red-bearded and wild-eyed, demanding

-his death; while Dyce spat and spat and smoked

-and kicked at the blackened log-ends projecting

-from the fire. He remembered, too, the verdict,

-and Tully's terrible laugh; and the new

-jute rope that they stripped off the market-sealed

-gum packs.</p>

-

-<p>He thought of these things, sometimes wading

-out on the shoals, shell-tipped fish spear

-poised: at such times he would miss his fish.

-He thought of it sometimes when he knelt by

-the forest stream listening for Ta-hinca's splash

-among the cresses: at such moments the feathered

-shaft whistled far from the mark, and Ta-mdóka

-stamped and snorted till even the white

-fisher, stretched on a rotting log, flattened his

-whiskers and stole away into the forest's blackest

-depths.</p>

-

-<p>When the child was a year old, hour for hour

-notched at sunset and sunrise, it prattled with

-the birds, and called to Ne-Kâ, the wild goose,

-who called again to the child from the sky:

-"Northward! northward, beloved!"</p>

-

-<p>When winter came&mdash;there is no frost on the

-Island of Grief&mdash;Ne-Kâ, the wild goose, passing

-high in the clouds, called: "Southward! southward,

-beloved!" And the child answered in

-<span class="pb" id="Pg210">[210]</span>

-a soft whisper of an unknown tongue, till the

-mother shivered, and covered it with her silken

-hair.</p>

-

-<p>"O beloved!" said the girl, "Chaské calls

-to all things living&mdash;to Kaug, the porcupine,

-to Wabóse, to Kay-óshk, the gray gull&mdash;he calls,

-and they understand."</p>

-

-<p>Kent bent and looked into her eyes.</p>

-

-<p>"Hush, beloved; it is not <em>that</em> I fear."</p>

-

-<p>"Then what, beloved?"</p>

-

-<p>"His shadow. It is white as surf foam.

-And at night&mdash;I&mdash;I have seen&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, what?"</p>

-

-<p>"The air about him aglow like a pale rose."</p>

-

-<p>"Ma cânté maséca. The earth alone lasts.

-I speak as one dying&mdash;I know, O beloved!"</p>

-

-<p>Her voice died away like a summer wind.</p>

-

-<p>"Beloved!" he cried.</p>

-

-<p>But there before him she was changing;

-the air grew misty, and her hair wavered like

-shreds of fog, and her slender form swayed, and

-faded, and swerved, like the mist above a pond.</p>

-

-<p>In her arms the babe was a figure of mist,

-rosy, vague as a breath on a mirror.</p>

-

-<p>"The earth alone lasts. Inâh! It is the

-end, O beloved!"</p>

-

-<p>The words came from the mist&mdash;a mist as

-formless as the ether&mdash;a mist that drove in and

-crowded him, that came from the sea, from

-the clouds, from the earth at his feet. Faint

-with terror, he staggered forward calling, "Beloved!

-<span class="pb" id="Pg211">[211]</span>

-And thou, Chaské, O beloved! Aké u!

-Aké u!"</p>

-

-<p>Far out at sea a rosy star glimmered an instant

-in the mist and went out.</p>

-

-<p>A sea bird screamed, soaring over the waste

-of fog-smothered waters. Again he saw the

-rosy star; it came nearer; its reflection glimmered

-in the water.</p>

-

-<p>"Chaské!" he cried.</p>

-

-<p>He heard a voice, dull in the choking mist.</p>

-

-<p>"O beloved, I am here!" he called again.</p>

-

-<p>There was a sound on the shoal, a flicker in

-the fog, the flare of a torch, a face white, livid,

-terrible&mdash;the face of the dead.</p>

-

-<p>He fell upon his knees; he closed his eyes

-and opened them. Tully stood beside him with

-a coil of rope.</p>

-

-<hr class="tb"/>

-

-<p>Ihó! Behold the end! The earth alone

-lasts. The sand, the opal wave on the golden

-beach, the sea of sapphire, the dusted starlight,

-the wind, and love, shall die. Death also shall

-die, and lie on the shores of the skies like the

-bleached skull there on the Key to Grief, polished,

-empty, with its teeth embedded in the sand.</p>

-

-<hr /></div>

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<h2>A MATTER OF INTEREST.<span class="pb" id="Pg213">[213]</span></h2>

-

-<hr />

-

-<p class="center"><big>A MATTER OF INTEREST.</big><span class="pb" id="Pg215">[215]</span></p>

-

-<div class="poetry-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<div class="verse">He that knows not, and knows not that he knows not, is a fool. Shun him.</div>

-<div class="verse">He that knows not, and knows that he knows not, is simple. Teach him.</div>

-<div class="verse">He that knows, and knows not that he knows, is asleep. Wake him.</div>

-<div class="verse">He that knows, and knows that he knows, is wise. Follow him.</div></div>

-

-<div class="stanza">

-<div class="verse indent32"><i>Arabian Proverb.</i></div>

-</div></div></div>

-

-<h3>I.</h3>

-

-<p>Much as I dislike it, I am obliged to include

-this story in a volume devoted to fiction: I have

-attempted to tell it as an absolutely true story,

-but until three months ago, when the indisputable

-proofs were placed before the British

-Association by Professor James Holroyd, I was

-regarded as an impostor. Now that the Smithsonian

-Institute in Washington, the Philadelphia

-Zoölogical Society, and the Natural History

-Museum of New York city, are convinced

-that the story is truthful and accurate in every

-particular, I prefer to tell it my own way. Professor

-Holroyd urges me to do this, although

-Professor Bruce Stoddard, of Columbia College,

-<span class="pb" id="Pg216">[216]</span>

-is now at work upon a pamphlet, to be published

-the latter part of next month, describing scientifically

-the extraordinary discovery which, to

-the shame of the United States, was first accepted

-and recognised in England.</p>

-

-<p>Now, having no technical ability concerning

-the affair in question, and having no knowledge

-of either comparative anatomy or zoölogy,

-I am perhaps unfitted to tell this story. But

-the story is true; the episode occurred under

-my own eyes&mdash;here, within a few hours' sail of

-the Battery. And as I was one of the first persons

-to verify what has long been a theory

-among scientists, and, moreover, as the result

-of Professor Holroyd's discovery is to be placed

-on exhibition in Madison Square Garden on the

-twentieth of next month, I have decided to tell,

-as simply as I am able, exactly what occurred.</p>

-

-<p>I first wrote out the story on April 1, 1896.

-The North American Review, the Popular Science

-Monthly, the Scientific American, Nature,

-Forest and Stream, and the Fossiliferous Magazine

-in turn rejected it; some curtly informing

-me that fiction had no place in their columns.

-When I attempted to explain that it

-was not fiction, the editors of these periodicals

-either maintained a contemptuous silence, or

-bluntly notified me that my literary services

-and opinions were not desired. But finally,

-when several publishers offered to take the story

-as fiction, I cut short all negotiations and decided

-<span class="pb" id="Pg217">[217]</span>

-to publish it myself. Where I am known

-at all, it is my misfortune to be known as a

-writer of fiction. This makes it impossible for

-me to receive a hearing from a scientific audience.

-I regret it bitterly, because now, when it

-is too late, I am prepared to prove certain scientific

-matters of interest, and to produce the

-proofs. In this case, however, I am fortunate,

-for nobody can dispute the existence of a thing

-when the bodily proof is exhibited as evidence.</p>

-

-<p>This is the story; and if I write it as I write

-fiction, it is because I do not know how to write

-it otherwise.</p>

-

-<p>I was walking along the beach below Pine

-Inlet, on the south shore of Long Island. The

-railroad and telegraph station is at West Oyster

-Bay. Everybody who has travelled on the Long

-Island Railroad knows the station, but few,

-perhaps, know Pine Inlet. Duck shooters, of

-course, are familiar with it; but as there are no

-hotels there, and nothing to see except salt

-meadow, salt creek, and a strip of dune and

-sand, the summer-squatting public may probably

-be unaware of its existence. The local name

-for the place is Pine Inlet; the maps give its

-name as Sand Point, I believe, but anybody at

-West Oyster Bay can direct you to it. Captain

-McPeek, who keeps the West Oyster Bay House,

-drives duck shooters there in winter. It lies

-five miles southeast from West Oyster Bay.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg218">[218]</span>

-I had walked over that afternoon from Captain

-McPeek's. There was a reason for my going

-to Pine Inlet&mdash;it embarrasses me to explain

-it, but the truth is I meditated writing an ode

-to the ocean. It was out of the question to

-write it in West Oyster Bay, with the whistle of

-locomotives in my ears. I knew that Pine Inlet

-was one of the loneliest places on the Atlantic

-coast; it is out of sight of everything except

-leagues of gray ocean. Rarely one might make

-out fishing smacks drifting across the horizon.

-Summer squatters never visited it; sportsmen

-shunned it, except in winter. Therefore, as I

-was about to do a bit of poetry, I thought that

-Pine Inlet was the spot for the deed. So I went

-there.</p>

-

-<p>As I was strolling along the beach, biting

-my pencil reflectively, tremendously impressed

-by the solitude and the solemn thunder of the

-surf, a thought occurred to me: how unpleasant

-it would be if I suddenly stumbled on a

-summer boarder. As this joyless impossibility

-flitted across my mind, I rounded a bleak sand dune.</p>

-

-<p>A summer girl stood directly in my path.</p>

-

-<p>If I jumped, I think the young lady has

-pardoned me by this time. She ought to, because

-she also started, and said something in a

-very faint voice. What she said was "Oh!"</p>

-

-<p>She stared at me as though I had just

-crawled up out of the sea to bite her. I don't

-<span class="pb" id="Pg219">[219]</span>

-know what my own expression resembled, but

-I have been given to understand it was idiotic.</p>

-

-<p>Now I perceived, after a few moments, that

-the young lady was frightened, and I knew I

-ought to say something civil. So I said, "Are

-there any mosquitoes here?"</p>

-

-<p>"No," she replied, with a slight quiver in

-her voice; "I have only seen one, and it was

-biting somebody else."</p>

-

-<p>I looked foolish; the conversation seemed

-so futile, and the young lady appeared to be

-more nervous than before. I had an impulse

-to say, "Do not run; I have breakfasted," for

-she seemed to be meditating a plunge into the

-breakers. What I did say was: "I did not

-know anybody was here. I do not intend to

-intrude. I come from Captain McPeek's, and

-I am writing an ode to the ocean." After I

-had said this it seemed to ring in my ears like,

-"I come from Table Mountain, and my name is

-Truthful James."</p>

-

-<p>I glanced timidly at her.</p>

-

-<p>"She's thinking of the same thing," said I

-to myself. "What an ass I must appear!"</p>

-

-<p>However, the young lady seemed to be a

-trifle reassured. I noticed she drew a sigh of

-relief and looked at my shoes. She looked

-so long that it made me suspicious, and I also

-examined my shoes. They seemed to be fairly

-respectable.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg220">[220]</span>

-"I&mdash;I am sorry," she said, "but would you

-mind not walking on the beach?"</p>

-

-<p>This was sudden. I had intended to retire

-and leave the beach to her, but I did not fancy

-being driven away so abruptly.</p>

-

-<p>"I was about to withdraw, madam," said

-I, bowing stiffly; "I beg you will pardon any

-inconvenience&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

-

-<p>"Dear me!" she cried, "you don't understand.

-I do not&mdash;I would not think for a

-moment of asking you to leave Pine Inlet. I

-merely ventured to request you to walk on

-the dunes. I am so afraid that your footprints

-may obliterate the impressions that my father

-is studying."</p>

-

-<p>"Oh!" said I, looking about me as though

-I had been caught in the middle of a flower-bed;

-"really I did not notice any impressions.

-Impressions of what&mdash;if I may be permitted?"</p>

-

-<p>"I don't know," she said, smiling a little

-at my awkward pose. "If you step this way in

-a straight line you can do no damage."</p>

-

-<p>I did as she bade me. I suppose my movements

-resembled the gait of a wet peacock.

-Possibly they recalled the delicate manœuvres

-of the kangaroo. Anyway, she laughed.</p>

-

-<p>This seriously annoyed me. I had been at

-a disadvantage; I walk well enough when let alone.</p>

-

-<p>"You can scarcely expect," said I, "that a

-man absorbed in his own ideas could notice impressions

-<span class="pb" id="Pg221">[221]</span>

-on the sand. I trust I have obliterated nothing."</p>

-

-<p>As I said this I looked back at the long line

-of footprints stretching away in prospective

-across the sand. They were my own. How

-large they looked! Was that what she was

-laughing at?</p>

-

-<p>"I wish to explain," she said gravely, looking

-at the point of her parasol. "I am very

-sorry to be obliged to warn you&mdash;to ask you to

-forego the pleasure of strolling on a beach that

-does not belong to me. Perhaps," she continued,

-in sudden alarm, "perhaps this beach belongs

-to you?"</p>

-

-<p>"The beach? Oh, no," I said.</p>

-

-<p>"But&mdash;but you were going to write poems about it?"</p>

-

-<p>"Only one&mdash;and that does not necessitate

-owning the beach. I have observed," said I

-frankly, "that the people who own nothing

-write many poems about it."</p>

-

-<p>She looked at me seriously.</p>

-

-<p>"I write many poems," I added.</p>

-

-<p>She laughed doubtfully.</p>

-

-<p>"Would you rather I went away?" I asked politely.</p>

-

-<p>"I? Why, no&mdash;I mean that you may do

-as you please&mdash;except please do not walk on the <em>beach</em>."</p>

-

-<p>"Then I do not alarm you by my presence?"

-I inquired. My clothes were a bit

-<span class="pb" id="Pg222">[222]</span>

-ancient. I wore them shooting, sometimes.

-"My family is respectable," I added; and I

-told her my name.</p>

-

-<p>"Oh! Then you wrote 'Culled Cowslips'

-and 'Faded Fig-Leaves,' and you imitate Maeterlinck,

-and you&mdash;&mdash; Oh, I know lots of people

-that you know;" she cried with every symptom

-of relief; "and you know my brother."</p>

-

-<p>"I am the author," said I coldly, "of

-'Culled Cowslips,' but 'Faded Fig-Leaves' was

-an earlier work, which I no longer recognise,

-and I should be grateful to you if you would

-be kind enough to deny that I ever imitated

-Maeterlinck. Possibly," I added, "he imitates me."</p>

-

-<p>"Now, do you know," she said, "I was

-afraid of you at first? Papa is digging in the

-salt meadows nearly a mile away."</p>

-

-<p>It was hard to bear.</p>

-

-<p>"Can you not see," said I, "that I am wearing

-a shooting coat?"</p>

-

-<p>"I do see&mdash;now; but it is so&mdash;so old," she pleaded.</p>

-

-<p>"It is a shooting coat all the same," I said bitterly.</p>

-

-<p>She was very quiet, and I saw she was sorry.</p>

-

-<p>"Never mind," I said magnanimously,

-"you probably are not familiar with sporting

-goods. If I knew your name I should ask permission

-to present myself."</p>

-

-<p>"Why, I am Daisy Holroyd," she said.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg223">[223]</span>

-"What! Jack Holroyd's little sister?"</p>

-

-<p>"Little!" she cried.</p>

-

-<p>"I didn't mean that," said I. "You know that

-your brother and I were great friends in Paris&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

-

-<p>"I know," she said significantly.</p>

-

-<p>"Ahem! Of course," I said, "Jack and I

-were inseparable&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

-

-<p>"Except when shut in separate cells," said

-Miss Holroyd coldly.</p>

-

-<p>This unfeeling allusion to the unfortunate

-termination of a Latin-Quarter celebration hurt me.</p>

-

-<p>"The police," said I, "were too officious."</p>

-

-<p>"So Jack says," replied Miss Holroyd demurely.</p>

-

-<p>We had unconsciously moved on along the

-sand hills, side by side, as we spoke.</p>

-

-<p>"To think," I repeated, "that I should meet

-Jack's little&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

-

-<p>"Please," she said, "you are only three

-years my senior."</p>

-

-<p>She opened the sunshade and tipped it over

-one shoulder. It was white, and had spots and

-posies on it.</p>

-

-<p>"Jack sends us every new book you write,"

-she observed. "I do not approve of some

-things you write."</p>

-

-<p>"Modern school," I mumbled.</p>

-

-<p>"That is no excuse," she said severely;

-"Anthony Trollope didn't do it."</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg224">[224]</span>

-The foam spume from the breakers was

-drifting across the dunes, and the little tip-up

-snipe ran along the beach and teetered and

-whistled and spread their white-barred wings

-for a low, straight flight across the shingle,

-only to tip and skeep and sail on again. The

-salt sea wind whistled and curled through the

-crested waves, blowing in perfumed puffs across

-thickets of sweet bay and cedar. As we passed

-through the crackling juicy-stemmed marsh

-weed myriads of fiddler crabs raised their fore-claws

-in warning and backed away, rustling,

-through the reeds, aggressive, protesting.</p>

-

-<p>"Like millions of pigmy Ajaxes defying

-the lightning," I said.</p>

-

-<p>Miss Holroyd laughed.</p>

-

-<p>"Now I never imagined that authors were

-clever except in print," she said.</p>

-

-<p>She was a most extraordinary girl.</p>

-

-<p>"I suppose," she observed after a moment's

-silence&mdash;"I suppose I am taking you to my father."</p>

-

-<p>"Delighted!" I mumbled. "H'm! I had

-the honour of meeting Professor Holroyd in Paris."</p>

-

-<p>"Yes; he bailed you and Jack out," said

-Miss Holroyd serenely.</p>

-

-<p>The silence was too painful to last.</p>

-

-<p>"Captain McPeek is an interesting man,"

-I said. I spoke more loudly than I intended;

-I may have been nervous.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg225">[225]</span>

-"Yes," said Daisy Holroyd, "but he has a

-most singular hotel clerk."</p>

-

-<p>"You mean Mr. Frisby?"</p>

-

-<p>"I do."</p>

-

-<p>"Yes," I admitted, "Mr. Frisby is queer.

-He was once a bill-poster."</p>

-

-<p>"I know it!" exclaimed Daisy Holroyd,

-with some heat. "He ruins landscapes whenever

-he has an opportunity. Do you know that

-he has a passion for bill-posting? He has; he

-posts bills for the pure pleasure of it, just as you

-play golf, or tennis, or billiards."</p>

-

-<p>"But he's a hotel clerk now," I said; "nobody

-employs him to post bills."</p>

-

-<p>"I know it! He does it all by himself for

-the pure pleasure of it. Papa has engaged him

-to come down here for two weeks, and I dread

-it," said the girl.</p>

-

-<p>What Professor Holroyd might want of Frisby

-I had not the faintest notion. I suppose

-Miss Holroyd noticed the bewilderment in my

-face, for she laughed, and nodded her head

-twice.</p>

-

-<p>"Not only Mr. Frisby, but Captain McPeek

-also," she said.</p>

-

-<p>"You don't mean to say that Captain

-McPeek is going to close his hotel!" I exclaimed.</p>

-

-<p>My trunk was there. It contained guarantees

-of my respectability.</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, no; his wife will keep it open," replied

-<span class="pb" id="Pg226">[226]</span>

-the girl. "Look! you can see papa now.

-He's digging."</p>

-

-<p>"Where?" I blurted out.</p>

-

-<p>I remembered Professor Holroyd as a prim,

-spectacled gentleman, with close-cut, snowy

-beard and a clerical allure. The man I saw

-digging wore green goggles, a jersey, a battered

-sou'wester, and hip-boots of rubber. He was

-delving in the muck of the salt meadow, his

-face streaming with perspiration, his boots and

-jersey splashed with unpleasant-looking mud.

-He glanced up as we approached, shading his

-eyes with a sunburnt hand.</p>

-

-<p>"Papa, dear," said Miss Holroyd, "here

-is Jack's friend, whom you bailed out of Mazas."</p>

-

-<p>The introduction was startling. I turned

-crimson with mortification. The professor was

-very decent about it; he called me by name at

-once.</p>

-

-<p>When he said this he looked at his spade.

-It was clear that he considered me a nuisance

-and wished to go on with his digging.</p>

-

-<p>"I suppose," he said, "you are still writing?"</p>

-

-<p>"A little," I replied, trying not to speak

-sarcastically. My output had rivaled that of

-"The Duchess"&mdash;in quantity, I mean.</p>

-

-<p>"I seldom read&mdash;fiction," he said, looking

-restlessly at the hole in the ground.</p>

-

-<p>Miss Holroyd came to my rescue.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg227">[227]</span>

-"That was a charming story you wrote

-last," she said. "Papa should read it&mdash;you

-should, papa; it's all about a fossil."</p>

-

-<p>We both looked narrowly at Miss Holroyd.

-Her smile was guileless.</p>

-

-<p>"Fossils!" repeated the professor. "Do

-you care for fossils?"</p>

-

-<p>"Very much," said I.</p>

-

-<p>Now I am not perfectly sure what my object

-was in lying. I looked at Daisy Holroyd's

-dark-fringed eyes. They were very grave.</p>

-

-<p>"Fossils," said I, "are my hobby."</p>

-

-<p>I think Miss Holroyd winced a little at this.

-I did not care. I went on:</p>

-

-<p>"I have seldom had the opportunity to

-study the subject, but, as a boy, I collected

-flint arrow-heads&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

-

-<p>"Flint arrow-heads!" said the professor coldly.</p>

-

-<p>"Yes; they were the nearest things to fossils

-obtainable," I replied, marvelling at my own

-mendacity.</p>

-

-<p>The professor looked into the hole. I also

-looked. I could see nothing in it. "He's digging

-for fossils," thought I to myself.</p>

-

-<p>"Perhaps," said the professor cautiously,

-"you might wish to aid me in a little research&mdash;that

-is to say, if you have an inclination for

-fossils." The double-entendre was not lost upon me.</p>

-

-<p>"I have read all your books so eagerly,"

-<span class="pb" id="Pg228">[228]</span>

-said I, "that to join you, to be of service to

-you in any research, however difficult and trying,

-would be an honour and a privilege that I

-never dared to hope for."</p>

-

-<p>"That," thought I to myself, "will do its

-own work."</p>

-

-<p>But the professor was still suspicious. How

-could he help it, when he remembered Jack's

-escapades, in which my name was always blended!

-Doubtless he was satisfied that my influence

-on Jack was evil. The contrary was the

-case, too.</p>

-

-<p>"Fossils," he said, worrying the edges of

-the excavation with his spade, "fossils are not

-things to be lightly considered."</p>

-

-<p>"No, indeed!" I protested.</p>

-

-<p>"Fossils are the most interesting as well as

-puzzling things in the world," said he.</p>

-

-<p>"They are!" I cried enthusiastically.</p>

-

-<p>"But I am not looking for fossils," observed

-the professor mildly.</p>

-

-<p>This was a facer. I looked at Daisy Holroyd.

-She bit her lip and fixed her eyes on

-the sea. Her eyes were wonderful eyes.</p>

-

-<p>"Did you think I was digging for fossils

-in a salt meadow?" queried the professor.

-"You can have read very little about the subject.

-I am digging for something quite different."</p>

-

-<p>I was silent. I knew that my face was a

-trifle flushed. I longed to say, "Well, what

-<span class="pb" id="Pg229">[229]</span>

-the devil are you digging for?" but I only

-stared into the hole as though hypnotized.</p>

-

-<p>"Captain McPeek and Frisby ought to be

-here," he said, looking first at Daisy and then

-across the meadows.</p>

-

-<p>I ached to ask him why he had subpœnaed

-Captain McPeek and Frisby.</p>

-

-<p>"They are coming," said Daisy, shading

-her eyes. "Do you see the speck on the meadows?"</p>

-

-<p>"It may be a mud hen," said the professor.</p>

-

-<p>"Miss Holroyd is right," I said. "A

-wagon and team and two men are coming from

-the north. There is a dog beside the wagon&mdash;it's

-that miserable yellow dog of Frisby's."</p>

-

-<p>"Good gracious!" cried the professor, "you

-don't mean to tell me that you see all that at

-such a distance?"</p>

-

-<p>"Why not?" I said.</p>

-

-<p>"I see nothing," he insisted.</p>

-

-<p>"You will see that I'm right, presently," I laughed.</p>

-

-<p>The professor removed his blue goggles and

-rubbed them, glancing obliquely at me.</p>

-

-<p>"Haven't you heard what extraordinary

-eyesight duck shooters have?" said his daughter,

-looking back at her father. "Jack says

-that they can tell exactly what kind of a duck

-is flying before most people could see anything

-at all in the sky."</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg230">[230]</span>

-"It's true," I said; "it comes to anybody,

-I fancy, who has had practice."</p>

-

-<p>The professor regarded me with a new interest.

-There was inspiration in his eyes. He

-turned toward the ocean. For a long time he

-stared at the tossing waves on the beach, then

-he looked far out to where the horizon met

-the sea.</p>

-

-<p>"Are there any ducks out there?" he asked

-at last.</p>

-

-<p>"Yes," said I, scanning the sea, "there are."</p>

-

-<p>He produced a pair of binoculars from his

-coat-tail pocket, adjusted them, and raised them

-to his eyes.</p>

-

-<p>"H'm! What sort of ducks?"</p>

-

-<p>I looked more carefully, holding both hands

-over my forehead.</p>

-

-<p>"Surf ducks&mdash;scoters and widgeon. There

-is one bufflehead among them&mdash;no, two; the

-rest are coots," I replied.</p>

-

-<p>"This," cried the professor, "is most astonishing.

-I have good eyes, but I can't see

-a blessed thing without these binoculars!"</p>

-

-<p>"It's not extraordinary," said I; "the surf

-ducks and coots any novice might recognise;

-the widgeon and buffleheads I should not have

-been able to name unless they had risen from

-the water. It is easy to tell any duck when it is

-flying, even though it looks no bigger than a

-black pin-point."</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg231">[231]</span>

-But the professor insisted that it was

-marvellous, and he said that I might render

-him invaluable service if I would consent

-to come and camp at Pine Inlet for a few weeks.</p>

-

-<p>I looked at his daughter, but she turned

-her back&mdash;not exactly in disdain either. Her

-back was beautifully moulded. Her gown fitted also.</p>

-

-<p>"Camp out here?" I repeated, pretending

-to be unpleasantly surprised.</p>

-

-<p>"I do not think he would care to," said

-Miss Holroyd without turning.</p>

-

-<p>I had not expected that.</p>

-

-<p>"Above all things," said I, in a clear, pleasant

-voice, "I like to camp out."</p>

-

-<p>She said nothing.</p>

-

-<p>"It is not exactly camping," said the professor.

-"Come, you shall see our conservatory.

-Daisy, come, dear! you must put on a heavier

-frock; it is getting toward sundown."</p>

-

-<p>At that moment, over a near dune, two

-horses' heads appeared, followed by two human

-heads, then a wagon, then a yellow dog.</p>

-

-<p>I turned triumphantly to the professor.</p>

-

-<p>"You are the very man I want," he muttered;

-"the very man&mdash;the very man."</p>

-

-<p>I looked at Daisy Holroyd. She returned

-my glance with a defiant little smile.</p>

-

-<p>"Waal," said Captain McPeek, driving up,

-"here we be! Git out, Frisby."</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg232">[232]</span>

-Frisby, fat, nervous, and sentimental,

-hopped out of the cart.</p>

-

-<p>"Come!" said the professor, impatiently

-moving across the dunes. I walked with Daisy

-Holroyd. McPeek and Frisby followed. The

-yellow dog walked by himself.</p>

-

-<h3>II.</h3>

-

-<p>The sun was dipping into the sea as we

-trudged across the meadows toward a high

-dome-shaped dune covered with cedars and

-thickets of sweet bay. I saw no sign of habitation

-among the sand hills. Far as the eye

-could reach, nothing broke the gray line of sea

-and sky save the squat dunes crowned with

-stunted cedars.</p>

-

-<p>Then, as we rounded the base of the dune,

-we almost walked into the door of a house.

-My amazement amused Miss Holroyd, and I

-noticed also a touch of malice in her pretty

-eyes. But she said nothing, following her

-father into the house, with the slightest possible

-gesture to me. Was it invitation, or was it menace?</p>

-

-<p>The house was merely a light wooden frame,

-covered with some waterproof stuff that looked

-like a mixture of rubber and tar. Over this&mdash;in

-fact, over the whole roof&mdash;was pitched an

-awning of heavy sail-cloth. I noticed that the

-house was anchored to the sand by chains, already

-<span class="pb" id="Pg233">[233]</span>

-rusted red. But this one-storied house

-was not the only building nestling in the south

-shelter of the big dune. A hundred feet away

-stood another structure&mdash;long, low, also built of

-wood. It had rows on rows of round portholes

-on every side. The ports were fitted with

-heavy glass, hinged to swing open if necessary.

-A single big double door occupied the front.</p>

-

-<p>Behind this long, low building was still

-another, a mere shed. Smoke rose from the

-sheet-iron chimney. There was somebody moving

-about inside the open door.</p>

-

-<p>As I stood gaping at this mushroom hamlet

-the professor appeared at the door and asked

-me to enter. I stepped in at once.</p>

-

-<p>The house was much larger than I had imagined.

-A straight hallway ran through the

-centre from east to west. On either side of

-this hallway were rooms, the doors swinging

-wide open. I counted three doors on each

-side; the three on the south appeared to be

-bedrooms.</p>

-

-<p>The professor ushered me into a room on

-the north side, where I found Captain McPeek

-and Frisby sitting at a table, upon which were

-drawings and sketches of articulated animals

-and fishes.</p>

-

-<p>"You see, McPeek," said the professor, "we

-only wanted one more man, and I think I've

-got him.&mdash;Haven't I?" turning eagerly to me.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg234">[234]</span>

-"Why, yes," I said, laughing; "this is delightful.

-Am I invited to stay here?"</p>

-

-<p>"Your bedroom is the third on the south

-side; everything is ready. McPeek, you can

-bring his trunk to-morrow, can't you?" demanded

-the professor.</p>

-

-<p>The red-faced captain nodded, and shifted a quid.</p>

-

-<p>"Then it's all settled," said the professor,

-and he drew a sigh of satisfaction. "You

-see," he said, turning to me, "I was at my wit's

-end to know whom to trust. I never thought

-of you. Jack's out in China, and I didn't dare

-trust anybody in my own profession. All you

-care about is writing verses and stories, isn't it?"</p>

-

-<p>"I like to shoot," I replied mildly.</p>

-

-<p>"Just the thing!" he cried, beaming at us

-all in turn. "Now I can see no reason why

-we should not progress rapidly. McPeek, you

-and Frisby must get those boxes up here before

-dark. Dinner will be ready before you have

-finished unloading. Dick, you will wish to go

-to your room first."</p>

-

-<p>My name isn't Dick, but he spoke so kindly,

-and beamed upon me in such a fatherly manner,

-that I let it go. I had occasion to correct him

-afterward, several times, but he always forgot

-the next minute. He calls me Dick to this day.</p>

-

-<p>It was dark when Professor Holroyd, his

-<span class="pb" id="Pg235">[235]</span>

-daughter, and I sat down to dinner. The room

-was the same in which I had noticed the drawings

-of beast and bird, but the round table had

-been extended into an oval, and neatly spread

-with dainty linen and silver.</p>

-

-<p>A fresh-cheeked Swedish girl appeared from

-a further room, bearing the soup. The professor

-ladled it out, still beaming.</p>

-

-<p>"Now, this is very delightful!&mdash;isn't it,

-Daisy?" he said.</p>

-

-<p>"Very," said Miss Holroyd, with the faintest

-tinge of irony.</p>

-

-<p>"Very," I repeated heartily; but I looked

-at my soup when I said it.</p>

-

-<p>"I suppose," said the professor, nodding

-mysteriously at his daughter, "that Dick knows

-nothing of what we're about down here?"</p>

-

-<p>"I suppose," said Miss Holroyd, "that he

-thinks we are digging for fossils."</p>

-

-<p>I looked at my plate. She might have

-spared me that.</p>

-

-<p>"Well, well," said her father, smiling to

-himself, "he shall know everything by morning.

-You'll be astonished, Dick, my boy."</p>

-

-<p>"His name isn't Dick," corrected Daisy.</p>

-

-<p>The professor said, "Isn't it?" in an absent-minded

-way, and relapsed into contemplation of

-my necktie.</p>

-

-<p>I asked Miss Holroyd a few questions about

-Jack, and was informed that he had given up

-law and entered the diplomatic service&mdash;as

-<span class="pb" id="Pg236">[236]</span>

-what, I did not dare ask, for I know what our

-diplomatic service is.</p>

-

-<p>"In China," said Daisy.</p>

-

-<p>"Choo Choo is the name of the city," added

-her father proudly; "it's the terminus of the

-new trans-Siberian railway."</p>

-

-<p>"It's on the Yellow River," said Daisy.</p>

-

-<p>"He's vice-consul," added the professor triumphantly.</p>

-

-<p>"He'll make a good one," I observed. I

-knew Jack. I pitied his consul.</p>

-

-<p>So we chatted on about my old playmate,

-until Freda, the red-cheeked maid, brought coffee,

-and the professor lighted a cigar, with a

-little bow to his daughter.</p>

-

-<p>"Of course, you don't smoke," she said to

-me, with a glimmer of malice in her eyes.</p>

-

-<p>"He mustn't," interposed the professor

-hastily; "it will make his hand tremble."</p>

-

-<p>"No, it doesn't," said I, laughing; "but

-my hand will shake if I don't smoke. Are

-you going to employ me as a draughtsman?"</p>

-

-<p>"You'll know to-morrow," he chuckled,

-with a mysterious smile at his daughter.&mdash;"Daisy,

-give him my best cigars; put the box

-here on the table. We can't afford to have his

-hand tremble."</p>

-

-<p>Miss Holroyd rose, and crossed the hallway

-to her father's room, returning presently with

-a box of promising-looking cigars.</p>

-

-<p>"I don't think he knows what is good for

-<span class="pb" id="Pg237">[237]</span>

-him," she said. "He should smoke only one

-every day."</p>

-

-<p>It was hard to bear. I am not vindictive,

-but I decided to treasure up a few of Miss Holroyd's

-gentle taunts. My intimacy with her

-brother was certainly a disadvantage to me now.

-Jack had apparently been talking too much,

-and his sister appeared to be thoroughly acquainted

-with my past. It was a disadvantage.

-I remembered her vaguely as a girl with long

-braids, who used to come on Sundays with her

-father and take tea with us in our rooms. Then

-she went to Germany to school, and Jack and

-I employed our Sunday evenings otherwise. It

-is true that I regarded her weekly visits as a

-species of infliction, but I did not think I ever

-showed it.</p>

-

-<p>"It is strange," said I, "that you did not

-recognise me at once, Miss Holroyd. Have I

-changed so greatly in five years?"</p>

-

-<p>"You wore a pointed French beard in

-Paris," she said&mdash;"a very downy one. And

-you never stayed to tea but twice, and then

-you only spoke once."</p>

-

-<p>"Oh!" said I blankly. "What did I say?"</p>

-

-<p>"You asked me if I liked plums," said

-Daisy, bursting into an irresistible ripple of

-laughter.</p>

-

-<p>I saw that I must have made the same sort

-of an ass of myself that most boys of eighteen do.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg238">[238]</span>

-It was too bad. I never thought about the

-future in those days. Who could have imagined

-that little Daisy Holroyd would have grown

-up into this bewildering young lady? It was

-really too bad. Presently the professor retired

-to his room, carrying with him an armful of

-drawings, and bidding us not to sit up late.

-When he closed his door Miss Holroyd turned to me.</p>

-

-<p>"Papa will work over those drawings until

-midnight," she said, with a despairing smile.</p>

-

-<p>"It isn't good for him," I said. "What

-are the drawings?"</p>

-

-<p>"You may know to-morrow," she answered,

-leaning forward on the table and shading her

-face with one hand. "Tell me about yourself

-and Jack in Paris."</p>

-

-<p>I looked at her suspiciously.</p>

-

-<p>"What! There isn't much to tell. We

-studied. Jack went to the law school, and I

-attended&mdash;er&mdash;oh, all sorts of schools."</p>

-

-<p>"Did you? Surely you gave yourself a

-little recreation occasionally?"</p>

-

-<p>"Occasionally," I nodded.</p>

-

-<p>"I am afraid you and Jack studied too hard."</p>

-

-<p>"That may be," said I, looking meek.</p>

-

-<p>"Especially about fossils."</p>

-

-<p>I couldn't stand that.</p>

-

-<p>"Miss Holroyd," I said, "I do care for

-fossils. You may think that I am a humbug,

-<span class="pb" id="Pg239">[239]</span>

-but I have a perfect mania for fossils&mdash;now."</p>

-

-<p>"Since when?"</p>

-

-<p>"About an hour ago," I said airily. Out of

-the corner of my eye I saw that she had flushed

-up. It pleased me.</p>

-

-<p>"You will soon tire of the experiment," she

-said with a dangerous smile.</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, I may," I replied indifferently.</p>

-

-<p>She drew back. The movement was scarcely

-perceptible, but I noticed it, and she knew

-I did.</p>

-

-<p>The atmosphere was vaguely hostile. One

-feels such mental conditions and changes instantly.

-I picked up a chessboard, opened it,

-set up the pieces with elaborate care, and began

-to move, first the white, then the black. Miss

-Holroyd watched me coldly at first, but after

-a dozen moves she became interested and leaned

-a shade nearer. I moved a black pawn forward.</p>

-

-<p>"Why do you do that?" said Daisy.</p>

-

-<p>"Because," said I, "the white queen threatens

-the pawn."</p>

-

-<p>"It was an aggressive move," she insisted.</p>

-

-<p>"Purely defensive," I said. "If her white

-highness will let the pawn alone, the pawn will

-let the queen alone."</p>

-

-<p>Miss Holroyd rested her chin on her wrist

-and gazed steadily at the board. She was flushing

-furiously, but she held her ground.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg240">[240]</span>

-"If the white queen doesn't block that

-pawn, the pawn may become dangerous," she

-said coldly.</p>

-

-<p>I laughed, and closed up the board with a snap.</p>

-

-<p>"True," I said, "it might even take the

-queen." After a moment's silence I asked,

-"What would you do in that case, Miss Holroyd?"</p>

-

-<p>"I should resign," she said serenely; then

-realizing what she had said, she lost her self-possession

-for a second, and cried: "No, indeed!

-I should fight to the bitter end! I

-mean&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

-

-<p>"What?" I asked, lingering over my revenge.</p>

-

-<p>"I mean," she said slowly, "that your black

-pawn would never have the chance&mdash;never! I

-should take it immediately."</p>

-

-<p>"I believe you would," said I, smiling; "so

-we'll call the game yours, and&mdash;the pawn captured."</p>

-

-<p>"I don't want it," she exclaimed. "A

-pawn is worthless."</p>

-

-<p>"Except when it's in the king row."</p>

-

-<p>"Chess is most interesting," she observed

-sedately. She had completely recovered her

-self-control. Still I saw that she now had a

-certain respect for my defensive powers. It

-was very soothing to me.</p>

-

-<p>"You know," said I gravely, "that I am

-<span class="pb" id="Pg241">[241]</span>

-fonder of Jack than of anybody. That's the

-reason we never write each other, except to borrow

-things. I am afraid that when I was a

-young cub in France I was not an attractive

-personality."</p>

-

-<p>"On the contrary," said Daisy, smiling, "I

-thought you were very big and very perfect.

-I had illusions. I wept often when I went

-home and remembered that you never took the

-trouble to speak to me but once."</p>

-

-<p>"I was a cub," I said; "not selfish and

-brutal, but I didn't understand schoolgirls. I

-never had any sisters, and I didn't know what to

-say to very young girls. If I had imagined

-that you felt hurt&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, I did&mdash;five years ago. Afterward I

-laughed at the whole thing."</p>

-

-<p>"Laughed?" I repeated, vaguely disappointed.</p>

-

-<p>"Why, of course. I was very easily hurt

-when I was a child. I think I have outgrown

-it."</p>

-

-<p>The soft curve of her sensitive mouth contradicted her.</p>

-

-<p>"Will you forgive me now?" I asked.</p>

-

-<p>"Yes. I had forgotten the whole thing

-until I met you an hour or so ago."</p>

-

-<p>There was something that had a ring not

-entirely genuine in this speech. I noticed it,

-but forgot it the next moment.</p>

-

-<p>"Tiger cubs have stripes," said I. "Selfishness

-<span class="pb" id="Pg242">[242]</span>

-blossoms in the cradle, and prophecy is

-not difficult. I hope I am not more selfish

-than my brothers."</p>

-

-<p>"I hope not," she said, smiling.</p>

-

-<p>Presently she rose, touched her hair with

-the tip of one finger, and walked to the door.</p>

-

-<p>"Good-night," she said, courtesying very low.</p>

-

-<p>"Good-night," said I, opening the door for

-her to pass.</p>

-

-<h3>III.</h3>

-

-<p>The sea was a sheet of silver, tinged with

-pink. The tremendous arch of the sky was

-all shimmering and glimmering with the promise

-of the sun. Already the mist above, flecked

-with clustered clouds, flushed with rose colour

-and dull gold. I heard the low splash of the

-waves breaking and curling across the beach.

-A wandering breeze, fresh and fragrant, blew

-the curtains of my window. There was the

-scent of sweet bay in the room, and everywhere

-the subtile, nameless perfume of the sea.</p>

-

-<p>When at last I stood upon the shore, the

-air and sea were all aglimmer in a rosy light,

-deepening to crimson in the zenith. Along

-the beach I saw a little cove, shelving and all

-ashine, where shallow waves washed with a mellow

-sound. Fine as dusted gold the shingle

-glowed, and the thin film of water rose, receded,

-crept up again a little higher, and again flowed

-<span class="pb" id="Pg243">[243]</span>

-back, with the low hiss of snowy foam and

-gilded bubbles breaking.</p>

-

-<p>I stood a little while quiet, my eyes upon

-the water, the invitation of the ocean in my

-ears, vague and sweet as the murmur of a shell.

-Then I looked at my bathing suit and towels.</p>

-

-<p>"In we go!" said I aloud. A second later

-the prophecy was fulfilled.</p>

-

-<p>I swam far out to sea, and as I swam the

-waters all around me turned to gold. The sun

-had risen.</p>

-

-<p>There is a fragrance in the sea at dawn that

-none can name. Whitethorn abloom in May,

-sedges asway, and scented rushes rustling in

-an inland wind recall the sea to me&mdash;I can't say

-why.</p>

-

-<p>Far out at sea I raised myself, swung

-around, dived, and set out again for shore, striking

-strong strokes until the flecked foam flew.

-And when at last I shot through the breakers,

-I laughed aloud and sprang upon the beach,

-breathless and happy. Then from the ocean

-came another cry, clear, joyous, and a white

-arm rose in the air.</p>

-

-<p>She came drifting in with the waves like

-a white sea-sprite, laughing at me from her

-tangled hair, and I plunged into the breakers

-again to join her.</p>

-

-<p>Side by side we swam along the coast, just

-outside the breakers, until in the next cove we

-saw the flutter of her maid's cap strings.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg244">[244]</span>

-"I will beat you to breakfast!" she cried, as

-I rested, watching her glide up along the beach.</p>

-

-<p>"Done!" said I&mdash;"for a sea-shell!"</p>

-

-<p>"Done!" she called across the water.</p>

-

-<p>I made good speed along the shore, and I

-was not long in dressing, but when I entered

-the dining-room she was there, demure, smiling,

-exquisite in her cool, white frock.</p>

-

-<p>"The sea-shell is yours," said I. "I hope

-I can find one with a pearl in it."</p>

-

-<p>The professor hurried in before she could

-reply. He greeted me very cordially, but there

-was an abstracted air about him, and he called

-me Dick until I recognised that remonstrance

-was useless. He was not long over his coffee

-and rolls.</p>

-

-<p>"McPeek and Frisby will return with the

-last load, including your trunk, by early afternoon,"

-he said, rising and picking up his bundle

-of drawings. "I haven't time to explain to

-you what we are doing, Dick, but Daisy will

-take you about and instruct you. She will give

-you the rifle standing in my room&mdash;it's a good

-Winchester. I have sent for an 'Express' for

-you, big enough to knock over any elephant

-in India.&mdash;Daisy, take him through the sheds

-and tell him everything. Luncheon is at noon.&mdash;Do

-you usually take luncheon, Dick?"</p>

-

-<p>"When I am permitted," I smiled.</p>

-

-<p>"Well," said the professor doubtfully, "you

-mustn't come back here for it. Freda can take

-<span class="pb" id="Pg245">[245]</span>

-you what you want. Is your hand unsteady

-after eating?"</p>

-

-<p>"Why, papa!" said Daisy. "Do you intend

-to starve him?"</p>

-

-<p>We all laughed.</p>

-

-<p>The professor tucked his drawings into a

-capacious pocket, pulled his sea boots up to his

-hips, seized a spade, and left, nodding to us

-as though he were thinking of something else.</p>

-

-<p>We went to the door and watched him across

-the salt meadows until a distant sand dune hid him.</p>

-

-<p>"Come," said Daisy Holroyd, "I am going

-to take you to the shop."</p>

-

-<p>She put on a broad-brimmed straw hat, a

-distractingly pretty combination of filmy cool

-stuffs, and led the way to the long low structure

-that I had noticed the evening before.</p>

-

-<p>The interior was lighted by the numberless

-little portholes, and I could see everything

-plainly. I acknowledge I was nonplussed by

-what I did see.</p>

-

-<p>In the centre of the shed, which must have

-been at least a hundred feet long, stood what

-I thought at first was the skeleton of an enormous

-whale. After a moment's silent contemplation

-of the thing I saw that it could not be

-a whale, for the frames of two gigantic bat-like

-wings rose from each shoulder. Also I noticed

-that the animal possessed legs&mdash;four of them&mdash;with

-most unpleasant-looking webbed claws

-<span class="pb" id="Pg246">[246]</span>

-fully eight feet long. The bony framework of

-the head, too, resembled something between a

-crocodile and a monstrous snapping turtle. The

-walls of the shanty were hung with drawings

-and blue prints. A man dressed in white linen

-was tinkering with the vertebræ of the lizardlike

-tail.</p>

-

-<p>"Where on earth did such a reptile come

-from?" I asked at length.</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, it's not real!" said Daisy scornfully;

-"it's papier-maché."</p>

-

-<p>"I see," said I&mdash;"a stage prop."</p>

-

-<p>"A what?" asked Daisy, in hurt astonishment.</p>

-

-<p>"Why, a&mdash;a sort of Siegfried dragon&mdash;a

-what's-his-name&mdash;er, Pfafner, or Peffer,

-or&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

-

-<p>"If my father heard you say such things

-he would dislike you," said Daisy. She looked

-grieved, and moved toward the door. I apologized&mdash;for

-what, I knew not&mdash;and we became

-reconciled. She ran into her father's room and

-brought me the rifle, a very good Winchester.

-She also gave me a cartridge belt, full.</p>

-

-<p>"Now," she smiled, "I shall take you to

-your observatory, and when we arrive you are

-to begin your duty at once."</p>

-

-<p>"And that duty?" I ventured, shouldering the rifle.</p>

-

-<p>"That duty is, to watch the ocean. I shall

-then explain the whole affair&mdash;but you mustn't

-<span class="pb" id="Pg247">[247]</span>

-look at me while I speak; you must watch the sea."</p>

-

-<p>"This," said I, "is hardship. I had rather

-go without the luncheon."</p>

-

-<p>I do not think she was offended at my

-speech; still she frowned for almost three seconds.</p>

-

-<p>We passed through acres of sweet bay and

-spear grass, sometimes skirting thickets of

-twisted cedars, sometimes walking in the full

-glare of the morning sun, sinking into shifting

-sand where sun-scorched shells crackled under

-our feet, and sun-browned seaweed glistened,

-bronzed and iridescent. Then, as we climbed

-a little hill, the sea wind freshened in our faces,

-and lo! the ocean lay below us, far-stretching

-as the eye could reach, glittering, magnificent.</p>

-

-<p>Daisy sat down flat on the sand. It takes

-a clever girl to do that and retain the respectful

-deference due her from men. It takes a graceful

-girl to accomplish it triumphantly when a

-man is looking.</p>

-

-<p>"You must sit beside me," she said&mdash;as

-though it would prove irksome to me.</p>

-

-<p>"Now," she continued, "you must watch

-the water while I am talking."</p>

-

-<p>I nodded.</p>

-

-<p>"Why don't you do it, then?" she asked.</p>

-

-<p>I succeeded in wrenching my head toward

-the ocean, although I felt sure it would swing

-gradually round again in spite of me.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg248">[248]</span>

-"To begin with," said Daisy Holroyd,

-"there's a thing in that ocean that would astonish

-you if you saw it. Turn your head!"</p>

-

-<p>"I am," I said meekly.</p>

-

-<p>"Did you hear what I said?"</p>

-

-<p>"Yes&mdash;er&mdash;a thing in the ocean that's going

-to astonish me." Visions of mermaids rose

-before me.</p>

-

-<p>"The thing," said Daisy, "is a Thermosaurus!"</p>

-

-<p>I nodded vaguely, as though anticipating

-a delightful introduction to a nautical friend.</p>

-

-<p>"You don't seem astonished," she said reproachfully.</p>

-

-<p>"Why should I be?" I asked.</p>

-

-<p>"Please turn your eyes toward the water.

-Suppose a Thermosaurus should look out of the waves!"</p>

-

-<p>"Well," said I, "in that case the pleasure

-would be mutual."</p>

-

-<p>She frowned, and bit her upper lip.</p>

-

-<p>"Do you know what a Thermosaurus is?" she asked.</p>

-

-<p>"If I am to guess," said I, "I guess it's a

-jellyfish."</p>

-

-<p>"It's that big, ugly, horrible creature that

-I showed you in the shed!" cried Daisy impatiently.</p>

-

-<p>"Eh!" I stammered.</p>

-

-<p>"Not papier-maché either," she continued

-excitedly; "it's a real one."</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg249">[249]</span>

-This was pleasant news. I glanced instinctively

-at my rifle and then at the ocean.</p>

-

-<p>"Well," said I at last, "it strikes me that

-you and I resemble a pair of Andromedas waiting

-to be swallowed. This rifle won't stop a

-beast, a live beast, like that Nibelungen dragon

-of yours."</p>

-

-<p>"Yes, it will," she said; "it's not an ordinary rifle."</p>

-

-<p>Then, for the first time, I noticed, just below

-the magazine, a cylindrical attachment that

-was strange to me.</p>

-

-<p>"Now, if you will watch the sea very carefully,

-and will promise not to look at me," said

-Daisy, "I will try to explain."</p>

-

-<p>She did not wait for me to promise, but

-went on eagerly, a sparkle of excitement in her

-blue eyes:</p>

-

-<p>"You know, of all the fossil remains of the

-great bat-like and lizard-like creatures that inhabited

-the earth ages and ages ago, the bones

-of the gigantic saurians are the most interesting.

-I think they used to splash about the

-water and fly over the land during the Carboniferous

-period; anyway, it doesn't matter.

-Of course, you have seen pictures of reconstructed

-creatures such as the Ichthyosaurus,

-the Plesiosaurus, the Anthracosaurus, and the

-Thermosaurus?"</p>

-

-<p>I nodded, trying to keep my eyes from hers.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg250">[250]</span>

-"And you know that the remains of the

-Thermosaurus were first discovered and reconstructed

-by papa?"</p>

-

-<p>"Yes," said I. There was no use in saying no.</p>

-

-<p>"I am glad you do. Now, papa has proved

-that this creature lived entirely in the Gulf

-Stream, emerging for occasional flights across

-an ocean or two. Can you imagine how he proved it?"</p>

-

-<p>"No," said I, resolutely pointing my nose

-at the ocean.</p>

-

-<p>"He proved it by a minute examination

-of the microscopical shells found among the

-ribs of the Thermosaurus. These shells contained

-little creatures that live only in the

-warm waters of the Gulf Stream. They were

-the food of the Thermosaurus."</p>

-

-<p>"It was rather slender rations for a thing

-like that, wasn't it? Did he ever swallow bigger

-food&mdash;er&mdash;men?"</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, yes. Tons of fossil bones from prehistoric

-men are also found in the interior of

-the Thermosaurus."</p>

-

-<p>"Then," said I, "you, at least, had better

-go back to Captain McPeek's&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

-

-<p>"Please turn around; don't be so foolish.

-I didn't say there was a <em>live</em> Thermosaurus in

-the water, did I?"</p>

-

-<p>"Isn't there?"</p>

-

-<p>"Why, no!"</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg251">[251]</span>

-My relief was genuine, but I thought of the

-rifle and looked suspiciously out to sea.</p>

-

-<p>"What's the Winchester for?" I asked.</p>

-

-<p>"Listen, and I will explain. Papa has found

-out&mdash;how, I do not exactly understand&mdash;that

-there is in the waters of the Gulf Stream the

-body of a Thermosaurus. The creature must

-have been alive within a year or so. The impenetrable

-scale armour that covers its body has,

-as far as papa knows, prevented its disintegration.

-We know that it is there still, or was

-there within a few months. Papa has reports

-and sworn depositions from steamer captains

-and seamen from a dozen different vessels, all

-corroborating each other in essential details.

-These stories, of course, get into the newspapers&mdash;sea-serpent

-stories&mdash;but papa knows that they

-confirm his theory that the huge body of this

-reptile is swinging along somewhere on the Gulf

-Stream."</p>

-

-<p>She opened her sunshade and held it over

-her. I noticed that she deigned to give me

-the benefit of about one eighth of it.</p>

-

-<p>"Your duty with that rifle is this: If we

-are fortunate enough to see the body of the

-Thermosaurus come floating by, you are to take

-good aim and fire&mdash;fire rapidly every bullet in

-the magazine; then reload and fire again, and

-reload and fire as long as you have any cartridges

-left."</p>

-

-<p>"A self-feeding Maxim is what I should

-<span class="pb" id="Pg252">[252]</span>

-have," I said with gentle sarcasm. "Well,

-and suppose I make a sieve of this big lizard?"</p>

-

-<p>"Do you see these rings in the sand?" she asked.</p>

-

-<p>Sure enough, somebody had driven heavy

-piles deep into the sand all around us, and to

-the tops of these piles were attached steel rings,

-half buried under the spear grass. We sat almost

-exactly in the centre of a circle of these rings.</p>

-

-<p>"The reason is this," said Daisy: "every

-bullet in your cartridges is steel-tipped and

-armour-piercing. To the base of each bullet

-is attached a thin wire of pallium. Pallium

-is that new metal, a thread of which, drawn

-out into finest wire, will hold a ton of iron

-suspended. Every bullet is fitted with minute

-coils of miles of this wire. When the bullet

-leaves the rifle it spins out this wire as a shot

-from a life-saver's mortar spins out and carries

-the life line to a wrecked ship. The end of

-each coil of wire is attached to that cylinder

-under the magazine of your rifle. As soon as

-the shell is automatically ejected this wire flies

-out also. A bit of scarlet tape is fixed to the

-end, so that it will be easy to pick up. There

-is also a snap clasp on the end, and this clasp

-fits those rings that you see in the sand. Now,

-when you begin firing, it is my duty to run

-and pick up the wire ends and attach them to

-the rings. Then, you see, we have the body

-<span class="pb" id="Pg253">[253]</span>

-of the Thermosaurus full of bullets, every bullet

-anchored to the shore by tiny wires, each of

-which could easily hold a ton's strain."</p>

-

-<p>I looked at her in amazement.</p>

-

-<p>"Then," she added calmly, "we have captured

-the Thermosaurus."</p>

-

-<p>"Your father," said I at length, "must

-have spent years of labour over this preparation."</p>

-

-<p>"It is the work of a lifetime," she said simply.</p>

-

-<p>My face, I suppose, showed my misgivings.</p>

-

-<p>"It must not fail," she added.</p>

-

-<p>"But&mdash;but we are nowhere near the Gulf

-Stream," I ventured.</p>

-

-<p>Her face brightened, and she frankly held

-the sunshade over us both.</p>

-

-<p>"Ah, you don't know," she said, "what

-else papa has discovered. Would you believe

-that he has found a loop in the Gulf Stream&mdash;a

-genuine loop&mdash;that swings in here just outside

-of the breakers below? It is true! Everybody

-on Long Island knows that there is a

-warm current off the coast, but nobody imagined

-it was merely a sort of backwater from the

-Gulf Stream that formed a great circular mill-race

-around the cone of a subterranean volcano,

-and rejoined the Gulf Stream off Cape Albatross.

-But it is! That is why papa bought a

-yacht three years ago and sailed about for two

-<span class="pb" id="Pg254">[254]</span>

-years so mysteriously. Oh, I did want to go

-with him so much!"</p>

-

-<p>"This," said I, "is most astonishing."</p>

-

-<p>She leaned enthusiastically toward me, her

-lovely face aglow.</p>

-

-<p>"Isn't it?" she said; "and to think that

-you and papa and I are the only people in the

-whole world who know this!"</p>

-

-<p>To be included in such a triology was very

-delightful.</p>

-

-<p>"Papa is writing the whole thing&mdash;I mean

-about the currents. He also has in preparation

-sixteen volumes on the Thermosaurus. He said

-this morning that he was going to ask you to

-write the story first for some scientific magazine.

-He is certain that Professor Bruce Stoddard,

-of Columbia, will write the pamphlets

-necessary. This will give papa time to attend

-to the sixteen-volume work, which he expects to

-finish in three years."</p>

-

-<p>"Let us first," said I, laughing, "catch our

-Thermosaurus."</p>

-

-<p>"We must not fail," she said wistfully.</p>

-

-<p>"We shall not fail," I said, "for I promise

-to sit on this sand hill as long as I live&mdash;until

-a Thermosaurus appears&mdash;if that is your wish,

-Miss Holroyd."</p>

-

-<p>Our eyes met for an instant. She did not

-chide me, either, for not looking at the ocean.

-Her eyes were bluer, anyway.</p>

-

-<p>"I suppose," she said, bending her head

-<span class="pb" id="Pg255">[255]</span>

-and absently pouring sand between her fingers&mdash;"I

-suppose you think me a blue-stocking, or

-something odious?"</p>

-

-<p>"Not exactly," I said. There was an emphasis

-in my voice that made her colour. After

-a moment she laid the sunshade down, still open.</p>

-

-<p>"May I hold it?" I asked.</p>

-

-<p>She nodded almost imperceptibly.</p>

-

-<p>The ocean had turned a deep marine blue,

-verging on purple, that heralded a scorching

-afternoon. The wind died away; the odour of

-cedar and sweet bay hung heavy in the air.</p>

-

-<p>In the sand at our feet an iridescent flower

-beetle crawled, its metallic green and blue wings

-burning like a spark. Great gnats, with filmy,

-glittering wings, danced aimlessly above the

-young golden-rod; burnished crickets, inquisitive,

-timid, ran from under chips of driftwood,

-waved their antennæ at us, and ran back again.

-One by one the marbled tiger beetles tumbled

-at our feet, dazed from the exertion of an aërial

-flight, then scrambled and ran a little way, or

-darted into the wire grass, where great brilliant

-spiders eyed them askance from their gossamer

-hammocks.</p>

-

-<p>Far out at sea the white gulls floated and

-drifted on the water, or sailed up into the air

-to flap lazily for a moment and settle back

-among the waves. Strings of black surf ducks

-passed, their strong wings tipping the surface

-<span class="pb" id="Pg256">[256]</span>

-of the water; single wandering coots whirled

-from the breakers into lonely flight toward

-the horizon.</p>

-

-<p>We lay and watched the little ring-necks

-running along the water's edge, now backing

-away from the incoming tide, now boldly wading

-after the undertow. The harmony of silence,

-the deep perfume, the mystery of waiting

-for that something that all await&mdash;what

-is it? love? death? or only the miracle of

-another morrow?&mdash;troubled me with vague

-restfulness. As sunlight casts shadows, happiness,

-too, throws a shadow, and the shadow is sadness.</p>

-

-<p>And so the morning wore away until Freda

-came with a cool-looking hamper. Then delicious

-cold fowl and lettuce sandwiches and

-champagne cup set our tongues wagging as only

-very young tongues can wag. Daisy went back

-with Freda after luncheon, leaving me a case

-of cigars, with a bantering smile. I dozed, half

-awake, keeping a partly closed eye on the ocean,

-where a faint gray streak showed plainly amid

-the azure water all around. That was the Gulf

-Stream loop.</p>

-

-<p>About four o'clock Frisby appeared with a

-bamboo shelter tent, for which I was unaffectedly

-grateful.</p>

-

-<p>After he had erected it over me he stopped

-to chat a bit, but the conversation bored me, for

-he could talk of nothing but bill-posting.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg257">[257]</span>

-"You wouldn't ruin the landscape here,

-would you?" I asked.</p>

-

-<p>"Ruin it!" repeated Frisby nervously.

-"It's ruined now; there ain't a place to stick

-a bill."</p>

-

-<p>"The snipe stick bills&mdash;in the sand," I said flippantly.</p>

-

-<p>There was no humour about Frisby. "Do

-they?" he asked.</p>

-

-<p>I moved with a certain impatience.</p>

-

-<p>"Bills," said Frisby, "give spice an' variety

-to Nature. They break the monotony

-of the everlastin' green and what-you-may-call-its."</p>

-

-<p>I glared at him.</p>

-

-<p>"Bills," he continued, "are not easy to

-stick, lemme tell you, sir. Sign paintin's a

-soft snap when it comes to bill-stickin'. Now, I

-guess I've stuck more bills in New York State

-than ennybody."</p>

-

-<p>"Have you?" I said angrily.</p>

-

-<p>"Yes, siree! I always pick out the purtiest

-spots&mdash;kinder filled chuck full of woods and

-brooks and things; then I h'ist my paste-pot

-onto a rock, and I slather that rock with gum,

-and whoop she goes!"</p>

-

-<p>"Whoop what goes?"</p>

-

-<p>"The bill. I paste her onto the rock, with

-one swipe of the brush for the edges and a

-back-handed swipe for the finish&mdash;except when

-a bill is folded in two halves."</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg258">[258]</span>

-"And what do you do then?" I asked, disgusted.</p>

-

-<p>"Swipe twice," said Frisby with enthusiasm.</p>

-

-<p>"And you don't think it injures the landscape?"</p>

-

-<p>"Injures it!" he exclaimed, convinced that

-I was attempting to joke.</p>

-

-<p>I looked wearily out to sea. He also looked

-at the water and sighed sentimentally.</p>

-

-<p>"Floatin' buoys with bills onto 'em is a

-idea of mine," he observed. "That damn ocean

-is monotonous, ain't it?"</p>

-

-<p>I don't know what I might have done to

-Frisby&mdash;the rifle was so convenient&mdash;if his mean

-yellow dog had not waddled up at this juncture.</p>

-

-<p>"Hi, Davy, sic 'em!" said Frisby, expectorating

-upon a clamshell and hurling it seaward.

-The cur watched the flight of the shell apathetically,

-then squatted in the sand and looked

-at his master.</p>

-

-<p>"Kinder lost his spirit," said Frisby, "ain't

-he? I once stuck a bill onto Davy, an' it come

-off, an' the paste sorter sickened him. He was

-hell on rats&mdash;once!"</p>

-

-<p>After a moment or two Frisby took himself

-off, whistling cheerfully to Davy, who followed

-him when he was ready. The rifle burned

-in my fingers.</p>

-

-<p>It was nearly six o'clock when the professor

-<span class="pb" id="Pg259">[259]</span>

-appeared, spade on shoulder, boots smeared with

-mud.</p>

-

-<p>"Well," he said, "nothing to report, Dick, my boy?"</p>

-

-<p>"Nothing, professor."</p>

-

-<p>He wiped his shining face with his handkerchief

-and stared at the water.</p>

-

-<p>"My calculations lead me to believe," he

-said, "that our prize may be due any day now.

-This theory I base upon the result of the report

-from the last sea captain I saw. I can not

-understand why some of these captains did not

-take the carcass in tow. They all say that they

-tried, but that the body sank before they could

-come within half a mile. The truth is, probably,

-that they did not stir a foot from their

-course to examine the thing."</p>

-

-<p>"Have you ever cruised about for it?" I ventured.</p>

-

-<p>"For two years," he said grimly. "It's no

-use; it's accident when a ship falls in with it.

-One captain reports it a thousand miles from

-where the last skipper spoke it, and always in

-the Gulf Stream. They think it is a different

-specimen every time, and the papers are teeming

-with sea-serpent fol-de-rol."</p>

-

-<p>"Are you sure," I asked, "that it will

-swing in to the coast on this Gulf Stream loop?"</p>

-

-<p>"I think I may say that it is certain to do so.

-I experimented with a dead right whale. You

-<span class="pb" id="Pg260">[260]</span>

-may have heard of its coming ashore here last

-summer."</p>

-

-<p>"I think I did," said I with a faint smile.

-The thing had poisoned the air for miles

-around.</p>

-

-<p>"But," I continued, "suppose it comes in the night?"</p>

-

-<p>He laughed.</p>

-

-<p>"There I am lucky. Every night this

-month, and every day, too, the current of the

-loop runs inland so far that even a porpoise

-would strand for at least twelve hours. Longer

-than that I have not experimented with, but

-I know that the shore trend of the loop runs

-across a long spur of the submerged volcanic

-mountain, and that anything heavier than a porpoise

-would scrape the bottom and be carried

-so slowly that at least twelve hours must elapse

-before the carcass could float again into deep

-water. There are chances of its stranding indefinitely,

-too, but I don't care to take those

-chances. That is why I have stationed you

-here, Dick, my boy."</p>

-

-<p>He glanced again at the water, smiling to himself.</p>

-

-<p>"There is another question I want to ask,"

-I said, "if you don't mind."</p>

-

-<p>"Of course not!" he said warmly.</p>

-

-<p>"What are you digging for?"</p>

-

-<p>"Why, simply for exercise. The doctor

-told me I was killing myself with my sedentary

-<span class="pb" id="Pg261">[261]</span>

-habits, so I decided to dig. I don't know a

-better exercise. Do you?"</p>

-

-<p>"I suppose not," I murmured, rather red

-in the face. I wondered whether he'd mention

-fossils.</p>

-

-<p>"Did Daisy tell you why we are making

-our papier-maché Thermosaurus?" he asked.</p>

-

-<p>I shook my head.</p>

-

-<p>"We constructed that from measurements

-I took from the fossil remains of the Thermosaurus

-in the Metropolitan Museum. Professor

-Bruce Stoddard made the drawings. We set it

-up here, all ready to receive the skin of the

-carcass that I am expecting."</p>

-

-<p>We had started toward home, walking slowly

-across the darkening dunes, shoulder to shoulder.

-The sand was deep, and walking was not easy.</p>

-

-<p>"I wish," said I at last, "that I knew why

-Miss Holroyd asked me not to walk on the

-beach. It's much less fatiguing."</p>

-

-<p>"That," said the professor, "is a matter

-that I intend to discuss with you to-night." He

-spoke gravely, almost sadly. I felt that something

-of unparalleled importance was soon to

-be revealed. So I kept very quiet, watching

-the ocean out of the corners of my eyes.</p>

-

-<h3>IV.<span class="pb" id="Pg262">[262]</span></h3>

-

-<p>Dinner was ended. Daisy Holroyd lighted

-her father's pipe for him, and insisted on my

-smoking as much as I pleased. Then she sat

-down, and folded her hands like a good little

-girl, waiting for her father to make the revelation

-which I felt in my bones must be something

-out of the ordinary.</p>

-

-<p>The professor smoked for a while, gazing

-meditatively at his daughter; then, fixing his

-gray eyes on me, he said:</p>

-

-<p>"Have you ever heard of the kree&mdash;that

-Australian bird, half parrot, half hawk, that

-destroys so many sheep in New South Wales?"</p>

-

-<p>I nodded.</p>

-

-<p>"The kree kills a sheep by alighting on its

-back and tearing away the flesh with its hooked

-beak until a vital part is reached. You know

-that? Well, it has been discovered that the kree

-had prehistoric prototypes. These birds were

-enormous creatures, who preyed upon mammoths

-and mastodons, and even upon the great

-saurians. It has been conclusively proved that

-a few saurians have been killed by the ancestors

-of the kree, but the favourite food of these

-birds was undoubtedly the Thermosaurus. It

-is believed that the birds attacked the eyes of

-the Thermosaurus, and when, as was its habit,

-the mammoth creature turned on its back to

-claw them, they fell upon the thinner scales

-<span class="pb" id="Pg263">[263]</span>

-of its stomach armour and finally killed it.

-This, of course, is a theory, but we have almost

-absolute proofs of its correctness. Now, these

-two birds are known among scientists as the

-ekaf-bird and the ool-yllik. The names are

-Australian, in which country most of their remains

-have been unearthed. They lived during

-the Carboniferous period. Now it is not

-generally known, but the fact is, that in 1801

-Captain Ransom, of the British exploring vessel

-Gull, purchased from the natives of Tasmania

-the skin of an ekaf-bird that could not

-have been killed more than twenty-four hours

-previous to its sale. I saw this skin in the

-British Museum. It was labelled "unknown

-bird, probably extinct." It took me exactly

-a week to satisfy myself that it was actually the

-skin of an ekaf-bird. But that is not all, Dick,

-my boy," continued the professor excitedly.

-"In 1854, Admiral Stuart, of our own navy,

-saw the carcass of a strange gigantic bird floating

-along the southern coast of Australia.

-Sharks were after it, and, before a boat could

-be lowered, these miserable fish got it. But the

-good old admiral secured a few feathers and sent

-them to the Smithsonian. I saw them. They

-were not even labelled, but I knew that they

-were feathers from the ekaf-bird or its near

-relative, the ool-yllik."</p>

-

-<p>I had grown so interested that I had leaned

-far across the table. Daisy, too, bent forward.

-<span class="pb" id="Pg264">[264]</span>

-It was only when the professor paused for a

-moment that I noticed how close together our

-heads were&mdash;Daisy's and mine. I don't think

-she realized it. She did not move.</p>

-

-<p>"Now comes the important part of this long

-discourse," said the professor, smiling at our

-eagerness. "Ever since the carcass of our derelict

-Thermosaurus was first noticed, every captain

-who has seen it has also reported the presence

-of one or more gigantic birds in the neighbourhood.

-These birds, at a great distance,

-appeared to be hovering over the carcass, but

-on the approach of a vessel they disappeared.

-Even in midocean they were observed. When

-I heard about it I was puzzled. A month later

-I was satisfied that neither the ekaf-bird nor the

-ool-yllik was extinct. Last Monday I knew that

-I was right. I found forty-eight distinct impressions

-of the huge seven-toed claw of the

-ekaf-bird on the beach here at Pine Inlet. You

-may imagine my excitement. I succeeded in

-digging up enough wet sand around one of

-these impressions to preserve its form. I managed

-to get it into a soap box, and now it is

-there in my shop. The tide rose too rapidly

-for me to save the other footprints."</p>

-

-<p>I shuddered at the possibility of a clumsy

-misstep on my part obliterating the impression

-of an ool-yllik.</p>

-

-<p>"That is the reason that my daughter

-warned you off the beach," he said mildly.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg265">[265]</span>

-"Hanging would have been too good for the

-vandal who destroyed such priceless prizes!" I

-cried out in self-reproach.</p>

-

-<p>Daisy Holroyd turned a flushed face to mine,

-and impulsively laid her hand on my sleeve.</p>

-

-<p>"How could you know?" she said.</p>

-

-<p>"It's all right now," said her father, emphasizing

-each word with a gentle tap of his

-pipe-bowl on the table edge; "don't be hard on

-yourself, Dick, my boy. You'll do yeoman's

-service yet."</p>

-

-<p>It was nearly midnight, and still we chatted

-on about the Thermosaurus, the ekaf-bird, and

-the ool-yllik, eagerly discussing the probability

-of the great reptile's carcass being in the vicinity.

-That alone seemed to explain the presence

-of these prehistoric birds at Pine Inlet.</p>

-

-<p>"Do they ever attack human beings?" I asked.</p>

-

-<p>The professor looked startled.</p>

-

-<p>"Gracious!" he exclaimed, "I never

-thought of that. And Daisy running about

-out of doors! Dear me! it takes a scientist to

-be an unnatural parent!"</p>

-

-<p>His alarm was half real, half assumed; but

-all the same, he glanced gravely at us both,

-shaking his handsome head, absorbed in

-thought. Daisy herself looked a little doubtful.

-As for me, my sensations were distinctly queer.</p>

-

-<p>"It is true," said the professor, frowning

-<span class="pb" id="Pg266">[266]</span>

-at the wall, "that human remains have been

-found associated with the bones of the ekaf-bird&mdash;I

-don't know how intimately. It is a

-matter to be taken into most serious consideration."</p>

-

-<p>"The problem can be solved," said I, "in

-several ways. One is, to keep Miss Holroyd in

-the house&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

-

-<p>"I shall not stay in!" cried Daisy indignantly.</p>

-

-<p>We all laughed, and her father assured her

-that she should not be abused.</p>

-

-<p>"Even if I did stay in," she said, "one of

-these birds might alight on Master Dick."</p>

-

-<p>She looked saucily at me as she spoke, but

-turned crimson when her father observed

-quietly, "You don't seem to think of me, Daisy."</p>

-

-<p>"Of course I do," she said, getting up and

-putting both arms around her father's neck;

-"but Dick&mdash;as&mdash;as you call him&mdash;is so helpless

-and timid."</p>

-

-<p>My blissful smile froze on my lips.</p>

-

-<p>"Timid!" I repeated.</p>

-

-<p>She came back to the table, making me a

-mocking reverence.</p>

-

-<p>"Do you think I am to be laughed at with

-impunity?" she said.</p>

-

-<p>"What are your other plans, Dick, my

-boy?" asked the professor.&mdash;"Daisy, let him

-alone, you little tease!"</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg267">[267]</span>

-"One is, to haul a lot of cast-iron boilers

-along the dunes," I said. "If these birds come

-when the carcass floats in, and if they seem

-disposed to trouble us, we could crawl into the

-boilers and be safe."</p>

-

-<p>"Why, that is really brilliant!" cried Daisy.</p>

-

-<p>"Be quiet, my child! Dick, the plan is

-sound and sensible and perfectly practical. McPeek

-and Frisby shall go for a dozen loads of

-boilers to-morrow."</p>

-

-<p>"It will spoil the beauty of the landscape,"

-said Daisy, with a taunting nod to me.</p>

-

-<p>"And Frisby will probably attempt to cover

-them with bill-posters," I added, laughing.</p>

-

-<p>"That," said Daisy, "I shall prevent, even

-at the cost of my life." And she stood up,

-looking very determined.</p>

-

-<p>"Children, children," protested the professor,

-"go to bed&mdash;you bother me."</p>

-

-<p>Then I turned deliberately to Miss Holroyd.</p>

-

-<p>"Good-night, Daisy," I said.</p>

-

-<p>"Good-night, Dick," she said, very gently.</p>

-

-<h3>V.</h3>

-

-<p>The week passed quickly for me, leaving

-but few definite impressions. As I look back

-to it now I can see the long stretch of beach

-burning in the fierce sunlight, the endless

-<span class="pb" id="Pg268">[268]</span>

-meadows, with the glimmer of water in the distance,

-the dunes, the twisted cedars, the leagues

-of scintillating ocean, rocking, rocking, always

-rocking. In the starlit nights the curlew came

-in from the sand-bars by twos and threes; I

-could hear their faint call as I lay in bed thinking.

-All day long the little ring-necks whistled

-from the shore. The plover answered them

-from distant lonely inland pools. The great

-white gulls drifted like feathers upon the sea.</p>

-

-<p>One morning, toward the end of the week,

-I, strolling along the dunes, came upon Frisby.

-He was bill-posting. I caught him red-handed.</p>

-

-<p>"This," said I, "must stop. Do you understand,

-Mr. Frisby?"</p>

-

-<p>He stepped back from his work, laying his

-head on one side, considering first me, then

-the bill that he had pasted on one of our big

-boilers.</p>

-

-<p>"Don't like the colour?" he asked. "It

-goes well on them boilers."</p>

-

-<p>"Colour! No, I don't like the colour

-either. Can't you understand that there are

-some people in the world who object to seeing

-patent-medicine advertisements scattered over a

-landscape?"</p>

-

-<p>"Hey?" he said perplexed.</p>

-

-<p>"Will you kindly remove that advertisement?"

-I persisted.</p>

-

-<p>"Too late," said Frisby; "it's sot."</p>

-

-<p>I was too disgusted to speak, but my disgust

-<span class="pb" id="Pg269">[269]</span>

-turned to anger when I perceived that, as

-far as the eye could reach, our boilers, lying

-from three to four hundred feet apart, were

-ablaze with yellow and red posters, extolling

-the "Eureka Liver Pill Company."</p>

-

-<p>"It don't cost 'em nothin'," said Frisby

-cheerfully; "I done it fur the fun of it. Purty,

-ain't it?"</p>

-

-<p>"They are Professor Holroyd's boilers," I

-said, subduing a desire to beat Frisby with my

-telescope. "Wait until Miss Holroyd sees this

-work."</p>

-

-<p>"Don't she like yeller and red?" he demanded

-anxiously.</p>

-

-<p>"You'll find out," said I.</p>

-

-<p>Frisby gaped at his handiwork and then at

-his yellow dog. After a moment he mechanically

-spat on a clamshell and requested Davy

-to "sic" it.</p>

-

-<p>"Can't you comprehend that you have

-ruined our pleasure in the landscape?" I asked

-more mildly.</p>

-

-<p>"I've got some green bills," said Frisby;

-"I kin stick 'em over the yeller ones&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

-

-<p>"Confound it!" said I, "it isn't the colour!"</p>

-

-<p>"Then," observed Frisby, "you don't like

-them pills. I've got some bills of the 'Cropper

-Bicycle,' and a few of 'Bagley, the Gents'

-Tailor&mdash;&mdash;'"</p>

-

-<p>"Frisby," said I, "use them all&mdash;paste the

-<span class="pb" id="Pg270">[270]</span>

-whole collection over your dog and yourself&mdash;then

-walk off the cliff."</p>

-

-<p>He sullenly unfolded a green poster,

-swabbed the boiler with paste, laid the upper

-section of the bill upon it, and plastered the

-whole bill down with a thwack of his brush.

-As I walked away I heard him muttering.</p>

-

-<p>Next day Daisy was so horrified that I promised

-to give Frisby an ultimatum. I found

-him with Freda, gazing sentimentally at his

-work, and I sent him back to the shop in a

-hurry, telling Freda at the same time that she

-could spend her leisure in providing Mr. Frisby

-with sand, soap, and a scrubbing brush. Then

-I walked on to my post of observation.</p>

-

-<p>I watched until sunset. Daisy came with

-her father to hear my report, but there was

-nothing to tell, and we three walked slowly

-back to the house.</p>

-

-<p>In the evenings the professor worked on

-his volumes, the click of his type-writer sounding

-faintly behind his closed door. Daisy and

-I played chess sometimes; sometimes we played

-hearts. I don't remember that we ever finished

-a game of either&mdash;we talked too much.</p>

-

-<p>Our discussions covered every topic of interest:

-we argued upon politics; we skimmed

-over literature and music; we settled international

-differences; we spoke vaguely of human

-brotherhood. I say we slighted no subject of

-interest&mdash;I am wrong; we never spoke of love.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg271">[271]</span>

-Now, love is a matter of interest to ten

-people out of ten. Why it was that it did not

-appear to interest us is as interesting a question

-as love itself. We were young, alert, enthusiastic,

-inquiring. We eagerly absorbed

-theories concerning any curious phenomena in

-Nature, as intellectual cocktails to stimulate

-discussion. And yet we did not discuss love.

-I do not say that we avoided it. No; the subject

-was too completely ignored for even that.

-And yet we found it very difficult to pass an

-hour separated. The professor noticed this,

-and laughed at us. We were not even embarrassed.</p>

-

-<p>Sunday passed in pious contemplation of

-the ocean. Daisy read a little in her prayer-book,

-and the professor threw a cloth over his

-typewriter and strolled up and down the sands.

-He may have been lost in devout abstraction;

-he may have been looking for footprints. As

-for me, my mind was very serene, and I was

-more than happy. Daisy read to me a little

-for my soul's sake, and the professor came up

-and said something cheerful. He also examined

-the magazine of my Winchester.</p>

-

-<p>That night, too, Daisy took her guitar to

-the sands and sang one or two Armenian hymns.

-Unlike us, the Armenians do not take their

-pleasures sadly. One of their pleasures is evidently

-religion.</p>

-

-<p>The big moon came up over the dunes and

-<span class="pb" id="Pg272">[272]</span>

-stared at the sea until the surface of every wave

-trembled with radiance. A sudden stillness

-fell across the world; the wind died out; the

-foam ran noiselessly across the beach; the cricket's

-rune was stilled.</p>

-

-<p>I leaned back, dropping one hand upon

-the sand. It touched another hand, soft and cool.</p>

-

-<p>After a while the other hand moved slightly,

-and I found that my own had closed above it.

-Presently one finger stirred a little&mdash;only a

-little&mdash;for our fingers were interlocked.</p>

-

-<p>On the shore the foam-froth bubbled and

-winked and glimmered in the moonlight. A

-star fell from the zenith, showering the night

-with incandescent dust.</p>

-

-<p>If our fingers lay interlaced beside us, her

-eyes were calm and serene as always, wide open,

-fixed upon the depths of a dark sky. And

-when her father rose and spoke to us, she did

-not withdraw her hand.</p>

-

-<p>"Is it late?" she asked dreamily.</p>

-

-<p>"It is midnight, little daughter."</p>

-

-<p>I stood up, still holding her hand, and aided

-her to rise. And when, at the door, I said

-good-night, she turned and looked at me for

-a little while in silence, then passed into

-her room slowly, with head still turned toward

-me.</p>

-

-<p>All night long I dreamed of her; and when

-the east whitened, I sprang up, the thunder of

-<span class="pb" id="Pg273">[273]</span>

-the ocean in my ears, the strong sea wind blowing

-into the open window.</p>

-

-<p>"She is asleep," I thought, and I leaned

-from the window and peered out into the east.</p>

-

-<p>The sea called to me, tossing its thousand

-arms; the soaring gulls, dipping, rising, wheeling

-above the sand-bar, screamed and clamoured

-for a playmate. I slipped into my bathing suit,

-dropped from the window upon the soft sand,

-and in a moment had plunged head foremost

-into the surf, swimming beneath the waves

-toward the open sea.</p>

-

-<p>Under the tossing ocean the voice of the

-waters was in my ears&mdash;a low, sweet voice, intimate,

-mysterious. Through singing foam and

-broad, green, glassy depths, by whispering sandy

-channels atrail with seaweed, and on, on, out

-into the vague, cool sea, I sped, rising to the

-top, sinking, gliding. Then at last I flung

-myself out of water, hands raised, and the clamour

-of the gulls filled my ears.</p>

-

-<p>As I lay, breathing fast, drifting on the sea,

-far out beyond the gulls I saw a flash of white,

-and an arm was lifted, signalling me.</p>

-

-<p>"Daisy!" I called.</p>

-

-<p>A clear hail came across the water, distinct

-on the sea wind, and at the same instant we

-raised our hands and moved toward each other.</p>

-

-<p>How we laughed as we met in the sea! The

-<span class="pb" id="Pg274">[274]</span>

-white dawn came up out of the depths, the

-zenith turned to rose and ashes.</p>

-

-<p>And with the dawn came the wind&mdash;a great

-sea wind, fresh, aromatic, that hurled our voices

-back into our throats and lifted the sheeted

-spray above our heads. Every wave, crowned

-with mist, caught us in a cool embrace, cradled

-us, and slipped away, only to leave us to another

-wave, higher, stronger, crested with opalescent

-glory, breathing incense.</p>

-

-<p>We turned together up the coast, swimming

-lightly side by side, but our words were

-caught up by the winds and whirled into the sky.</p>

-

-<p>We looked up at the driving clouds; we

-looked out upon the pallid waste of waters; but

-it was into each other's eyes we looked, wondering,

-wistful, questioning the reason of sky

-and sea. And there in each other's eyes we

-read the mystery, and we knew that earth and

-sky and sea were created for us alone.</p>

-

-<p>Drifting on by distant sands and dunes, her

-white fingers touching mine, we spoke, keying

-our tones to the wind's vast harmony. And we

-spoke of love.</p>

-

-<p>Gray and wide as the limitless span of the

-sky and the sea, the winds gathered from the

-world's ends to bear us on; but they were not

-familiar winds; for now, along the coast, the

-breakers curled and showed a million fangs,

-and the ocean stirred to its depths, uneasy,

-<span class="pb" id="Pg275">[275]</span>

-ominous, and the menace of its murmur drew

-us closer as we moved.</p>

-

-<p>Where the dull thunder and the tossing

-spray warned us from sunken reefs, we heard

-the harsh challenges of gulls; where the pallid

-surf twisted in yellow coils of spume above the

-bar, the singing sands murmured of treachery

-and secrets of lost souls agasp in the throes of

-silent undertows.</p>

-

-<p>But there was a little stretch of beach glimmering

-through the mountains of water, and

-toward this we turned, side by side. Around

-us the water grew warmer; the breath of the

-following waves moistened our cheeks; the

-water itself grew gray and strange about us.</p>

-

-<p>"We have come too far," I said; but she

-only answered: "Faster, faster! I am afraid!"

-The water was almost hot now; its aromatic

-odour filled our lungs.</p>

-

-<p>"The Gulf loop!" I muttered. "Daisy,

-shall I help you?"</p>

-

-<p>"No. Swim&mdash;close by me! Oh-h! Dick&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

-

-<p>Her startled cry was echoed by another&mdash;a

-shrill scream, unutterably horrible&mdash;and a great

-bird flapped from the beach, splashing and beating

-its pinions across the water with a thundering noise.</p>

-

-<p>Out across the waves it blundered, rising

-little by little from the water, and now, to my

-horror, I saw another monstrous bird swinging

-<span class="pb" id="Pg276">[276]</span>

-in the air above it, squealing as it turned

-on its vast wings. Before I could speak we

-touched the beach, and I half lifted her to the

-shore.</p>

-

-<p>"Quick!" I repeated. "We must not

-wait."</p>

-

-<p>Her eyes were dark with fear, but she rested

-a hand on my shoulder, and we crept up among

-the dune grasses and sank down by the point of

-sand where the rough shelter stood, surrounded

-by the iron-ringed piles.</p>

-

-<p>She lay there, breathing fast and deep,

-dripping with spray. I had no power of speech

-left, but when I rose wearily to my knees and

-looked out upon the water my blood ran cold.

-Above the ocean, on the breast of the roaring

-wind, three enormous birds sailed, turning and

-wheeling among each other; and below, drifting

-with the gray stream of the Gulf loop, a

-colossal bulk lay half submerged&mdash;a gigantic

-lizard, floating belly upward.</p>

-

-<p>Then Daisy crept kneeling to my side and

-touched me, trembling from head to foot.</p>

-

-<p>"I know," I muttered. "I must run back

-for the rifle."</p>

-

-<p>"And&mdash;and leave me?"</p>

-

-<p>I took her by the hand, and we dragged

-ourselves through the wire grass to the open

-end of a boiler lying in the sand.</p>

-

-<p>She crept in on her hands and knees, and

-called to me to follow.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg277">[277]</span>

-"You are safe now," I cried. "I must go

-back for the rifle."</p>

-

-<p>"The birds may&mdash;may attack you."</p>

-

-<p>"If they do I can get into one of the other

-boilers," I said. "Daisy, you must not venture

-out until I come back. You won't, will you?"</p>

-

-<p>"No-o," she whispered doubtfully.</p>

-

-<p>"Then&mdash;good-by."</p>

-

-<p>"Good-by," she answered, but her voice was

-very small and still.</p>

-

-<p>"Good-by," I said again. I was kneeling

-at the mouth of the big iron tunnel; it was

-dark inside and I could not see her, but, before

-I was conscious of it, her arms were around

-my neck and we had kissed each other.</p>

-

-<p>I don't remember how I went away. When

-I came to my proper senses I was swimming

-along the coast at full speed, and over my head

-wheeled one of the birds, screaming at every turn.</p>

-

-<p>The intoxication of that innocent embrace,

-the close impress of her arms around my neck,

-gave me a strength and recklessness that neither

-fear nor fatigue could subdue. The bird

-above me did not even frighten me; I watched

-it over my shoulder, swimming strongly, with

-the tide now aiding me, now stemming my

-course; but I saw the shore passing quickly

-and my strength increased, and I shouted when

-I came in sight of the house, and scrambled up

-<span class="pb" id="Pg278">[278]</span>

-on the sand, dripping and excited. There was

-nobody in sight, and I gave a last glance up

-into the air where the bird wheeled, still

-screeching, and hastened into the house. Freda

-stared at me in amazement as I seized the rifle

-and shouted for the professor.</p>

-

-<p>"He has just gone to town, with Captain

-McPeek in his wagon," stammered Freda.</p>

-

-<p>"What!" I cried. "Does he know where

-his daughter is?"</p>

-

-<p>"Miss Holroyd is asleep&mdash;not?" gasped Freda.</p>

-

-<p>"Where's Frisby?" I cried impatiently.</p>

-

-<p>"Yimmie?" quavered Freda.</p>

-

-<p>"Yes, Jimmie; isn't there anybody here?

-Good heavens! where's that man in the shop?"</p>

-

-<p>"He also iss gone," said Freda, shedding

-tears, "to buy papier-maché. Yimmie, he iss

-gone to post bills."</p>

-

-<p>I waited to hear no more, but swung my

-rifle over my shoulder, and, hanging the cartridge

-belt across my chest, hurried out and up

-the beach. The bird was not in sight.</p>

-

-<p>I had been running for perhaps a minute

-when, far up on the dunes, I saw a yellow dog

-rush madly through a clump of sweet bay, and

-at the same moment a bird soared past, rose,

-and hung hovering just above the thicket. Suddenly

-the bird swooped; there was a shriek and

-a yelp from the cur, but the bird gripped it in

-one claw and beat its wings upon the sand, striving

-<span class="pb" id="Pg279">[279]</span>

-to rise. Then I saw Frisby&mdash;paste, bucket,

-and brush raised&mdash;fall upon the bird, yelling

-lustily. The fierce creature relaxed its talons,

-and the dog rushed on, squeaking with terror.

-The bird turned on Frisby and sent him sprawling

-on his face, a sticky mass of paste and sand.

-But this did not end the struggle. The bird,

-croaking wildly, flew at the prostrate billposter,

-and the sand whirled into a pillar above its

-terrible wings. Scarcely knowing what I was

-about, I raised my rifle and fired twice. A

-horrid scream echoed each shot, and the bird

-rose heavily in a shower of sand; but two bullets

-were embedded in that mass of foul

-feathers, and I saw the wires and scarlet tape

-uncoiling on the sand at my feet. In an instant

-I seized them and passed the ends around

-a cedar tree, hooking the clasps tight. Then

-I cast one swift glance upward, where the bird

-wheeled screeching, anchored like a kite to the

-pallium wires; and I hurried on across the

-dunes, the shells cutting my feet, and the bushes

-tearing my wet swimming suit, until I dripped

-with blood from shoulder to ankle. Out in

-the ocean the carcass of the Thermosaurus

-floated, claws outspread, belly glistening in the

-gray light, and over him circled two birds. As

-I reached the shelter I knelt and fired into the

-mass of scales, and at my first shot a horrible

-thing occurred: the lizardlike head writhed,

-the slitted yellow eyes sliding open from the

-<span class="pb" id="Pg280">[280]</span>

-film that covered them. A shudder passed

-across the undulating body, the great scaled

-belly heaved, and one leg feebly clawed at the

-air.</p>

-

-<p>The thing was still alive!</p>

-

-<p>Crushing back the horror that almost paralyzed

-my hands, I planted shot after shot into

-the quivering reptile, while it writhed and

-clawed, striving to turn over and dive; and at

-each shot the black blood spurted in long, slim

-jets across the water. And now Daisy was at

-my side, pale and determined, swiftly clasping

-each tape-marked wire to the iron rings in the

-circle around us. Twice I filled the magazine

-from my belt, and twice I poured streams of

-steel-tipped bullets into the scaled mass, twisting

-and shuddering on the sea. Suddenly the

-birds steered toward us. I felt the wind from

-their vast wings. I saw the feathers erect, vibrating.

-I saw the spread claws outstretched,

-and I struck furiously at them, crying to Daisy

-to run into the iron shelter. Backing, swinging

-my clubbed rifle, I retreated, but I tripped

-across one of the taut pallium wires, and in an

-instant the hideous birds were on me, and the

-bone in my forearm snapped like a pipestem at

-a blow from their wings. Twice I struggled

-to my knees, blinded with blood, confused, almost

-fainting; then I fell again, rolling into

-the mouth of the iron boiler.</p>

-

-<hr class="tb"/>

-

-<p><span class="pb" id="Pg281">[281]</span>

-When I struggled back to consciousness

-Daisy knelt silently beside me, while Captain

-McPeek and Professor Holroyd bound up my

-shattered arm, talking excitedly. The pain

-made me faint and dizzy. I tried to speak and

-could not. At last they got me to my feet and

-into the wagon, and Daisy came, too, and

-crouched beside me, wrapped in oilskins to her

-eyes. Fatigue, lack of food, and excitement

-had combined with wounds and broken bones

-to extinguish the last atom of strength in my

-body; but my mind was clear enough to understand

-that the trouble was over and the

-Thermosaurus safe.</p>

-

-<p>I heard McPeek say that one of the birds

-that I had anchored to a cedar tree had torn

-loose from the bullets and winged its way

-heavily out to sea. The professor answered:

-"Yes, the ekaf-bird; the others were ool-ylliks.

-I'd have given my right arm to have secured

-them." Then for a time I heard no more; but

-the jolting of the wagon over the dunes roused

-me to keenest pain, and I held out my right

-hand to Daisy. She clasped it in both of hers,

-and kissed it again and again.</p>

-

-<hr class="tb"/>

-

-<p>There is little more to add, I think. Professor

-Bruce Stoddard has edited this story

-carefully. His own scientific pamphlet will be

-published soon, to be followed by Professor Holroyd's

-sixteen volumes. In a few days the

-<span class="pb" id="Pg282">[282]</span>

-stuffed and mounted Thermosaurus will be

-placed on free public exhibition in the arena

-of Madison Square Garden, the only building

-in the city large enough to contain the body of

-this immense winged reptile.</p>

-

-<p>When my arm came out of splints, Daisy

-and I&mdash;&mdash; But really that has nothing to do

-with a detailed scientific description of the

-Thermosaurus, which, I think, I shall add as

-an appendix to the book. If you do not find

-it there it will be because Daisy and I have very

-little time to write about Thermosaurians.</p>

-

-<p>But what I really want to tell you about is

-the extraordinary adventures of Captain McPeek

-and Frisby&mdash;how they produced a specimen

-of Samia Cynthia that dwarfed a hundred

-of Attacus Atlas, and how the American line

-steamer St. Louis fouled the thing with her

-screw.</p>

-

-<p>The more I think of it the more determined

-I am to tell it to you. It will be difficult to

-prevent me. And that is not fiction either.</p>

-

-<hr /></div>

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<h2>ENVOI.<span class="pb" id="Pg283">[283]</span></h2>

-

-<hr />

-

-<p class="center"><big><i>ENVOI.</i></big><span class="pb" id="Pg285">[285]</span></p>

-

-<div class="poetry-container">

-<div class="poem italic"><div class="stanza">

-<div class="center spaced">I.</div>

-<div class="verse">When shadows pass across the grass</div>

-<div class="verse">And April breezes stir the sedge,</div>

-<div class="verse">Along the brimming river's edge</div>

-<div class="verse indent2">I trail my line for silver trout,</div>

-<div class="verse">And smoke, and dream of you, my lass,</div>

-<div class="verse indent2">And wonder why we two fell out,</div>

-<div class="verse indent2">And how the deuce it came about.</div></div>

-

-<div class="stanza">

-<div class="center spaced">II.</div>

-<div class="verse">When swallows sheer the meadow-mere</div>

-<div class="verse">And thickets thrill with thrushes' hymns,</div>

-<div class="verse">Along the mill-pond's reedy rims</div>

-<div class="verse indent2">I trail my line for shining dace;</div>

-<div class="verse">But how can finny fishes cheer</div>

-<div class="verse indent2">A fellow, if he find no grace</div>

-<div class="verse indent2">In your sweet eyes and your dear face?</div></div>

-

-<div class="stanza">

-<div class="center spaced">III.</div>

-<div class="verse">Let thrushes wing their way and sing</div>

-<div class="verse">Where cresses freshen pebbled nooks;</div>

-<div class="verse">By silent rills and singing brooks</div>

-<div class="verse indent2">I pass my way alone, alas!</div>

-<div class="verse">With your dear name the woodlands ring&mdash;</div>

-<div class="verse indent2">Your name is murmured by the grass,</div>

-<div class="verse indent2">By earth, by air, all-where I pass.</div></div>

-

-<div class="stanza">

-<div class="center spaced">IV.<span class="pb" id="Pg286">[286]</span></div>

-<div class="verse">The painted bream may swim the stream&mdash;</div>

-<div class="verse indent2">I'll cast no line to-day, pardi!</div>

-<div class="verse">In vain the river-ripples gleam,</div>

-<div class="verse indent2">In vain the thrushes' minstrelsy.</div>

-<div class="verse">Vain is the wind that whispers, "Lo!</div>

-<div class="verse">Thy fish are waiting&mdash;Angler, go!"</div></div>

-

-<div class="stanza">

-<div class="center spaced">V.</div>

-<div class="verse">Will you forgive if I forgive?</div>

-<div class="verse">Life is too sad, I think, to live</div>

-<div class="verse">Alone, and dream and smoke and fish;</div>

-<div class="verse">I'll say "Forgive" first&mdash;if you wish?</div></div>

-

-<div class="stanza">

-<div class="center spaced">VI.</div>

-<div class="verse">For at that word, the Sorcery</div>

-<div class="verse">Of Love shall change the earth and sky</div>

-<div class="verse">To Paradise, with cherubim</div>

-<div class="verse">Instead of birds on every limb.</div></div>

-

-<div class="stanza">

-<div class="center spaced">VII.</div>

-<div class="verse">Rivers shall sing our rhapsody;</div>

-<div class="verse">The vaulted forest, tree by tree,</div>

-<div class="verse">High hung with tapestry, shall glow</div>

-<div class="verse">With golden pillars all a-row.</div></div>

-

-<div class="stanza">

-<div class="center spaced">VIII.</div>

-<div class="verse">And down the gilded forest aisle</div>

-<div class="verse">Shy throngs of violets shall smile</div>

-<div class="verse">And kiss your feet from tree to tree</div>

-<div class="verse">While blue-bells droop in courtesy.</div></div>

-

-<div class="stanza">

-<div class="center spaced">IX.</div>

-<div class="verse">And if the sun incarnadine</div>

-<div class="verse">The clouds&mdash;green leaves shall be your screen;</div>

-<span class="pb" id="Pg287">[287]</span>

-<div class="verse">And if the clouds with jealousy</div>

-<div class="verse">Should weep&mdash;we'll beg of some kind tree</div>

-<div class="verse">A moment's hospitality.</div></div>

-

-<div class="stanza">

-<div class="center spaced">X.</div>

-<div class="verse">Good cheer is here, if you incline;</div>

-<div class="verse">Moss-hidden springs shall bubble wine</div>

-<div class="verse">While squirrels chuckle, rank on rank,</div>

-<div class="verse">And strawberries from every bank</div>

-<div class="verse">Shall blush to see how deep we drank.</div></div>

-

-<div class="stanza">

-<div class="center spaced">XI.</div>

-<div class="verse">Winds of the West shall cool our eyes</div>

-<div class="verse">While every woodland creature tries</div>

-<div class="verse">His voice a little, so that he</div>

-<div class="verse">May know his notes more perfectly</div>

-<div class="verse">When crickets start the symphony.</div></div>

-

-<div class="stanza">

-<div class="center spaced">XII.</div>

-<div class="verse">Through hazel glade and scented dell</div>

-<div class="verse">Where brooklets ring a tinkling bell,</div>

-<div class="verse">The forest orchestra shall swell,</div>

-<div class="verse">Until the sun-soaked grasses ring</div>

-<div class="verse">With crickets strumming string on string.</div></div>

-

-<div class="stanza">

-<div class="center spaced">XIII.</div>

- <div class="verse">Then, with your white hand daintily</div>

-<div class="verse">Scarce touching mine, we'll leave our tree</div>

-<div class="verse">And ramble slowly toward the West</div>

-<div class="verse">Where our high castle's flaming crest,</div>

-<div class="verse">Towering behind the setting sun,</div>

-<div class="verse">Flings out its banners, one by one,</div>

-<div class="verse">Signals of fire, that day is done.</div></div>

-

-<div class="stanza">

-<div class="center spaced">XIV.<span class="pb" id="Pg288">[288]</span></div>

-<div class="verse">Deep in that palace we shall find</div>

-<div class="verse">How blind we are, how blind! how blind!</div>

-<div class="verse">And how he'll laugh, who holds the key</div>

-<div class="verse">To the great portal's mystery!</div>

-<div class="verse">And how his joyous laugh will ring</div>

-<div class="verse">When you and I shall bid him fling</div>

-<div class="verse">The gates ajar for you and me!</div></div>

-

-<div class="stanza">

-<div class="center spaced">XV.</div>

-<div class="verse">Let shadows flee athwart the lea</div>

-<div class="verse">When dark December strips the hedge</div>

-<div class="verse">Along the icy river's edge;</div>

-<div class="verse indent2">Yet, if you will forgive me, lass,</div>

-<div class="verse">The world shall bloom like spring to me,</div>

-<div class="verse indent2">Snow turn to dew upon the grass</div>

-<div class="verse indent2">And fagots blossom where you pass.</div></div>

-

-<div class="stanza">

-<div class="center spaced">XVI.</div>

-<div class="verse">Swallows shall sheer the frozen mere,</div>

-<div class="verse">Dead reeds along the mill-pond's rims</div>

-<div class="verse">Shall thrill with summer-thrushes' hymns,</div>

-<div class="verse indent2">While summer breezes blow apace,</div>

-<div class="verse">If you will but forgive me, dear,</div>

-<div class="verse indent2">And let me find a moment's grace,</div>

-<div class="verse indent2">In your sweet eyes and your dear face.</div></div>

-

-<div class="stanza">

-<div class="verse indent32">R. W. C.</div>

-</div></div></div>

-

-<p class="center spaced">THE END.</p>

-

-<hr /></div>

-

-<p class="center page-break" id="Corrections"><big>CORRECTIONS</big></p>

-

-<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="corrections">

-<tr><td>page</td><td>original text</td><td>correction</td></tr>

-<tr><td><a href="#Cix">ix</a></td><td>[missing from contents]</td><td><span class="smcap">The Key to Grief</span> 185</td></tr>

-<tr><td><a href="#C013">13</a></td><td>Bannelec</td><td>Bannalec</td></tr>

-<tr><td><a href="#C023">23</a></td><td>Britons</td><td>Bretons</td></tr>

-<tr><td><a href="#C029">29</a></td><td>doxens</td><td>dozens</td></tr>

-<tr><td><a href="#C093">93</a></td><td>dated</td><td>darted</td></tr>

-<tr><td><a href="#C103">103</a><br /><a href="#C104">104</a><br /><a href="#C180">180</a><br />

-<a href="#C181a">181</a></td><td>beach</td><td>beech</td></tr>

-<tr><td><a href="#C135">135</a></td><td>Sacré</td><td>Sacrée</td></tr>

-<tr><td><a href="#C167">167</a></td><td>Jaques</td><td>Jacques</td></tr>

-<tr><td><a href="#C181">181</a></td><td>their</td><td>there</td></tr>

-</table>

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-<pre>

-

-

-

-

-

-End of Project Gutenberg's The Mystery of Choice, by Robert William Chambers

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-</pre>

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+    <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" />
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+    <title>
+      The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Mystery of Choice, by Robert W. Chambers
+    </title>
+    <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" />
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+
+@media handheld
+{
+  .poem
+  { display: block;
+    margin-left: 1.5em;  }
+}
+
+    </style>
+  </head>
+<body>
+<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 46581 ***</div>
+
+<p class="center"><big>TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:</big></p>
+<p>Inconsistencies in hyphenation and spelling have not been corrected.
+Punctuation has been silently corrected. A list of other corrections can be found at the <a href="#Corrections">end
+of the document</a>.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+   <img src="images/cover.jpg" width="500" height="837" id="coverpage"
+      alt="" title="The Mystery of Choice" />
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<h1 class="page-break">THE MYSTERY<br />
+OF CHOICE</h1>
+
+<p class="center spaced"><small>BY</small><br />
+ROBERT W. CHAMBERS</p>
+
+<p class="center"><small>AUTHOR OF THE KING IN YELLOW, THE RED REPUBLIC,
+A KING AND A FEW DUKES, THE MAKER OF MOONS, ETC.</small></p>
+
+<p class="center spaced">NEW YORK<br />
+D. APPLETON AND COMPANY<br />
+1897</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Copyright, 1897,<br />
+By ROBERT W. CHAMBERS.</span></p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<h2><i>DEDICATION.</i><span class="pb" id="Pgv">[v]</span></h2>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poem italic"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="verse">There is a maid, demure as she is wise,</div>
+<div class="verse">With all of April in her winsome eyes,</div>
+<div class="verse">And to my tales she listens pensively,</div>
+<div class="verse">With slender fingers clasped about her knee,</div>
+<div class="verse">Watching the sparrows on the balcony.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<div class="verse indent2">Shy eyes that, lifted up to me,</div>
+<div class="verse indent2">Free all my heart of vanity;</div>
+<div class="verse indent2">Clear eyes, that speak all silently,</div>
+<div class="verse indent2">Sweet as the silence of a nunnery&mdash;</div>
+<div class="verse indent2">Read, for I write my rede for you alone,</div>
+<div class="verse indent2">Here where the city's mighty monotone</div>
+<div class="verse indent2">Deepens the silence to a symphony&mdash;</div>
+<div class="verse indent2">Silence of Saints, and Seers, and Sorcery.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<div class="verse">Arms and the Man! A noble theme, I ween!</div>
+<div class="verse">Alas! I can not sing of these, Eileen&mdash;</div>
+<div class="verse">Only of maids and men and meadow-grass,</div>
+<div class="verse">Of sea and fields and woodlands, where I pass;</div>
+<div class="verse">Nothing but these I know, Eileen, alas!</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<div class="verse indent2">Clear eyes that, lifted up to me,</div>
+<div class="verse indent2">Free all my soul from vanity;</div>
+<div class="verse indent2">Gray eyes, that speak all wistfully&mdash;</div>
+<div class="verse indent2">Nothing but these I know, alas!</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<div class="verse indent32">R. W. C.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<div class="verse">April, 1896.</div>
+</div></div></div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<h2><i>INTRODUCTION.</i><span class="pb" id="Pgvii">[vii]</span></h2>
+
+<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem italic">
+<div class="stanza"><div class="center">I.</div>
+<div class="verse">Where two fair paths, deep flowered</div>
+<div class="verse indent22">And leaf-embowered,</div>
+<div class="verse">Creep East and West across a World concealed,</div>
+<div class="verse">Which shall he take who journeys far afield?</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="center">II.</div>
+<div class="verse">Canst thou then say, "I go,"</div>
+<div class="verse indent22">Or "I forego"?</div>
+<div class="verse">What turns thee East or West, as thistles blow?</div>
+<div class="verse">Is fair more fair than fair&mdash;and dost thou know?</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="center">III.</div>
+<div class="verse">Turn to the West, unblessed</div>
+<div class="verse indent22">And uncaressed;</div>
+<div class="verse">Turn to the East, and, seated at the Feast</div>
+<div class="verse">Thou shalt find Life, or Death from Life released.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="center">IV.</div>
+<div class="verse">And thou who lovest best</div>
+<div class="verse indent22">A maid dark-tressed,</div>
+<div class="verse">And passest others by with careless eye,</div>
+<div class="verse">Canst thou tell why thou choosest? Tell, then; why?</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="center">V.</div>
+<div class="verse">So when thy kiss is given</div>
+<div class="verse indent22">Or half-forgiven,</div>
+<div class="verse">Why should she tremble, with her face flame-hot,</div>
+<div class="verse">Or laugh and whisper, "Love, I tremble not"?</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="center"><span class="pb" id="Pgviii">[viii]</span>
+VI.</div>
+<div class="verse">Or when thy hand may catch</div>
+<div class="verse indent22">A half-drawn latch,</div>
+<div class="verse">What draws thee from the door, to turn and pass</div>
+<div class="verse">Through streets unknown, dim, still, and choked with grass?</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="center">VII.</div>
+<div class="verse">What! Canst thou not foresee</div>
+<div class="verse indent22">The Mystery?</div>
+<div class="verse">Heed! For a Voice commands thy every deed!</div>
+<div class="verse">And it hath sounded. And thou needs must heed!</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<div class="verse indent32">R. W. C.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<div class="verse">1896.</div>
+</div></div></div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<h2>CONTENTS.<span class="pb" id="Pgix">[ix]</span></h2>
+
+<table class="toc" summary="Table of Contents">
+  <tr><th>&nbsp;</th><th class="tocpag">PAGE</th></tr>
+  <tr><td class="tocchp">The Purple Emperor</td>
+    <td class="tocpag"><a href="#Pg1">1</a></td></tr>
+  <tr><td class="tocchp">Pompe Funèbre</td>
+    <td class="tocpag"><a href="#Pg39">39</a></td></tr>
+  <tr><td class="tocchp">The Messenger</td>
+    <td class="tocpag"><a href="#Pg47">47</a></td></tr>
+  <tr><td class="tocchp">The White Shadow</td>
+    <td class="tocpag"><a href="#Pg109">109</a></td></tr>
+  <tr><td class="tocchp">Passeur</td>
+    <td class="tocpag"><a href="#Pg175">175</a></td></tr>
+  <tr><td class="tocchp"><ins class="corr" title="[missing from contents]" id="Cix">The Key to Grief</ins></td>
+    <td class="tocpag"><a href="#Pg185">185</a></td></tr>
+  <tr><td class="tocchp">A Matter of Interest</td>
+    <td class="tocpag"><a href="#Pg213">213</a></td></tr>
+  <tr><td class="tocchp">Envoi</td>
+    <td class="tocpag"><a href="#Pg283">283</a></td></tr>
+</table>
+
+<hr />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2>THE PURPLE EMPEROR.<span class="pb" id="Pg1">[1]</span></h2>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="center"><big>THE PURPLE EMPEROR.</big><span class="pb" id="Pg3">[3]</span></p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="verse">Un souvenir heureux est peut-être, sur terre,</div>
+<div class="verse indent2">Plus vrai que le bonheur.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<div class="verse indent32"><span class="smcap">A. de Musset.</span></div>
+</div></div></div>
+
+<h3>I.</h3>
+
+<p>The Purple Emperor watched me in silence.
+I cast again, spinning out six feet more of waterproof
+silk, and, as the line hissed through the air
+far across the pool, I saw my three flies fall on
+the water like drifting thistledown. The Purple
+Emperor sneered.</p>
+
+<p>"You see," he said, "I am right. There is
+not a trout in Brittany that will rise to a tailed
+fly."</p>
+
+<p>"They do in America," I replied.</p>
+
+<p>"Zut! for America!" observed the Purple
+Emperor.</p>
+
+<p>"And trout take a tailed fly in England," I
+insisted sharply.</p>
+
+<p>"Now do I care what things or people do in
+England?" demanded the Purple Emperor.</p>
+
+<p>"You don't care for anything except yourself
+and your wriggling caterpillars," I said,
+more annoyed than I had yet been.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg4">[4]</span>
+The Purple Emperor sniffed. His broad,
+hairless, sunburnt features bore that obstinate
+expression which always irritated me. Perhaps
+the manner in which he wore his hat intensified
+the irritation, for the flapping brim rested on
+both ears, and the two little velvet ribbons which
+hung from the silver buckle in front wiggled
+and fluttered with every trivial breeze. His
+cunning eyes and sharp-pointed nose were out
+of all keeping with his fat red face. When he
+met my eye, he chuckled.</p>
+
+<p>"I know more about insects than any man in
+Morbihan&mdash;or Finistère either, for that matter,"
+he said.</p>
+
+<p>"The Red Admiral knows as much as you
+do," I retorted.</p>
+
+<p>"He doesn't," replied the Purple Emperor
+angrily.</p>
+
+<p>"And his collection of butterflies is twice as
+large as yours," I added, moving down the
+stream to a spot directly opposite him.</p>
+
+<p>"It is, is it?" sneered the Purple Emperor.
+"Well, let me tell you, Monsieur Darrel, in all
+his collection he hasn't a specimen, a single
+specimen, of that magnificent butterfly, Apatura
+Iris, commonly known as the 'Purple
+Emperor.'"</p>
+
+<p>"Everybody in Brittany knows that," I
+said, casting across the sparkling water; "but
+just because you happen to be the only man
+who ever captured a 'Purple Emperor' in
+<span class="pb" id="Pg5">[5]</span>
+Morbihan, it doesn't follow that you are an
+authority on sea-trout flies. Why do you
+say that a Breton sea-trout won't touch a
+tailed fly?"</p>
+
+<p>"It's so," he replied.</p>
+
+<p>"Why? There are plenty of May-flies about
+the stream."</p>
+
+<p>"Let 'em fly!" snarled the Purple Emperor,
+"you won't see a trout touch 'em."</p>
+
+<p>My arm was aching, but I grasped my split
+bamboo more firmly, and, half turning, waded
+out into the stream and began to whip the ripples
+at the head of the pool. A great green
+dragon-fly came drifting by on the summer
+breeze and hung a moment above the pool, glittering
+like an emerald.</p>
+
+<p>"There's a chance! Where is your butterfly
+net?" I called across the stream.</p>
+
+<p>"What for? That dragon-fly? I've got
+dozens&mdash;Anax Junius, Drury, characteristic,
+anal angle of posterior wings, in male, round;
+thorax marked with&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"That will do," I said fiercely. "Can't I
+point out an insect in the air without this burst
+of erudition? Can you tell me, in simple everyday
+French, what this little fly is&mdash;this one, flitting
+over the eel grass here beside me? See, it
+has fallen on the water."</p>
+
+<p>"Huh!" sneered the Purple Emperor,
+"that's a Linnobia annulus."</p>
+
+<p>"What's that?" I demanded.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg6">[6]</span>
+Before he could answer there came a heavy
+splash in the pool, and the fly disappeared.</p>
+
+<p>"He! he! he!" tittered the Purple Emperor.
+"Didn't I tell you the fish knew their business?
+That was a sea-trout. I hope you don't get
+him."</p>
+
+<p>He gathered up his butterfly net, collecting
+box, chloroform bottle, and cyanide jar. Then
+he rose, swung the box over his shoulder,
+stuffed the poison bottles into the pockets of
+his silver-buttoned velvet coat, and lighted his
+pipe. This latter operation was a demoralizing
+spectacle, for the Purple Emperor, like all Breton
+peasants, smoked one of those microscopical
+Breton pipes which requires ten minutes to
+find, ten minutes to fill, ten minutes to light,
+and ten seconds to finish. With true Breton
+stolidity he went through this solemn rite, blew
+three puffs of smoke into the air, scratched his
+pointed nose reflectively, and waddled away,
+calling back an ironical "Au revoir, and bad
+luck to all Yankees!"</p>
+
+<p>I watched him out of sight, thinking sadly
+of the young girl whose life he made a hell
+upon earth&mdash;Lys Trevec, his niece. She never
+admitted it, but we all knew what the black-and-blue
+marks meant on her soft, round arm,
+and it made me sick to see the look of fear
+come into her eyes when the Purple Emperor
+waddled into the café of the Groix Inn.</p>
+
+<p>It was commonly said that he half-starved
+<span class="pb" id="Pg7">[7]</span>
+her. This she denied. Marie Joseph and 'Fine
+Lelocard had seen him strike her the day after
+the Pardon of the Birds because she had liberated
+three bullfinches which he had limed the
+day before. I asked Lys if this were true, and
+she refused to speak to me for the rest of the
+week. There was nothing to do about it. If
+the Purple Emperor had not been avaricious, I
+should never have seen Lys at all, but he could
+not resist the thirty francs a week which I offered
+him; and Lys posed for me all day long,
+happy as a linnet in a pink thorn hedge. Nevertheless,
+the Purple Emperor hated me, and constantly
+threatened to send Lys back to her dreary
+flax-spinning. He was suspicious, too, and when
+he had gulped down the single glass of cider
+which proves fatal to the sobriety of most Bretons,
+he would pound the long, discoloured
+oaken table and roar curses on me, on Yves Terrec,
+and on the Red Admiral. We were the
+three objects in the world which he most hated:
+me, because I was a foreigner, and didn't care
+a rap for him and his butterflies; and the Red
+Admiral, because he was a rival entomologist.</p>
+
+<p>He had other reasons for hating Terrec.</p>
+
+<p>The Red Admiral, a little wizened wretch,
+with a badly adjusted glass eye and a passion for
+brandy, took his name from a butterfly which
+predominated in his collection. This butterfly,
+commonly known to amateurs as the "Red
+Admiral," and to entomologists as Vanessa Atalanta,
+<span class="pb" id="Pg8">[8]</span>
+had been the occasion of scandal among
+the entomologists of France and Brittany. For
+the Red Admiral had taken one of these common
+insects, dyed it a brilliant yellow by the aid of
+chemicals, and palmed it off on a credulous collector
+as a South African species, absolutely
+unique. The fifty francs which he gained by
+this rascality were, however, absorbed in a suit
+for damages brought by the outraged amateur a
+month later; and when he had sat in the Quimperlé
+jail for a month, he reappeared in the
+little village of St. Gildas soured, thirsty, and
+burning for revenge. Of course we named him
+the Red Admiral, and he accepted the name
+with suppressed fury.</p>
+
+<p>The Purple Emperor, on the other hand, had
+gained his imperial title legitimately, for it was
+an undisputed fact that the only specimen of that
+beautiful butterfly, Apatura Iris, or the Purple
+Emperor, as it is called by amateurs&mdash;the only
+specimen that had ever been taken in Finistère
+or in Morbihan&mdash;was captured and brought
+home alive by Joseph Marie Gloanec, ever afterward
+to be known as the Purple Emperor.</p>
+
+<p>When the capture of this rare butterfly became
+known the Red Admiral nearly went
+crazy. Every day for a week he trotted over
+to the Groix Inn, where the Purple Emperor
+lived with his niece, and brought his microscope
+to bear on the rare newly captured butterfly, in
+hopes of detecting a fraud. But this specimen
+<span class="pb" id="Pg9">[9]</span>
+was genuine, and he leered through his microscope
+in vain.</p>
+
+<p>"No chemicals there, Admiral," grinned the
+Purple Emperor; and the Red Admiral chattered
+with rage.</p>
+
+<p>To the scientific world of Brittany and
+France the capture of an Apatura Iris in Morbihan
+was of great importance. The Museum of
+Quimper offered to purchase the butterfly, but
+the Purple Emperor, though a hoarder of gold,
+was a monomaniac on butterflies, and he jeered
+at the Curator of the Museum. From all parts
+of Brittany and France letters of inquiry and
+congratulation poured in upon him. The
+French Academy of Sciences awarded him a
+prize, and the Paris Entomological Society made
+him an honorary member. Being a Breton
+peasant, and a more than commonly pig-headed
+one at that, these honours did not disturb his
+equanimity; but when the little hamlet of St.
+Gildas elected him mayor, and, as is the custom
+in Brittany under such circumstances, he left
+his thatched house to take up an official life in
+the little Groix Inn, his head became completely
+turned. To be mayor in a village of nearly one
+hundred and fifty people! It was an empire!
+So he became unbearable, drinking himself viciously
+drunk every night of his life, maltreating
+his niece, Lys Trevec, like the barbarous old
+wretch that he was, and driving the Red Admiral
+nearly frantic with his eternal harping on
+<span class="pb" id="Pg10">[10]</span>
+the capture of Apatura Iris. Of course he refused
+to tell where he had caught the butterfly.
+The Red Admiral stalked his footsteps, but
+in vain.</p>
+
+<p>"He! he! he!" nagged the Purple Emperor,
+cuddling his chin over a glass of cider;
+"I saw you sneaking about the St. Gildas
+spinny yesterday morning. So you think you
+can find another Apatura Iris by running after
+me? It won't do, Admiral, it won't do, d'ye
+see?"</p>
+
+<p>The Red Admiral turned yellow with mortification
+and envy, but the next day he actually
+took to his bed, for the Purple Emperor had
+brought home not a butterfly but a live chrysalis,
+which, if successfully hatched, would become
+a perfect specimen of the invaluable Apatura
+Iris. This was the last straw. The Red
+Admiral shut himself up in his little stone cottage,
+and for weeks now he had been invisible
+to everybody except 'Fine Lelocard who carried
+him a loaf of bread and a mullet or langouste
+every morning.</p>
+
+<p>The withdrawal of the Red Admiral from the
+society of St. Gildas excited first the derision
+and finally the suspicion of the Purple Emperor.
+What deviltry could he be hatching? Was he
+experimenting with chemicals again, or was he
+engaged in some deeper plot, the object of which
+was to discredit the Purple Emperor? Roux,
+the postman, who carried the mail on foot once
+<span class="pb" id="Pg11">[11]</span>
+a day from Bannalec, a distance of fifteen miles
+each way, had brought several suspicious letters,
+bearing English stamps, to the Red Admiral,
+and the next day the Admiral had been observed
+at his window grinning up into the sky and
+rubbing his hands together. A night or two
+after this apparition the postman left two packages
+at the Groix Inn for a moment while he ran
+across the way to drink a glass of cider with me.
+The Purple Emperor, who was roaming about
+the café, snooping into everything that did not
+concern him, came upon the packages and examined
+the postmarks and addresses. One of
+the packages was square and heavy, and felt like
+a book. The other was also square, but very
+light, and felt like a pasteboard box. They were
+both addressed to the Red Admiral, and they
+bore English stamps.</p>
+
+<p>When Roux, the postman, came back, the
+Purple Emperor tried to pump him, but the poor
+little postman knew nothing about the contents
+of the packages, and after he had taken them
+around the corner to the cottage of the Red Admiral
+the Purple Emperor ordered a glass of
+cider, and deliberately fuddled himself until
+Lys came in and tearfully supported him to his
+room. Here he became so abusive and brutal
+that Lys called to me, and I went and settled the
+trouble without wasting any words. This also
+the Purple Emperor remembered, and waited
+his chance to get even with me.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg12">[12]</span>
+That had happened a week ago, and until
+to-day he had not deigned to speak to me.</p>
+
+<p>Lys had posed for me all the week, and to-day
+being Saturday, and I lazy, we had decided
+to take a little relaxation, she to visit and gossip
+with her little black-eyed friend Yvette in the
+neighbouring hamlet of St. Julien, and I to
+try the appetites of the Breton trout with the
+contents of my American fly book.</p>
+
+<p>I had thrashed the stream very conscientiously
+for three hours, but not a trout had risen
+to my cast, and I was piqued. I had begun to
+believe that there were no trout in the St. Gildas
+stream, and would probably have given up had
+I not seen the sea trout snap the little fly which
+the Purple Emperor had named so scientifically.
+That set me thinking. Probably the
+Purple Emperor was right, for he certainly was
+an expert in everything that crawled and wriggled
+in Brittany. So I matched, from my
+American fly book, the fly that the sea trout
+had snapped up, and withdrawing the cast of
+three, knotted a new leader to the silk and
+slipped a fly on the loop. It was a queer fly. It
+was one of those unnameable experiments which
+fascinate anglers in sporting stores and which
+generally prove utterly useless. Moreover, it
+was a tailed fly, but of course I easily remedied
+that with a stroke of my penknife. Then I was
+all ready, and I stepped out into the hurrying
+rapids and cast straight as an arrow to the spot
+<span class="pb" id="Pg13">[13]</span>
+where the sea trout had risen. Lightly as a
+plume the fly settled on the bosom of the pool;
+then came a startling splash, a gleam of silver,
+and the line tightened from the vibrating rod-tip
+to the shrieking reel. Almost instantly I
+checked the fish, and as he floundered for a moment,
+making the water boil along his glittering
+sides, I sprang to the bank again, for I saw that
+the fish was a heavy one and I should probably
+be in for a long run down the stream. The five-ounce
+rod swept in a splendid circle, quivering
+under the strain. "Oh, for a gaff-hook!" I
+cried aloud, for I was now firmly convinced that
+I had a salmon to deal with, and no sea trout
+at all.</p>
+
+<p>Then as I stood, bringing every ounce to
+bear on the sulking fish, a lithe, slender girl
+came hurriedly along the opposite bank calling
+out to me by name.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, Lys!" I said, glancing up for a second,
+"I thought you were at St. Julien with
+Yvette."</p>
+
+<p>"Yvette has gone to <ins class="corr" title="Bannelec" id="C013">Bannalec</ins>. I went
+home and found an awful fight going on at the
+Groix Inn, and I was so frightened that I came
+to tell you."</p>
+
+<p>The fish dashed off at that moment, carrying all
+the line my reel held, and I was compelled
+to follow him at a jump. Lys, active and graceful
+as a young deer, in spite of her Pont-Aven
+sabots, followed along the opposite bank until
+<span class="pb" id="Pg14">[14]</span>
+the fish settled in a deep pool, shook the line savagely
+once or twice, and then relapsed into the
+sulks.</p>
+
+<p>"Fight at the Groix Inn?" I called across
+the water. "What fight?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not exactly fight," quavered Lys, "but the
+Red Admiral has come out of his house at last,
+and he and my uncle are drinking together and
+disputing about butterflies. I never saw my
+uncle so angry, and the Red Admiral is sneering
+and grinning. Oh, it is almost wicked to see
+such a face!"</p>
+
+<p>"But Lys," I said, scarcely able to repress
+a smile, "your uncle and the Red Admiral are
+always quarrelling and drinking."</p>
+
+<p>"I know&mdash;oh, dear me!&mdash;but this is different,
+Monsieur Darrel. The Red Admiral has
+grown old and fierce since he shut himself up
+three weeks ago, and&mdash;oh, dear! I never saw
+such a look in my uncle's eyes before. He
+seemed insane with fury. His eyes&mdash;I can't
+speak of it&mdash;and then Terrec came in."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh," I said more gravely, "that was unfortunate.
+What did the Red Admiral say to
+his son?"</p>
+
+<p>Lys sat down on a rock among the ferns,
+and gave me a mutinous glance from her blue
+eyes.</p>
+
+<p>Yves Terrec, loafer, poacher, and son of Louis
+Jean Terrec, otherwise the Red Admiral, had
+been kicked out by his father, and had also been
+<span class="pb" id="Pg15">[15]</span>
+forbidden the village by the Purple Emperor,
+in his majestic capacity of mayor. Twice the
+young ruffian had returned: once to rifle the
+bedroom of the Purple Emperor&mdash;an unsuccessful
+enterprise&mdash;and another time to rob his own
+father. He succeeded in the latter attempt, but
+was never caught, although he was frequently
+seen roving about the forests and moors with his
+gun. He openly menaced the Purple Emperor;
+vowed that he would marry Lys in spite of all
+the gendarmes in Quimperlé; and these same
+gendarmes he led many a long chase through
+brier-filled swamps and over miles of yellow
+gorse.</p>
+
+<p>What he did to the Purple Emperor&mdash;what
+he intended to do&mdash;disquieted me but little;
+but I worried over his threat concerning Lys.
+During the last three months this had bothered
+me a great deal; for when Lys came to St. Gildas
+from the convent the first thing she captured
+was my heart. For a long time I had refused
+to believe that any tie of blood linked this
+dainty blue-eyed creature with the Purple Emperor.
+Although she dressed in the velvet-laced
+bodice and blue petticoat of Finistère, and
+wore the bewitching white coiffe of St. Gildas,
+it seemed like a pretty masquerade. To me she
+was as sweet and as gently bred as many a
+maiden of the noble Faubourg who danced with
+her cousins at a Louis XV fête champêtre. So
+when Lys said that Yves Terrec had returned
+<span class="pb" id="Pg16">[16]</span>
+openly to St. Gildas, I felt that I had better be
+there also.</p>
+
+<p>"What did Terrec say, Lys?" I asked,
+watching the line vibrating above the placid
+pool.</p>
+
+<p>The wild rose colour crept into her cheeks.
+"Oh," she answered, with a little toss of her
+chin, "you know what he always says."</p>
+
+<p>"That he will carry you away?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes."</p>
+
+<p>"In spite of the Purple Emperor, the Red
+Admiral, and the gendarmes?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes."</p>
+
+<p>"And what do you say, Lys?"</p>
+
+<p>"I? Oh, nothing."</p>
+
+<p>"Then let me say it for you."</p>
+
+<p>Lys looked at her delicate pointed sabots,
+the sabots from Pont-Aven, made to order.
+They fitted her little foot. They were her only
+luxury.</p>
+
+<p>"Will you let me answer for you, Lys?" I
+asked.</p>
+
+<p>"You, Monsieur Darrel?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. Will you let me give him his answer?"</p>
+
+<p>"Mon Dieu, why should you concern yourself,
+Monsieur Darrel?"</p>
+
+<p>The fish lay very quiet, but the rod in my
+hand trembled.</p>
+
+<p>"Because I love you, Lys."</p>
+
+<p>The wild rose colour in her cheeks deepened;
+<span class="pb" id="Pg17">[17]</span>
+she gave a gentle gasp, then hid her curly head
+in her hands.</p>
+
+<p>"I love you, Lys."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you know what you say?" she stammered.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I love you."</p>
+
+<p>She raised her sweet face and looked at me
+across the pool.</p>
+
+<p>"I love you," she said, while the tears stood
+like stars in her eyes. "Shall I come over the
+brook to you?"</p>
+
+<h3>II.</h3>
+
+<p>That night Yves Terrec left the village of St.
+Gildas vowing vengeance against his father, who
+refused him shelter.</p>
+
+<p>I can see him now, standing in the road, his
+bare legs rising like pillars of bronze from his
+straw-stuffed sabots, his short velvet jacket torn
+and soiled by exposure and dissipation, and his
+eyes, fierce, roving, bloodshot&mdash;while the Red
+Admiral squeaked curses on him, and hobbled
+away into his little stone cottage.</p>
+
+<p>"I will not forget you!" cried Yves Terrec,
+and stretched out his hand toward his father
+with a terrible gesture. Then he whipped his
+gun to his cheek and took a short step forward,
+but I caught him by the throat before he could
+fire, and a second later we were rolling in the
+dust of the Bannalec road. I had to hit him a
+heavy blow behind the ear before he would let
+<span class="pb" id="Pg18">[18]</span>
+go, and then, rising and shaking myself, I dashed
+his muzzle-loading fowling piece to bits against
+a wall, and threw his knife into the river. The
+Purple Emperor was looking on with a queer
+light in his eyes. It was plain that he was sorry
+Terrec had not choked me to death.</p>
+
+<p>"He would have killed his father," I said, as
+I passed him, going toward the Groix Inn.</p>
+
+<p>"That's his business," snarled the Purple
+Emperor. There was a deadly light in his eyes.
+For a moment I thought he was going to attack
+me; but he was merely viciously drunk, so I
+shoved him out of my way and went to bed, tired
+and disgusted.</p>
+
+<p>The worst of it was I couldn't sleep, for I
+feared that the Purple Emperor might begin to
+abuse Lys. I lay restlessly tossing among the
+sheets until I could stay there no longer. I did
+not dress entirely; I merely slipped on a pair of
+chaussons and sabots, a pair of knickerbockers,
+a jersey, and a cap. Then, loosely tying a handkerchief
+about my throat, I went down the
+worm-eaten stairs and out into the moonlit road.
+There was a candle flaring in the Purple Emperor's
+window, but I could not see him.</p>
+
+<p>"He's probably dead drunk," I thought,
+and looked up at the window where, three years
+before, I had first seen Lys.</p>
+
+<p>"Asleep, thank Heaven!" I muttered, and
+wandered out along the road. Passing the
+small cottage of the Red Admiral, I saw that it
+<span class="pb" id="Pg19">[19]</span>
+was dark, but the door was open. I stepped inside
+the hedge to shut it, thinking, in case Yves
+Terrec should be roving about, his father would
+lose whatever he had left.</p>
+
+<p>Then, after fastening the door with a stone,
+I wandered on through the dazzling Breton
+moonlight. A nightingale was singing in a
+willow swamp below, and from the edge of the
+mere, among the tall swamp grasses, myriads of
+frogs chanted a bass chorus.</p>
+
+<p>When I returned, the eastern sky was beginning
+to lighten, and across the meadows on the
+cliffs, outlined against the paling horizon, I saw
+a seaweed gatherer going to his work among
+the curling breakers on the coast. His long
+rake was balanced on his shoulder, and the sea
+wind carried his song across the meadows to me:</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="verse indent2">St. Gildas!</div>
+<div class="verse indent2">St. Gildas!</div>
+<div class="verse indent2">Pray for us,</div>
+<div class="verse indent2">Shelter us,</div>
+<div class="verse">Us who toil in the sea.</div>
+</div></div></div>
+
+<p>Passing the shrine at the entrance of the village,
+I took off my cap and knelt in prayer to
+Our Lady of Faöuet; and if I neglected myself
+in that prayer, surely I believed Our Lady of
+Faöuet would be kinder to Lys. It is said that
+the shrine casts white shadows. I looked, but
+saw only the moonlight. Then very peacefully
+I went to bed again, and was only awakened
+<span class="pb" id="Pg20">[20]</span>
+by the clank of sabres and the trample of
+horses in the road below my window.</p>
+
+<p>"Good gracious!" I thought, "it must be
+eleven o'clock, for there are the gendarmes
+from Quimperlé."</p>
+
+<p>I looked at my watch; it was only half-past
+eight, and as the gendarmes made their rounds
+every Thursday at eleven, I wondered what had
+brought them out so early to St. Gildas.</p>
+
+<p>"Of course," I grumbled, rubbing my eyes,
+"they are after Terrec," and I jumped into my
+limited bath.</p>
+
+<p>Before I was completely dressed I heard a
+timid knock, and opening my door, razor in
+hand, stood astonished and silent. Lys, her
+blue eyes wide with terror, leaned on the
+threshold.</p>
+
+<p>"My darling!" I cried, "what on earth is
+the matter?" But she only clung to me, panting
+like a wounded sea gull. At last, when I
+drew her into the room and raised her face to
+mine, she spoke in a heart-breaking voice:</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Dick! they are going to arrest you,
+but I will die before I believe one word of what
+they say. No, don't ask me," and she began
+to sob desperately.</p>
+
+<p>When I found that something really serious
+was the matter, I flung on my coat and cap,
+and, slipping one arm about her waist, went
+down the stairs and out into the road. Four
+gendarmes sat on their horses in front of the
+<span class="pb" id="Pg21">[21]</span>
+café door; beyond them, the entire population
+of St. Gildas gaped, ten deep.</p>
+
+<p>"Hello, Durand!" I said to the brigadier,
+"what the devil is this I hear about arresting
+me?"</p>
+
+<p>"It's true, mon ami," replied Durand with
+sepulchral sympathy. I looked him over from
+the tip of his spurred boots to his sulphur-yellow
+sabre belt, then upward, button by button,
+to his disconcerted face.</p>
+
+<p>"What for?" I said scornfully. "Don't
+try any cheap sleuth work on me! Speak up,
+man, what's the trouble?"</p>
+
+<p>The Purple Emperor, who sat in the doorway
+staring at me, started to speak, but thought
+better of it and got up and went into the house.
+The gendarmes rolled their eyes mysteriously
+and looked wise.</p>
+
+<p>"Come, Durand," I said impatiently,
+"what's the charge?"</p>
+
+<p>"Murder," he said in a faint voice.</p>
+
+<p>"What!" I cried incredulously. "Nonsense!
+Do I look like a murderer? Get off
+your horse, you stupid, and tell me who's murdered."</p>
+
+<p>Durand got down, looking very silly, and
+came up to me, offering his hand with a propitiatory
+grin.</p>
+
+<p>"It was the Purple Emperor who denounced
+you! See, they found your handkerchief
+at his door&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg22">[22]</span>
+"Whose door, for Heaven's sake?" I cried.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, the Red Admiral's!"</p>
+
+<p>"The Red Admiral's? What has he
+done?"</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing&mdash;he's only been murdered."</p>
+
+<p>I could scarcely believe my senses, although
+they took me over to the little stone cottage and
+pointed out the blood-spattered room. But
+the horror of the thing was that the corpse of
+the murdered man had disappeared, and there
+only remained a nauseating lake of blood on
+the stone floor, in the centre of which lay a human
+hand. There was no doubt as to whom
+the hand belonged, for everybody who had ever
+seen the Red Admiral knew that the shrivelled
+bit of flesh which lay in the thickening blood
+was the hand of the Red Admiral. To me it
+looked like the severed claw of some gigantic
+bird.</p>
+
+<p>"Well," I said, "there's been murder committed.
+Why don't you do something?"</p>
+
+<p>"What?" asked Durand.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know. Send for the Commissaire."</p>
+
+<p>"He's at Quimperlé. I telegraphed."</p>
+
+<p>"Then send for a doctor, and find out how
+long this blood has been coagulating."</p>
+
+<p>"The chemist from Quimperlé is here; he's
+a doctor."</p>
+
+<p>"What does he say?"</p>
+
+<p>"He says that he doesn't know."</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg23">[23]</span>
+"And who are you going to arrest?" I inquired,
+turning away from the spectacle on the
+floor.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know," said the brigadier solemnly;
+"you are denounced by the Purple Emperor,
+because he found your handkerchief at the door
+when he went out this morning."</p>
+
+<p>"Just like a pig-headed Breton!" I exclaimed,
+thoroughly angry. "Did he not mention
+Yves Terrec?"</p>
+
+<p>"No."</p>
+
+<p>"Of course not," I said. "He overlooked
+the fact that Terrec tried to shoot his father
+last night, and that I took away his gun. All
+that counts for nothing when he finds my handkerchief
+at the murdered man's door."</p>
+
+<p>"Come into the café," said Durand, much
+disturbed, "we can talk it over, there. Of
+course, Monsieur Darrel, I have never had the
+faintest idea that you were the murderer!"</p>
+
+<p>The four gendarmes and I walked across the
+road to the Groix Inn and entered the café. It
+was crowded with <ins class="corr" title="Britons" id="C023">Bretons</ins>, smoking, drinking,
+and jabbering in half a dozen dialects, all
+equally unsatisfactory to a civilized ear; and I
+pushed through the crowd to where little Max
+Fortin, the chemist of Quimperlé, stood smoking
+a vile cigar.</p>
+
+<p>"This is a bad business," he said, shaking
+hands and offering me the mate to his cigar,
+which I politely declined.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg24">[24]</span>
+"Now, Monsieur Fortin," I said, "it appears
+that the Purple Emperor found my handkerchief
+near the murdered man's door this morning,
+and so he concludes"&mdash;here I glared at the
+Purple Emperor&mdash;"that I am the assassin. I
+will now ask him a question," and turning on
+him suddenly, I shouted, "What were you doing
+at the Red Admiral's door?"</p>
+
+<p>The Purple Emperor started and turned
+pale, and I pointed at him triumphantly.</p>
+
+<p>"See what a sudden question will do. Look
+how embarrassed he is, and yet I do not charge
+him with murder; and I tell you, gentlemen,
+that man there knows as well as I do who was
+the murderer of the Red Admiral!"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't!" bawled the Purple Emperor.</p>
+
+<p>"You do," I said. "It was Yves Terrec."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't believe it," he said obstinately,
+dropping his voice.</p>
+
+<p>"Of course not, being pig-headed."</p>
+
+<p>"I am not pig-headed," he roared again,
+"but I am mayor of St. Gildas, and I do
+not believe that Yves Terrec killed his
+father."</p>
+
+<p>"You saw him try to kill him last night?"</p>
+
+<p>The mayor grunted.</p>
+
+<p>"And you saw what I did."</p>
+
+<p>He grunted again.</p>
+
+<p>"And," I went on, "you heard Yves Terrec
+threaten to kill his father. You heard him
+curse the Red Admiral and swear to kill him.
+<span class="pb" id="Pg25">[25]</span>
+Now the father is murdered and his body is
+gone."</p>
+
+<p>"And your handkerchief?" sneered the
+Purple Emperor.</p>
+
+<p>"I dropped it, of course."</p>
+
+<p>"And the seaweed gatherer who saw you
+last night lurking about the Red Admiral's
+cottage," grinned the Purple Emperor.</p>
+
+<p>I was startled at the man's malice.</p>
+
+<p>"That will do," I said. "It is perfectly
+true that I was walking on the Bannalec road
+last night, and that I stopped to close the Red
+Admiral's door, which was ajar, although his
+light was not burning. After that I went up
+the road to the Dinez Woods, and then walked
+over by St. Julien, whence I saw the seaweed
+gatherer on the cliffs. He was near enough for
+me to hear what he sang. What of that?"</p>
+
+<p>"What did you do then?"</p>
+
+<p>"Then I stopped at the shrine and said a
+prayer, and then I went to bed and slept until
+Brigadier Durand's gendarmes awoke me with
+their clatter."</p>
+
+<p>"Now, Monsieur Darrel," said the Purple
+Emperor, lifting a fat finger and shooting a
+wicked glance at me, "Now, Monsieur Darrel,
+which did you wear last night on your midnight
+stroll&mdash;sabots or shoes?"</p>
+
+<p>I thought a moment. "Shoes&mdash;no, sabots.
+I just slipped on my chaussons and went out
+in my sabots."</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg26">[26]</span>
+"Which was it, shoes or sabots?" snarled
+the Purple Emperor.</p>
+
+<p>"Sabots, you fool."</p>
+
+<p>"Are these your sabots?" he asked, lifting
+up a wooden shoe with my initials cut on the
+instep.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," I replied.</p>
+
+<p>"Then how did this blood come on the other
+one?" he shouted, and held up a sabot, the mate
+to the first, on which a drop of blood had spattered.</p>
+
+<p>"I haven't the least idea," I said calmly;
+but my heart was beating very fast and I was
+furiously angry.</p>
+
+<p>"You blockhead!" I said, controlling my
+rage, "I'll make you pay for this when they
+catch Yves Terrec and convict him. Brigadier
+Durand, do your duty if you think I am
+under suspicion. Arrest me, but grant me
+one favour. Put me in the Red Admiral's
+cottage, and I'll see whether I can't find some
+clew that you have overlooked. Of course,
+I won't disturb anything until the Commissaire
+arrives. Bah! You all make me
+very ill."</p>
+
+<p>"He's hardened," observed the Purple Emperor,
+wagging his head.</p>
+
+<p>"What motive had I to kill the Red Admiral?"
+I asked them all scornfully. And they
+all cried:</p>
+
+<p>"None! Yves Terrec is the man!"</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg27">[27]</span>
+Passing out of the door I swung around and
+shook my finger at the Purple Emperor.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I'll make you dance for this, my
+friend," I said; and I followed Brigadier Durand
+across the street to the cottage of the murdered
+man.</p>
+
+<h3>III.</h3>
+
+<p>They took me at my word and placed a
+gendarme with a bared sabre at the gateway by
+the hedge.</p>
+
+<p>"Give me your parole," said poor Durand,
+"and I will let you go where you wish." But
+I refused, and began prowling about the cottage
+looking for clews. I found lots of things that
+some people would have considered most important,
+such as ashes from the Red Admiral's
+pipe, footprints in a dusty vegetable bin, bottles
+smelling of Pouldu cider, and dust&mdash;oh,
+lots of dust!&mdash;but I was not an expert, only a
+stupid, everyday amateur; so I defaced the
+footprints with my thick shooting boots, and I
+declined to examine the pipe ashes through a
+microscope, although the Red Admiral's microscope
+stood on the table close at hand.</p>
+
+<p>At last I found what I had been looking for,
+some long wisps of straw, curiously depressed
+and flattened in the middle, and I was certain
+I had found the evidence that would settle
+Yves Terrec for the rest of his life. It was
+plain as the nose on your face. The straws were
+<span class="pb" id="Pg28">[28]</span>
+sabot straws, flattened where the foot had
+pressed them, and sticking straight out where
+they projected beyond the sabot. Now nobody
+in St. Gildas used straw in sabots except a
+fisherman who lived near St. Julien, and the
+straw in his sabots was ordinary yellow wheat
+straw! This straw, or rather these straws, were
+from the stalks of the red wheat which only
+grows inland, and which, everybody in St. Gildas
+knew, Yves Terrec wore in his sabots. I was
+perfectly satisfied; and when, three hours later,
+a hoarse shouting from the Bannalec Road
+brought me to the window, I was not surprised
+to see Yves Terrec, bloody, dishevelled, hatless,
+with his strong arms bound behind him, walking
+with bent head between two mounted gendarmes.
+The crowd around him swelled every
+minute, crying: "Parricide! parricide! Death
+to the murderer!" As he passed my window
+I saw great clots of mud on his dusty sabots,
+from the heels of which projected wisps of
+red wheat straw. Then I walked back into the
+Red Admiral's study, determined to find what
+the microscope would show on the wheat straws.
+I examined each one very carefully, and then,
+my eyes aching, I rested my chin on my hand
+and leaned back in the chair. I had not been
+as fortunate as some detectives, for there was
+no evidence that the straws had ever been used
+in a sabot at all. Furthermore, directly across
+the hallway stood a carved Breton chest, and
+<span class="pb" id="Pg29">[29]</span>
+now I noticed for the first time that, from beneath
+the closed lid, <ins class="corr" title="doxens" id="C029">dozens</ins> of similar red wheat
+straws projected, bent exactly as mine were
+bent by the weight of the lid.</p>
+
+<p>I yawned in disgust. It was apparent that
+I was not cut out for a detective, and I bitterly
+pondered over the difference between clews in
+real life and clews in a detective story. After a
+while I rose, walked over to the chest and
+opened the lid. The interior was wadded with
+the red wheat straws, and on this wadding lay
+two curious glass jars, two or three small vials,
+several empty bottles labelled chloroform, a
+collecting jar of cyanide of potassium, and a
+book. In a farther corner of the chest were
+some letters bearing English stamps, and also
+the torn coverings of two parcels, all from England,
+and all directed to the Red Admiral under
+his proper name of "Sieur Louis Jean Terrec,
+St. Gildas, par Moëlan, Finistère."</p>
+
+<p>All these traps I carried over to the desk,
+shut the lid of the chest, and sat down to read
+the letters. They were written in commercial
+French, evidently by an Englishman.</p>
+
+<p>Freely translated, the contents of the first
+letter were as follows:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquote">
+<p class="right">"<span class="smcap">London</span>, <i>June 12, 1894</i>.</p>
+
+<p>"<span class="smcap">Dear Monsieur</span> (<i lang="la" xml:lang="la">sic</i>): Your kind favour
+of the 19th inst. received and contents
+noted. The latest work on the Lepidoptera of
+England is Blowzer's How to catch British
+<span class="pb" id="Pg30">[30]</span>
+Butterflies, with notes and tables, and an introduction
+by Sir Thomas Sniffer. The price of
+this work (in one volume, calf) is £5 or 125
+francs of French money. A post-office order
+will receive our prompt attention. We beg to
+remain,</p>
+
+<div class="right">
+<div class="signature">
+<p>"Yours, etc.,<br />
+<span class="pad2">"<span class="smcap">Fradley &amp; Toomer</span>,</span><br />
+"470 Regent Square, London, S. W."</p>
+</div></div></div>
+
+<p>The next letter was even less interesting.
+It merely stated that the money had been received
+and the book would be forwarded. The
+third engaged my attention, and I shall quote it,
+the translation being a free one:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquote">
+<p>"<span class="smcap">Dear Sir</span>: Your letter of the 1st of July
+was duly received, and we at once referred it to
+Mr. Fradley himself. Mr. Fradley being much
+interested in your question, sent your letter to
+Professor Schweineri, of the Berlin Entomological
+Society, whose note Blowzer refers to on page
+630, in his How to catch British Butterflies. We
+have just received an answer from Professor
+Schweineri, which we translate into French&mdash;(see
+inclosed slip). Professor Schweineri begs
+to present to you two jars of cythyl, prepared
+under his own supervision. We forward the
+same to you. Trusting that you will find everything
+satisfactory, we remain,</p>
+
+<div class="right">
+<div class="signature">
+<p>"Yours sincerely,<br />
+<span class="pad2">"<span class="smcap">Fradley &amp; Toomer</span>."</span></p>
+</div></div></div>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg31">[31]</span>
+The inclosed slip read as follows:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquote">
+<p>"Messrs. <span class="smcap">Fradley</span> &amp; <span class="smcap">Toomer</span>,</p>
+
+<p>"<span class="smcap">Gentlemen</span>: Cythaline, a complex hydrocarbon,
+was first used by Professor Schnoot, of
+Antwerp, a year ago. I discovered an analogous
+formula about the same time and named it cythyl.
+I have used it with great success everywhere. It
+is as certain as a magnet. I beg to present you
+three small jars, and would be pleased to have
+you forward two of them to your correspondent
+in St. Gildas with my compliments. Blowzer's
+quotation of me, on page 630 of his glorious
+work, How to catch British Butterflies, is correct.</p>
+
+<div class="right">
+<div class="signature">
+<p>"Yours, etc.,<br />
+<span class="pad2">"<span class="smcap">Heinrich Schweineri</span>,</span><br />
+<span class="pad3">P.H.D., D.D., D.S., M.S."</span></p>
+</div></div></div>
+
+<p>When I had finished this letter I folded it up
+and put it into my pocket with the others.
+Then I opened Blowzer's valuable work, How
+to catch British Butterflies, and turned to
+page 630.</p>
+
+<p>Now, although the Red Admiral could only
+have acquired the book very recently, and although
+all the other pages were perfectly clean,
+this particular page was thumbed black, and
+heavy pencil marks inclosed a paragraph at the
+bottom of the page. This is the paragraph:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquote">
+<p>"Professor Schweineri says: 'Of the two old
+methods used by collectors for the capture of
+<span class="pb" id="Pg32">[32]</span>
+the swift-winged, high-flying Apatura Iris, or
+Purple Emperor, the first, which was using a
+long-handled net, proved successful once in a
+thousand times; and the second, the placing of
+bait upon the ground, such as decayed meat,
+dead cats, rats, etc., was not only disagreeable,
+even for an enthusiastic collector, but also very
+uncertain. Once in five hundred times would
+the splendid butterfly leave the tops of his favourite
+oak trees to circle about the fetid bait
+offered. I have found cythyl a perfectly sure
+bait to draw this beautiful butterfly to the
+ground, where it can be easily captured. An
+ounce of cythyl placed in a yellow saucer under
+an oak tree, will draw to it every Apatura Iris
+within a radius of twenty miles. So, if any
+collector who possesses a little cythyl, even
+though it be in a sealed bottle in his pocket&mdash;if
+such a collector does not find a single Apatura
+Iris fluttering close about him within an hour,
+let him be satisfied that the Apatura Iris does
+not inhabit his country.'"</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>When I had finished reading this note I sat
+for a long while thinking hard. Then I examined
+the two jars. They were labelled
+"<cite>Cythyl</cite>." One was full, the other <em>nearly full</em>.
+"The rest must be on the corpse of the Red Admiral,"
+I thought, "no matter if it is in a
+corked bottle&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>I took all the things back to the chest, laid
+<span class="pb" id="Pg33">[33]</span>
+them carefully on the straw, and closed the lid.
+The gendarme sentinel at the gate saluted me
+respectfully as I crossed over to the Groix Inn.
+The Inn was surrounded by an excited crowd,
+and the hallway was choked with gendarmes
+and peasants. On every side they greeted me
+cordially, announcing that the real murderer
+was caught; but I pushed by them without a
+word and ran upstairs to find Lys. She opened
+her door when I knocked and threw both arms
+about my neck. I took her to my breast and
+kissed her. After a moment I asked her if she
+would obey me no matter what I commanded,
+and she said she would, with a proud humility
+that touched me.</p>
+
+<p>"Then go at once to Yvette in St. Julien,"
+I said. "Ask her to harness the dog-cart and
+drive you to the convent in Quimperlé. Wait
+for me there. Will you do this without questioning
+me, my darling?"</p>
+
+<p>She raised her face to mine. "Kiss me,"
+she said innocently; the next moment she had
+vanished.</p>
+
+<p>I walked deliberately into the Purple Emperor's
+room and peered into the gauze-covered
+box which had held the chrysalis of Apatura
+Iris. It was as I expected. The chrysalis was
+empty and transparent, and a great crack ran
+down the middle of its back, but, on the netting
+inside the box, a magnificent butterfly slowly
+waved its burnished purple wings; for the
+<span class="pb" id="Pg34">[34]</span>
+chrysalis had given up its silent tenant, the butterfly
+symbol of immortality. Then a great
+fear fell upon me. I know now that it was
+the fear of the Black Priest, but neither then
+nor for years after did I know that the Black
+Priest had ever lived on earth. As I bent
+over the box I heard a confused murmur
+outside the house which ended in a furious
+shout of "Parricide!" and I heard the
+gendarmes ride away behind a wagon which
+rattled sharply on the flinty highway. I went
+to the window. In the wagon sat Yves Terrec,
+bound and wild-eyed, two gendarmes at either
+side of him, and all around the wagon rode
+mounted gendarmes whose bared sabres scarcely
+kept the crowd away.</p>
+
+<p>"Parricide!" they howled. "Let him
+die!"</p>
+
+<p>I stepped back and opened the gauze-covered
+box. Very gently but firmly I took the
+splendid butterfly by its closed fore wings and
+lifted it unharmed between my thumb and forefinger.
+Then, holding it concealed behind my
+back, I went down into the café.</p>
+
+<p>Of all the crowd that had filled it, shouting
+for the death of Yves Terrec, only three persons
+remained seated in front of the huge empty
+fireplace. They were the Brigadier Durand,
+Max Fortin, the chemist of Quimperlé, and
+the Purple Emperor. The latter looked
+abashed when I entered, but I paid no attention
+<span class="pb" id="Pg35">[35]</span>
+to him and walked straight to the
+chemist.</p>
+
+<p>"Monsieur Fortin," I said, "do you know
+much about hydrocarbons?"</p>
+
+<p>"They are my specialty," he said astonished.</p>
+
+<p>"Have you ever heard of such a thing as
+cythyl?"</p>
+
+<p>"Schweineri's cythyl? Oh, yes! We use
+it in perfumery."</p>
+
+<p>"Good!" I said. "Has it an odour?"</p>
+
+<p>"No&mdash;and, yes. One is always aware of
+its presence, but really nobody can affirm it
+has an odour. It is curious," he continued,
+looking at me, "it is very curious you
+should have asked me that, for all day I have
+been imagining I detected the presence of
+cythyl."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you imagine so now?" I asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, more than ever."</p>
+
+<p>I sprang to the front door and tossed out the
+butterfly. The splendid creature beat the air
+for a moment, flitted uncertainly hither and
+thither, and then, to my astonishment, sailed
+majestically back into the café and alighted on
+the hearthstone. For a moment I was nonplussed,
+but when my eyes rested on the Purple
+Emperor I comprehended in a flash.</p>
+
+<p>"Lift that hearthstone!" I cried to the
+Brigadier Durand; "pry it up with your scabbard!"</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg36">[36]</span>
+The Purple Emperor suddenly fell forward
+in his chair, his face ghastly white, his jaw loose
+with terror.</p>
+
+<p>"What is cythyl?" I shouted, seizing him
+by the arm; but he plunged heavily from his
+chair, face downward on the floor, and at the
+same moment a cry from the chemist made me
+turn. There stood the Brigadier Durand, one
+hand supporting the hearthstone, one hand
+raised in horror. There stood Max Fortin, the
+chemist, rigid with excitement, and below, in the
+hollow bed where the hearthstone had rested,
+lay a crushed mass of bleeding human flesh,
+from the midst of which stared a cheap glass
+eye. I seized the Purple Emperor and dragged
+him to his feet.</p>
+
+<p>"Look!" I cried; "look at your old friend,
+the Red Admiral!" but he only smiled in a
+vacant way, and rolled his head muttering;
+"Bait for butterflies! Cythyl! Oh, no, no,
+no! You can't do it, Admiral, d'ye see. I
+alone own the Purple Emperor! I alone am
+the Purple Emperor!"</p>
+
+<p>And the same carriage that bore me to
+Quimperlé to claim my bride, carried him to
+Quimper, gagged and bound, a foaming, howling
+lunatic.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb"/>
+
+<p>This, then, is the story of the Purple Emperor.
+I might tell you a pleasanter story if
+I chose; but concerning the fish that I had
+<span class="pb" id="Pg37">[37]</span>
+hold of, whether it was a salmon, a grilse,
+or a sea trout, I may not say, because I have
+promised Lys, and she has promised me, that
+no power on earth shall wring from our lips
+the mortifying confession that the fish escaped.</p>
+
+<hr /></div>
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2>POMPE FUNÈBRE.<span class="pb" id="Pg39">[39]</span></h2>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pb" id="Pg40">[40]</span>
+<div class="verse indent10">A wind-swept sky,</div>
+<div class="verse">The waste of moorland stretching to the west;</div>
+<div class="verse">The sea, low moaning in a strange unrest&mdash;</div>
+<div class="verse indent10">A seagull's cry.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<div class="verse indent10">Washed by the tide,</div>
+<div class="verse">The rocks lie sullen in the waning light;</div>
+<div class="verse">The foam breaks in long strips of hungry white,</div>
+<div class="verse indent10">Dissatisfied.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<div class="verse indent32"><span class="smcap">Bateman.</span></div>
+</div></div></div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="center"><big>POMPE FUNÈBRE.</big><span class="pb" id="Pg41">[41]</span></p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="verse">In the days when the keepers of the house shall tremble.</div>
+</div></div></div>
+
+<p>When I first saw the sexton he was standing
+motionless behind a stone. Presently he moved
+on again, pausing at times, and turning right
+and left with that nervous, jerky motion that
+always chills me.</p>
+
+<p>His path lay across the blighted moss and
+withered leaves scattered in moist layers along
+the bank of the little brown stream, and I, wondering
+what his errand might be, followed, passing
+silently over the rotting forest mould. Once
+or twice he heard me, for I saw him stop short,
+a blot of black and orange in the sombre woods;
+but he always started on again, hurrying at
+times as though the dead might grow impatient.</p>
+
+<p>For the sexton that I followed through the
+November forest was one of those small creatures
+that God has sent to bury little things that
+die alone in the world. Undertaker, sexton,
+mute, and gravedigger in one, this thing, robed
+<span class="pb" id="Pg42">[42]</span>
+in black and orange, buries all things that die
+unheeded by the world. And so they call it&mdash;this
+little beetle in black and orange&mdash;the
+"sexton."</p>
+
+<p>How he hurried! I looked up into the gray
+sky where ashen branches, interlaced, swayed
+in unfelt winds, and I heard the dry leaves rattle
+in the tree tops, and the thud of acorns on
+the mould. A sombre bird peered at me from
+a heap of brush, then ran pattering over the
+leaves.</p>
+
+<p>The sexton had reached a bit of broken
+ground, and was scuffling over sticks and gulleys
+toward a brown tuft of withered grass
+above. I dared not help him; besides, I could
+not bring myself to touch him, he was so horribly
+absorbed in his errand.</p>
+
+<p>I halted for a moment. The eagerness of
+this live creature to find his dead and handle
+it; the odour of death and decay in this little
+forest world, where I had waited for spring
+when Lys moved among the flowering gorse,
+singing like a throstle in the wind&mdash;all this
+troubled me, and I lagged behind.</p>
+
+<p>The sexton scrambled over the dead grass,
+raising his seared eyes at every wave of wind.
+The wind brought sadness with it, the scent of
+lifeless trees, the vague rustle of gorse buds,
+yellow and dry as paper flowers.</p>
+
+<p>Along the stream, rotting water plants,
+scorched and frost-blighted, lay massed above
+<span class="pb" id="Pg43">[43]</span>
+the mud. I saw their pallid stems swaying like
+worms in the listless current.</p>
+
+<p>The sexton had reached a mouldering
+stump, and now he seemed undecided. I sat
+down on a fallen tree, moist and bleached, that
+crumbled under my touch, leaving a stale odour
+in the air. Overhead a crow rose heavily and
+flapped out into the moorland; the wind rattled
+the stark blackthorns; a single drop of
+rain touched my cheek. I looked into the
+stream for some sign of life; there was nothing,
+except a shapeless creature that might have
+been a blindworm, lying belly upward on the
+mud bottom. I touched it with a stick. It
+was stiff and dead.</p>
+
+<p>The wind among the sham paperlike gorse
+buds filled the woods with a silken rustle. I
+put out my hand and touched a yellow blossom;
+it felt like an immortelle on a funeral
+pillow.</p>
+
+<p>The sexton had moved on again; something,
+perhaps a musty spider's web, had stuck
+to one leg, and he dragged it as he laboured on
+through the wood. Some little field mouse
+torn by weasel or kestrel, some crushed mole,
+some tiny dead pile of fur or feather, lay not far
+off, stricken by God or man or brother creature.
+And the sexton knew it&mdash;how, God
+knows! But he knew it, and hurried on to his
+tryst with the dead.</p>
+
+<p>His path now lay along the edge of a tidal
+<span class="pb" id="Pg44">[44]</span>
+inlet from the Groix River. I looked down at
+the gray water through the leafless branches,
+and I saw a small snake, head raised, swim from
+a submerged clot of weeds into the shadow of a
+rock. There was a curlew, too, somewhere in
+the black swamp, whose dreary, persistent call
+cursed the silence.</p>
+
+<p>I wondered when the sexton would fly; for
+he could fly if he chose; it is only when the
+dead are near, very near, that he creeps. The
+soiled mess of cobweb still stuck to him, and
+his progress was impeded by it. Once I saw
+a small brown and white spider, striped like
+a zebra, running swiftly in his tracks, but the
+sexton turned and raised his two clubbed forelegs
+in a horrid imploring attitude that still had
+something of menace under it. The spider
+backed away and sidled under a stone.</p>
+
+<p>When anything that is dying&mdash;sick and close
+to death&mdash;falls upon the face of the earth, something
+moves in the blue above, floating like a
+moat; then another, then others. These specks
+that grow out of the fathomless azure vault are
+jewelled flies. They come to wait for Death.</p>
+
+<p>The sexton also arranges rendezvous with
+Death, but never waits; Death must arrive the
+first.</p>
+
+<p>When the heavy clover is ablaze with painted
+wings, when bees hum and blunder among
+the white-thorn, or pass by like swift singing
+bullets, the sexton snaps open his black and
+<span class="pb" id="Pg45">[45]</span>
+orange wings and hums across the clover with
+the bees. Death in a scented garden, the
+tokens of the plague on a fair young breast, the
+gray flag of fear in the face of one who reels
+into the arms of Destruction, the sexton
+scrambling in the lap of spring, folding his
+sleek wings, unfolding them to ape the buzz of
+bees, passing over sweet clover tops to the putrid
+flesh that summons him&mdash;these things
+must be and will be to the end.</p>
+
+<p>The sexton was running now&mdash;running fast,
+trailing the cobweb over twigs and mud. The
+edge of the wood was near, for I could see the
+winter wheat, like green scenery in a theatre,
+stretching for miles across the cliffs, crude as
+painted grass. And as I crept through the
+brittle forest fringe, I saw a figure lying face
+downward in the wheat&mdash;a girl's slender form,
+limp, motionless.</p>
+
+<p>The sexton darted under her breast.</p>
+
+<p>Then I threw myself down beside her, crying,
+"Lys! Lys!" And as I cried, the icy
+rain burst out across the moors, and the trees
+dashed their stark limbs together till the whole
+spectral forest tossed and danced, and the wind
+roared among the cliffs.</p>
+
+<p>And through the Dance of Death Lys trembled
+in my arms, and sobbed and clung to me,
+murmuring that the Purple Emperor was dead;
+but the wind tore the words from her white lips,
+and flung them out across the sea, where the
+<span class="pb" id="Pg46">[46]</span>
+winter lightning lashed the stark heights of
+Groix.</p>
+
+<p>Then the fear of death was stilled in my
+soul, and I raised her from the ground, holding
+her close.</p>
+
+<p>And I saw the sexton, just beyond us, hurry
+across the ground and seek shelter under a little
+dead skylark, stiff-winged, muddy, lying alone
+in the rain.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb"/>
+
+<p>In the storm, above us, a bird hovered singing
+through the rain. It passed us twice, still
+singing, and as it passed again we saw the
+shadow it cast upon the world was whiter than
+snow.</p>
+
+<hr /></div>
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2>THE MESSENGER.<span class="pb" id="Pg47">[47]</span></h2>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pb" id="Pg48">[48]</span>
+<div class="verse">Little gray messenger,</div>
+<div class="verse">Robed like painted Death,</div>
+<div class="verse">Your robe is dust.</div>
+<div class="verse">Whom do you seek</div>
+<div class="verse">Among lilies and closed buds</div>
+<div class="verse indent4">At dusk?</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<div class="verse">Among lilies and closed buds</div>
+<div class="verse indent4">At dusk,</div>
+<div class="verse">Whom do you seek,</div>
+<div class="verse">Little gray messenger,</div>
+<div class="verse">Robed in the awful panoply</div>
+<div class="verse">Of painted Death?</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<div class="verse indent32">R. W. C.</div>
+</div></div></div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="center"><big>THE MESSENGER.</big><span class="pb" id="Pg49">[49]</span></p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="verse indent14">All-wise,</div>
+<div class="verse">Hast thou seen all there is to see with thy two eyes?</div>
+<div class="verse indent2">Dost thou know all there is to know, and so,</div>
+<div class="verse indent14">Omniscient,</div>
+<div class="verse">Darest thou still to say thy brother lies?</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<div class="verse indent32">R. W. C.</div>
+</div></div></div>
+
+<p>"The bullet entered here," said Max Fortin,
+and he placed his middle finger over a
+smooth hole exactly in the centre of the forehead.</p>
+
+<p>I sat down upon a mound of dry seaweed
+and unslung my fowling piece.</p>
+
+<p>The little chemist cautiously felt the edges
+of the shot-hole, first with his middle finger,
+then with his thumb.</p>
+
+<p>"Let me see the skull again," said I.</p>
+
+<p>Max Fortin picked it up from the sod.</p>
+
+<p>"It's like all the others," he observed. I
+nodded, without offering to take it from him.
+After a moment he thoughtfully replaced it
+upon the grass at my feet.</p>
+
+<p>"It's like all the others," he repeated, wiping
+his glasses on his handkerchief. "I
+<span class="pb" id="Pg50">[50]</span>
+thought you might care to see one of the skulls,
+so I brought this over from the gravel pit. The
+men from Bannalec are digging yet. They
+ought to stop."</p>
+
+<p>"How many skulls are there altogether?"
+I inquired.</p>
+
+<p>"They found thirty-eight skulls; there are
+thirty-nine noted in the list. They lie piled up
+in the gravel pit on the edge of Le Bihan's
+wheat field. The men are at work yet. Le Bihan
+is going to stop them."</p>
+
+<p>"Let's go over," said I; and I picked up
+my gun and started across the cliffs, Fortin on
+one side, Môme on the other.</p>
+
+<p>"Who has the list?" I asked, lighting my
+pipe. "You say there is a list?"</p>
+
+<p>"The list was found rolled up in a brass
+cylinder," said the little chemist. He added:
+"You should not smoke here. You know that
+if a single spark drifted into the wheat&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, but I have a cover to my pipe," said
+I, smiling.</p>
+
+<p>Fortin watched me as I closed the pepper-box
+arrangement over the glowing bowl of the
+pipe. Then he continued:</p>
+
+<p>"The list was made out on thick yellow
+paper; the brass tube has preserved it. It is
+as fresh to-day as it was in 1760. You shall
+see it."</p>
+
+<p>"Is that the date?"</p>
+
+<p>"The list is dated 'April, 1760.' The
+<span class="pb" id="Pg51">[51]</span>
+Brigadier Durand has it. It is not written in
+French."</p>
+
+<p>"Not written in French!" I exclaimed.</p>
+
+<p>"No," replied Fortin solemnly, "it is
+written in Breton."</p>
+
+<p>"But," I protested, "the Breton language
+was never written or printed in 1760."</p>
+
+<p>"Except by priests," said the chemist.</p>
+
+<p>"I have heard of but one priest who ever
+wrote the Breton language," I began.</p>
+
+<p>Fortin stole a glance at my face.</p>
+
+<p>"You mean&mdash;the Black Priest?" he
+asked.</p>
+
+<p>I nodded.</p>
+
+<p>Fortin opened his mouth to speak again,
+hesitated, and finally shut his teeth obstinately
+over the wheat stem that he was chewing.</p>
+
+<p>"And the Black Priest?" I suggested encouragingly.
+But I knew it was useless; for it
+is easier to move the stars from their courses
+than to make an obstinate Breton talk. We
+walked on for a minute or two in silence.</p>
+
+<p>"Where is the Brigadier Durand?" I
+asked, motioning Môme to come out of the
+wheat, which he was trampling as though it
+were heather. As I spoke we came in sight of
+the farther edge of the wheat field and the dark,
+wet mass of cliffs beyond.</p>
+
+<p>"Durand is down there&mdash;you can see him;
+he stands just behind the Mayor of St. Gildas."</p>
+
+<p>"I see," said I; and we struck straight
+<span class="pb" id="Pg52">[52]</span>
+down, following a sun-baked cattle path across
+the heather.</p>
+
+<p>When we reached the edge of the wheat
+field, Le Bihan, the Mayor of St. Gildas, called
+to me, and I tucked my gun under my arm and
+skirted the wheat to where he stood.</p>
+
+<p>"Thirty-eight skulls," he said in his thin,
+high-pitched voice; "there is but one more,
+and I am opposed to further search. I suppose
+Fortin told you?"</p>
+
+<p>I shook hands with him, and returned the
+salute of the Brigadier Durand.</p>
+
+<p>"I am opposed to further search," repeated
+Le Bihan, nervously picking at the mass of
+silver buttons which covered the front of his
+velvet and broadcloth jacket like a breastplate
+of scale armour.</p>
+
+<p>Durand pursed up his lips, twisted his tremendous
+mustache, and hooked his thumbs in
+his sabre belt.</p>
+
+<p>"As for me," he said, "I am in favour of
+further search."</p>
+
+<p>"Further search for what&mdash;for the thirty-ninth
+skull?" I asked.</p>
+
+<p>Le Bihan nodded. Durand frowned at the
+sunlit sea, rocking like a bowl of molten gold
+from the cliffs to the horizon. I followed his
+eyes. On the dark glistening cliffs, silhouetted
+against the glare of the sea, sat a cormorant,
+black, motionless, its horrible head raised toward
+heaven.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg53">[53]</span>
+"Where is that list, Durand?" I asked.</p>
+
+<p>The gendarme rummaged in his despatch
+pouch and produced a brass cylinder about a
+foot long. Very gravely he unscrewed the
+head and dumped out a scroll of thick yellow
+paper closely covered with writing on both
+sides. At a nod from Le Bihan he handed me
+the scroll. But I could make nothing of the
+coarse writing, now faded to a dull brown.</p>
+
+<p>"Come, come, Le Bihan," I said impatiently,
+"translate it, won't you? You and Max
+Fortin make a lot of mystery out of nothing,
+it seems."</p>
+
+<p>Le Bihan went to the edge of the pit where
+the three Bannalec men were digging, gave an
+order or two in Breton, and turned to me.</p>
+
+<p>As I came to the edge of the pit the Bannalec
+men were removing a square piece of sail-cloth
+from what appeared to be a pile of cobblestones.</p>
+
+<p>"Look!" said Le Bihan shrilly. I looked.
+The pile below was a heap of skulls. After a
+moment I clambered down the gravel sides of
+the pit and walked over to the men of Bannalec.
+They saluted me gravely, leaning on their
+picks and shovels, and wiping their sweating
+faces with sunburned hands.</p>
+
+<p>"How many?" said I in Breton.</p>
+
+<p>"Thirty-eight," they replied.</p>
+
+<p>I glanced around. Beyond the heap of
+skulls lay two piles of human bones. Beside
+<span class="pb" id="Pg54">[54]</span>
+these was a mound of broken, rusted bits of iron
+and steel. Looking closer, I saw that this
+mound was composed of rusty bayonets, sabre
+blades, scythe blades, with here and there a tarnished
+buckle attached to a bit of leather hard
+as iron.</p>
+
+<p>I picked up a couple of buttons and a belt
+plate. The buttons bore the royal arms of
+England; the belt plate was emblazoned with
+the English arms, and also with the number
+"27."</p>
+
+<p>"I have heard my grandfather speak of the
+terrible English regiment, the 27th Foot, which
+landed and stormed the fort up there," said one
+of the Bannalec men.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!" said I; "then these are the bones
+of English soldiers?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said the men of Bannalec.</p>
+
+<p>Le Bihan was calling to me from the edge
+of the pit above, and I handed the belt plate
+and buttons to the men and climbed the side of
+the excavation.</p>
+
+<p>"Well," said I, trying to prevent Môme
+from leaping up and licking my face as I
+emerged from the pit, "I suppose you know what
+these bones are. What are you going to do
+with them?"</p>
+
+<p>"There was a man," said Le Bihan angrily,
+"an Englishman, who passed here in a dog-cart
+on his way to Quimper about an hour ago,
+and what do you suppose he wished to do?"</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg55">[55]</span>
+"Buy the relics?" I asked, smiling.</p>
+
+<p>"Exactly&mdash;the pig!" piped the mayor of
+St. Gildas. "Jean Marie Tregunc, who found
+the bones, was standing there where Max Fortin
+stands, and do you know what he answered?
+He spat upon the ground, and said: 'Pig of
+an Englishman, do you take me for a desecrator
+of graves?'"</p>
+
+<p>I knew Tregunc, a sober, blue-eyed Breton,
+who lived from one year's end to the other without
+being able to afford a single bit of meat for
+a meal.</p>
+
+<p>"How much did the Englishman offer Tregunc?"
+I asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Two hundred francs for the skulls alone."</p>
+
+<p>I thought of the relic hunters and the relic
+buyers on the battlefields of our civil war.</p>
+
+<p>"Seventeen hundred and sixty is long ago,"
+I said.</p>
+
+<p>"Respect for the dead can never die," said
+Fortin.</p>
+
+<p>"And the English soldiers came here to kill
+your fathers and burn your homes," I continued.</p>
+
+<p>"They were murderers and thieves, but&mdash;they
+are dead," said Tregunc, coming up from
+the beach below, his long sea rake balanced on
+his dripping jersey.</p>
+
+<p>"How much do you earn every year, Jean
+Marie?" I asked, turning to shake hands with
+him.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg56">[56]</span>
+"Two hundred and twenty francs, monsieur."</p>
+
+<p>"Forty-five dollars a year," I said. "Bah!
+you are worth more, Jean. Will you take care
+of my garden for me? My wife wished me to
+ask you. I think it would be worth one hundred
+francs a month to you and to me. Come
+on, Le Bihan&mdash;come along, Fortin&mdash;and you,
+Durand. I want somebody to translate that list
+into French for me."</p>
+
+<p>Tregunc stood gazing at me, his blue eyes
+dilated.</p>
+
+<p>"You may begin at once," I said, smiling,
+"if the salary suits you?"</p>
+
+<p>"It suits," said Tregunc, fumbling for his
+pipe in a silly way that annoyed Le Bihan.</p>
+
+<p>"Then go and begin your work," cried the
+mayor impatiently; and Tregunc started across
+the moors toward St. Gildas, taking off his
+velvet-ribboned cap to me and gripping his sea
+rake very hard.</p>
+
+<p>"You offer him more than my salary," said
+the mayor, after a moment's contemplation of
+his silver buttons.</p>
+
+<p>"Pooh!" said I, "what do you do for your
+salary except play dominoes with Max Fortin at
+the Groix Inn?"</p>
+
+<p>Le Bihan turned red, but Durand rattled
+his sabre and winked at Max Fortin, and I
+slipped my arm through the arm of the sulky
+magistrate, laughing.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg57">[57]</span>
+"There's a shady spot under the cliff," I
+said; "come on, Le Bihan, and read me what
+is in the scroll."</p>
+
+<p>In a few moments we reached the shadow of
+the cliff, and I threw myself upon the turf, chin
+on hand, to listen.</p>
+
+<p>The gendarme, Durand, also sat down, twisting
+his mustache into needlelike points. Fortin
+leaned against the cliff, polishing his glasses
+and examining us with vague, near-sighted
+eyes; and Le Bihan, the mayor, planted himself
+in our midst, rolling up the scroll and tucking
+it under his arm.</p>
+
+<p>"First of all," he began in a shrill voice, "I
+am going to light my pipe, and while lighting
+it I shall tell you what I have heard about the
+attack on the fort yonder. My father told me;
+his father told him."</p>
+
+<p>He jerked his head in the direction of the
+ruined fort, a small, square stone structure on
+the sea cliff, now nothing but crumbling walls.
+Then he slowly produced a tobacco pouch, a bit
+of flint and tinder, and a long-stemmed pipe
+fitted with a microscopical bowl of baked clay.
+To fill such a pipe requires ten minutes' close
+attention. To smoke it to a finish takes but
+four puffs. It is very Breton, this Breton pipe.
+It is the crystallization of everything Breton.</p>
+
+<p>"Go on," said I, lighting a cigarette.</p>
+
+<p>"The fort," said the mayor, "was built by
+Louis XIV, and was dismantled twice by the
+<span class="pb" id="Pg58">[58]</span>
+English. Louis XV restored it in 1739. In
+1760 it was carried by assault by the English.
+They came across from the island of Groix&mdash;three
+shiploads&mdash;and they stormed the fort
+and sacked St. Julien yonder, and they started
+to burn St. Gildas&mdash;you can see the marks of
+their bullets on my house yet; but the men of
+Bannalec and the men of Lorient fell upon
+them with pike and scythe and blunderbuss,
+and those who did not run away lie there below
+in the gravel pit now&mdash;thirty-eight of them."</p>
+
+<p>"And the thirty-ninth skull?" I asked, finishing
+my cigarette.</p>
+
+<p>The mayor had succeeded in filling his pipe,
+and now he began to put his tobacco pouch
+away.</p>
+
+<p>"The thirty-ninth skull," he mumbled,
+holding the pipestem between his defective
+teeth&mdash;"the thirty-ninth skull is no business
+of mine. I have told the Bannalec men to
+cease digging."</p>
+
+<p>"But what is&mdash;whose is the missing skull?"
+I persisted curiously.</p>
+
+<p>The mayor was busy trying to strike a spark
+to his tinder. Presently he set it aglow, applied
+it to his pipe, took the prescribed four
+puffs, knocked the ashes out of the bowl, and
+gravely replaced the pipe in his pocket.</p>
+
+<p>"The missing skull?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said I impatiently.</p>
+
+<p>The mayor slowly unrolled the scroll and
+<span class="pb" id="Pg59">[59]</span>
+began to read, translating from the Breton into
+French. And this is what he read:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquote">
+<p class="right">"<span class="smcap">On the Cliffs of St. Gildas</span>,<br />
+"<i>April 13, 1760</i>.&nbsp; &nbsp;</p>
+
+<p>"On this day, by order of the Count of Soisic,
+general in chief of the Breton forces now
+lying in Kerselec Forest, the bodies of thirty-eight
+English soldiers of the 27th, 50th, and
+72d regiments of Foot were buried in this spot,
+together with their arms and equipments."</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>The mayor paused and glanced at me reflectively.</p>
+
+<p>"Go on, Le Bihan," I said.</p>
+
+<p>"With them," continued the mayor, turning
+the scroll and reading on the other side,
+"was buried the body of that vile traitor who betrayed
+the fort to the English. The manner of
+his death was as follows: By order of the most
+noble Count of Soisic, the traitor was first branded
+upon the forehead with the brand of an arrowhead.
+The iron burned through the flesh, and
+was pressed heavily so that the brand should
+even burn into the bone of the skull. The traitor
+was then led out and bidden to kneel. He
+admitted having guided the English from the
+island of Groix. Although a priest and a
+Frenchman, he had violated his priestly office
+to aid him in discovering the password to the
+fort. This password he extorted during confession
+<span class="pb" id="Pg60">[60]</span>
+from a young Breton girl who was in the
+habit of rowing across from the island of Groix
+to visit her husband in the fort. When the fort
+fell, this young girl, crazed by the death of her
+husband, sought the Count of Soisic and told
+how the priest had forced her to confess to him
+all she knew about the fort. The priest was
+arrested at St. Gildas as he was about to cross
+the river to Lorient. When arrested he cursed
+the girl, Marie Trevec&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"What!" I exclaimed, "Marie Trevec!"</p>
+
+<p>"Marie Trevec," repeated Le Bihan; "the
+priest cursed Marie Trevec, and all her family
+and descendants. He was shot as he knelt, having
+a mask of leather over his face, because
+the Bretons who composed the squad of execution
+refused to fire at a priest unless his
+face was concealed. The priest was l'Abbé
+Sorgue, commonly known as the Black Priest
+on account of his dark face and swarthy eyebrows.
+He was buried with a stake through
+his heart."</p>
+
+<p>Le Bihan paused, hesitated, looked at me,
+and handed the manuscript back to Durand.
+The gendarme took it and slipped it into the
+brass cylinder.</p>
+
+<p>"So," said I, "the thirty-ninth skull is the
+skull of the Black Priest."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said Fortin. "I hope they won't
+find it."</p>
+
+<p>"I have forbidden them to proceed," said
+<span class="pb" id="Pg61">[61]</span>
+the mayor querulously. "You heard me, Max
+Fortin."</p>
+
+<p>I rose and picked up my gun. Môme came
+and pushed his head into my hand.</p>
+
+<p>"That's a fine dog," observed Durand, also
+rising.</p>
+
+<p>"Why don't you wish to find his skull?"
+I asked Le Bihan. "It would be curious to see
+whether the arrow brand really burned into the
+bone."</p>
+
+<p>"There is something in that scroll that I
+didn't read to you," said the mayor grimly.
+"Do you wish to know what it is?"</p>
+
+<p>"Of course," I replied in surprise.</p>
+
+<p>"Give me the scroll again, Durand," he
+said; then he read from the bottom: "I, l'Abbé
+Sorgue, forced to write the above by my executioners,
+have written it in my own blood; and
+with it I leave my curse. My curse on St. Gildas,
+on Marie Trevec, and on her descendants.
+I will come back to St. Gildas when my remains
+are disturbed. Woe to that Englishman whom
+my branded skull shall touch!"</p>
+
+<p>"What rot!" I said. "Do you believe it
+was really written in his own blood?"</p>
+
+<p>"I am going to test it," said Fortin, "at
+the request of Monsieur le Maire. I am not
+anxious for the job, however."</p>
+
+<p>"See," said Le Bihan, holding out the scroll
+to me, "it is signed, 'l'Abbé Sorgue.'"</p>
+
+<p>I glanced curiously over the paper.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg62">[62]</span>
+"It must be the Black Priest," I said. "He
+was the only man who wrote in the Breton language.
+This is a wonderfully interesting discovery,
+for now, at last, the mystery of the
+Black Priest's disappearance is cleared up. You
+will, of course, send this scroll to Paris, Le
+Bihan?"</p>
+
+<p>"No," said the mayor obstinately, "it shall
+be buried in the pit below where the rest of the
+Black Priest lies."</p>
+
+<p>I looked at him and recognised that argument
+would be useless. But still I said, "It
+will be a loss to history, Monsieur Le Bihan."</p>
+
+<p>"All the worse for history, then," said the
+enlightened Mayor of St. Gildas.</p>
+
+<p>We had sauntered back to the gravel pit
+while speaking. The men of Bannalec were
+carrying the bones of the English soldiers toward
+the St. Gildas cemetery, on the cliffs to
+the east, where already a knot of white-coiffed
+women stood in attitudes of prayer; and I saw
+the sombre robe of a priest among the crosses of
+the little graveyard.</p>
+
+<p>"They were thieves and assassins; they are
+dead now," muttered Max Fortin.</p>
+
+<p>"Respect the dead," repeated the Mayor of
+St. Gildas, looking after the Bannalec men.</p>
+
+<p>"It was written in that scroll that Marie
+Trevec, of Groix Island, was cursed by the
+priest&mdash;she and her descendants," I said, touching
+Le Bihan on the arm. "There was a Marie
+<span class="pb" id="Pg63">[63]</span>
+Trevec who married an Yves Trevec of St. Gildas&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"It is the same," said Le Bihan, looking at
+me obliquely.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!" said I; "then they were ancestors
+of my wife."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you fear the curse?" asked Le Bihan.</p>
+
+<p>"What?" I laughed.</p>
+
+<p>"There was the case of the Purple Emperor,"
+said Max Fortin timidly.</p>
+
+<p>Startled for a moment, I faced him, then
+shrugged my shoulders and kicked at a smooth
+bit of rock which lay near the edge of the pit,
+almost embedded in gravel.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you suppose the Purple Emperor drank
+himself crazy because he was descended from
+Marie Trevec?" I asked contemptuously.</p>
+
+<p>"Of course not," said Max Fortin hastily.</p>
+
+<p>"Of course not," piped the mayor. "I
+only&mdash;&mdash; Hello! what's that you're kicking?"</p>
+
+<p>"What?" said I, glancing down, at the
+same time involuntarily giving another kick.
+The smooth bit of rock dislodged itself and
+rolled out of the loosened gravel at my feet.</p>
+
+<p>"The thirty-ninth skull!" I exclaimed.
+"By jingo, its the noddle of the Black Priest!
+See! there is the arrowhead branded on the
+front!"</p>
+
+<p>The mayor stepped back. Max Fortin also
+retreated. There was a pause, during which I
+<span class="pb" id="Pg64">[64]</span>
+looked at them, and they looked anywhere but
+at me.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't like it," said the mayor at last, in a
+husky, high voice. "I don't like it! The scroll
+says he will come back to St. Gildas when his
+remains are disturbed. I&mdash;I don't like it, Monsieur
+Darrel&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Bosh!" said I; "the poor wicked devil is
+where he can't get out. For Heaven's sake, Le
+Bihan, what is this stuff you are talking in the
+year of grace 1896?"</p>
+
+<p>The mayor gave me a look.</p>
+
+<p>"And he says 'Englishman.' You are an
+Englishman, Monsieur Darrel," he announced.</p>
+
+<p>"You know better. You know I'm an
+American."</p>
+
+<p>"It's all the same," said the Mayor of St.
+Gildas, obstinately.</p>
+
+<p>"No, it isn't!" I answered, much exasperated,
+and deliberately pushed the skull till it
+rolled into the bottom of the gravel pit below.</p>
+
+<p>"Cover it up," said I; "bury the scroll
+with it too, if you insist, but I think you ought
+to send it to Paris. Don't look so gloomy, Fortin,
+unless you believe in were-wolves and
+ghosts. Hey! what the&mdash;what the devil's the
+matter with you, anyway? What are you staring
+at, Le Bihan?"</p>
+
+<p>"Come, come," muttered the mayor in a
+low, tremulous voice, "it's time we got out of
+this. Did you see? Did you see, Fortin?"</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg65">[65]</span>
+"I saw," whispered Max Fortin, pallid with
+fright.</p>
+
+<p>The two men were almost running across
+the sunny pasture now, and I hastened after
+them, demanding to know what was the matter.</p>
+
+<p>"Matter!" chattered the mayor, gasping
+with exasperation and terror. "The skull is
+rolling uphill again!" and he burst into a
+terrified gallop. Max Fortin followed close behind.</p>
+
+<p>I watched them stampeding across the pasture,
+then turned toward the gravel pit, mystified,
+incredulous. The skull was lying on the
+edge of the pit, exactly where it had been before
+I pushed it over the edge. For a second I
+stared at it; a singular chilly feeling crept up
+my spinal column, and I turned and walked
+away, sweat starting from the root of every
+hair on my head. Before I had gone twenty
+paces the absurdity of the whole thing struck
+me. I halted, hot with shame and annoyance,
+and retraced my steps.</p>
+
+<p>There lay the skull.</p>
+
+<p>"I rolled a stone down instead of the skull,"
+I muttered to myself. Then with the butt
+of my gun I pushed the skull over the edge of
+the pit and watched it roll to the bottom; and
+as it struck the bottom of the pit, Môme,
+my dog, suddenly whipped his tail between
+his legs, whimpered, and made off across the
+moor.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg66">[66]</span>
+"Môme!" I shouted, angry and astonished;
+but the dog only fled the faster, and I ceased
+calling from sheer surprise.</p>
+
+<p>"What the mischief is the matter with that
+dog!" I thought. He had never before played
+me such a trick.</p>
+
+<p>Mechanically I glanced into the pit, but I
+could not see the skull. I looked down. The
+skull lay at my feet again, touching them.</p>
+
+<p>"Good heavens!" I stammered, and struck
+at it blindly with my gunstock. The ghastly
+thing flew into the air, whirling over and over,
+and rolled again down the sides of the pit to
+the bottom. Breathlessly I stared at it, then,
+confused and scarcely comprehending, I stepped
+back from the pit, still facing it, one, ten,
+twenty paces, my eyes almost starting from my
+head, as though I expected to see the thing roll
+up from the bottom of the pit under my very
+gaze. At last I turned my back to the pit and
+strode out across the gorse-covered moorland
+toward my home. As I reached the road that
+winds from St. Gildas to St. Julien I gave one
+hasty glance at the pit over my shoulder. The
+sun shone hot on the sod about the excavation.
+There was something white and bare and round
+on the turf at the edge of the pit. It might
+have been a stone; there were plenty of them
+lying about.</p>
+
+<h3>II.<span class="pb" id="Pg67">[67]</span></h3>
+
+<p>When I entered my garden I saw Môme
+sprawling on the stone doorstep. He eyed me
+sideways and flopped his tail.</p>
+
+<p>"Are you not mortified, you idiot dog?" I
+said, looking about the upper windows for Lys.</p>
+
+<p>Môme rolled over on his back and raised one
+deprecating forepaw, as though to ward off calamity.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't act as though I was in the habit of
+beating you to death," I said, disgusted. I had
+never in my life raised whip to the brute.
+"But you are a fool dog," I continued. "No,
+you needn't come to be babied and wept over;
+Lys can do that, if she insists, but I am ashamed
+of you, and you can go to the devil."</p>
+
+<p>Môme slunk off into the house, and I followed,
+mounting directly to my wife's boudoir.
+It was empty.</p>
+
+<p>"Where has she gone?" I said, looking
+hard at Môme, who had followed me. "Oh!
+I see you don't know. Don't pretend you do.
+Come off that lounge! Do you think Lys wants
+tan-coloured hairs all over her lounge?"</p>
+
+<p>I rang the bell for Catherine and 'Fine, but
+they didn't know where "madame" had gone;
+so I went into my room, bathed, exchanged my
+somewhat grimy shooting clothes for a suit of
+warm, soft knickerbockers, and, after lingering
+some extra moments over my toilet&mdash;for I was
+<span class="pb" id="Pg68">[68]</span>
+particular, now that I had married Lys&mdash;I went
+down to the garden and took a chair out under
+the fig-trees.</p>
+
+<p>"Where can she be?" I wondered. Môme
+came sneaking out to be comforted, and I forgave
+him for Lys's sake, whereupon he frisked.</p>
+
+<p>"You bounding cur," said I, "now what
+on earth started you off across the moor? If
+you do it again I'll push you along with a charge
+of dust shot."</p>
+
+<p>As yet I had scarcely dared think about the
+ghastly hallucination of which I had been a victim,
+but now I faced it squarely, flushing a little
+with mortification at the thought of my hasty
+retreat from the gravel pit.</p>
+
+<p>"To think," I said aloud, "that those old
+woman's tales of Max Fortin and Le Bihan
+should have actually made me see what didn't
+exist at all! I lost my nerve like a schoolboy in
+a dark bedroom." For I knew now that I had
+mistaken a round stone for a skull each time,
+and had pushed a couple of big pebbles into the
+pit instead of the skull itself.</p>
+
+<p>"By jingo!" said I, "I'm nervous; my
+liver must be in a devil of a condition if I see
+such things when I'm awake! Lys will know
+what to give me."</p>
+
+<p>I felt mortified and irritated and sulky, and
+thought disgustedly of Le Bihan and Max
+Fortin.</p>
+
+<p>But after a while I ceased speculating, dismissed
+<span class="pb" id="Pg69">[69]</span>
+the mayor, the chemist, and the skull
+from my mind, and smoked pensively, watching
+the sun low dipping in the western ocean.
+As the twilight fell for a moment over ocean
+and moorland, a wistful, restless happiness
+filled my heart, the happiness that all men
+know&mdash;all men who have loved.</p>
+
+<p>Slowly the purple mist crept out over the
+sea; the cliffs darkened; the forest was
+shrouded.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly the sky above burned with the
+afterglow, and the world was alight again.</p>
+
+<p>Cloud after cloud caught the rose dye; the
+cliffs were tinted with it; moor and pasture,
+heather and forest burned and pulsated with the
+gentle flush. I saw the gulls turning and tossing
+above the sand bar, their snowy wings
+tipped with pink; I saw the sea swallows sheering
+the surface of the still river, stained to its
+placid depths with warm reflections of the
+clouds. The twitter of drowsy hedge birds
+broke out in the stillness; a salmon rolled its
+shining side above tide-water.</p>
+
+<p>The interminable monotone of the ocean intensified
+the silence. I sat motionless, holding
+my breath as one who listens to the first low
+rumour of an organ. All at once the pure
+whistle of a nightingale cut the silence, and the
+first moonbeam silvered the wastes of mist-hung
+waters.</p>
+
+<p>I raised my head.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg70">[70]</span>
+Lys stood before me in the garden.</p>
+
+<p>When we had kissed each other, we linked
+arms and moved up and down the gravel walks,
+watching the moonbeams sparkle on the sand bar
+as the tide ebbed and ebbed. The broad beds of
+white pinks about us were atremble with hovering
+white moths; the October roses hung all
+abloom, perfuming the salt wind.</p>
+
+<p>"Sweetheart," I said, "where is Yvonne?
+Has she promised to spend Christmas with us?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, Dick; she drove me down from Plougat
+this afternoon. She sent her love to you.
+I am not jealous. What did you shoot?"</p>
+
+<p>"A hare and four partridges. They are in
+the gun room. I told Catherine not to touch
+them until you had seen them."</p>
+
+<p>Now I suppose I knew that Lys could not
+be particularly enthusiastic over game or guns;
+but she pretended she was, and always scornfully
+denied that it was for my sake and not
+for the pure love of sport. So she dragged me
+off to inspect the rather meagre game bag, and
+she paid me pretty compliments and gave a little
+cry of delight and pity as I lifted the enormous
+hare out of the sack by his ears.</p>
+
+<p>"He'll eat no more of our lettuce," I said,
+attempting to justify the assassination.</p>
+
+<p>"Unhappy little bunny&mdash;and what a beauty!
+O Dick, you are a splendid shot, are you not?"</p>
+
+<p>I evaded the question and hauled out a partridge.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg71">[71]</span>
+"Poor little dead things!" said Lys in a
+whisper; "it seems a pity&mdash;doesn't it, Dick?
+But then you are so clever&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"We'll have them broiled," I said guardedly;
+"tell Catherine."</p>
+
+<p>Catherine came in to take away the game,
+and presently 'Fine Lelocard, Lys's maid, announced
+dinner, and Lys tripped away to her
+boudoir.</p>
+
+<p>I stood an instant contemplating her blissfully,
+thinking, "My boy, you're the happiest
+fellow in the world&mdash;you're in love with your
+wife!"</p>
+
+<p>I walked into the dining room, beamed at
+the plates, walked out again; met Tregunc in
+the hallway, beamed on him; glanced into the
+kitchen, beamed at Catherine, and went up
+stairs, still beaming.</p>
+
+<p>Before I could knock at Lys's door it
+opened, and Lys came hastily out. When she
+saw me she gave a little cry of relief, and
+nestled close to my breast.</p>
+
+<p>"There is something peering in at my window,"
+she said.</p>
+
+<p>"What!" I cried angrily.</p>
+
+<p>"A man, I think, disguised as a priest, and
+he has a mask on. He must have climbed up
+by the bay tree."</p>
+
+<p>I was down the stairs and out of doors in no
+time. The moonlit garden was absolutely deserted.
+Tregunc came up, and together we
+<span class="pb" id="Pg72">[72]</span>
+searched the hedge and shrubbery around the
+house and out to the road.</p>
+
+<p>"Jean Marie," said I at length, "loose my
+bulldog&mdash;he knows you&mdash;and take your supper
+on the porch where you can watch. My wife
+says the fellow is disguised as a priest, and wears
+a mask."</p>
+
+<p>Tregunc showed his white teeth in a smile.
+"He will not care to venture in here again, I
+think, Monsieur Darrel."</p>
+
+<p>I went back and found Lys seated quietly
+at the table.</p>
+
+<p>"The soup is ready, dear," she said.
+"Don't worry; it was only some foolish lout
+from Bannalec. No one in St. Gildas or St.
+Julien would do such a thing."</p>
+
+<p>I was too much exasperated to reply at first,
+but Lys treated it as a stupid joke, and after a
+while I began to look at it in that light.</p>
+
+<p>Lys told me about Yvonne, and reminded
+me of my promise to have Herbert Stuart down
+to meet her.</p>
+
+<p>"You wicked diplomat!" I protested.
+"Herbert is in Paris, and hard at work for the
+Salon."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't you think he might spare a week to
+flirt with the prettiest girl in Finistère?" inquired
+Lys innocently.</p>
+
+<p>"Prettiest girl! Not much!" I said.</p>
+
+<p>"Who is, then?" urged Lys.</p>
+
+<p>I laughed a trifle sheepishly.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg73">[73]</span>
+"I suppose you mean me, Dick," said Lys,
+colouring up.</p>
+
+<p>"Now I bore you, don't I?"</p>
+
+<p>"Bore me? Ah, no, Dick."</p>
+
+<p>After coffee and cigarettes were served I
+spoke about Tregunc, and Lys approved.</p>
+
+<p>"Poor Jean! he will be glad, won't he?
+What a dear fellow you are!"</p>
+
+<p>"Nonsense," said I; "we need a gardener;
+you said so yourself, Lys."</p>
+
+<p>But Lys leaned over and kissed me, and then
+bent down and hugged Môme, who whistled
+through his nose in sentimental appreciation.</p>
+
+<p>"I am a very happy woman," said Lys.</p>
+
+<p>"Môme was a very bad dog to-day," I observed.</p>
+
+<p>"Poor Môme!" said Lys, smiling.</p>
+
+<p>When dinner was over and Môme lay snoring
+before the blaze&mdash;for the October nights
+are often chilly in Finistère&mdash;Lys curled up in
+the chimney corner with her embroidery, and
+gave me a swift glance from under her drooping
+lashes.</p>
+
+<p>"You look like a schoolgirl, Lys," I said
+teasingly. "I don't believe you are sixteen
+yet."</p>
+
+<p>She pushed back her heavy burnished hair
+thoughtfully. Her wrist was as white as surf
+foam.</p>
+
+<p>"Have we been married four years? I
+don't believe it," I said.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg74">[74]</span>
+She gave me another swift glance and
+touched the embroidery on her knee, smiling
+faintly.</p>
+
+<p>"I see," said I, also smiling at the embroidered
+garment. "Do you think it will
+fit?"</p>
+
+<p>"Fit?" repeated Lys. Then she laughed.</p>
+
+<p>"And," I persisted, "are you perfectly sure
+that you&mdash;er&mdash;we shall need it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Perfectly," said Lys. A delicate colour
+touched her cheeks and neck. She held up the
+little garment, all fluffy with misty lace and
+wrought with quaint embroidery.</p>
+
+<p>"It is very gorgeous," said I; "don't use
+your eyes too much, dearest. May I smoke a
+pipe?"</p>
+
+<p>"Of course," she said, selecting a skein of
+pale blue silk.</p>
+
+<p>For a while I sat and smoked in silence,
+watching her slender fingers among the tinted
+silks and thread of gold.</p>
+
+<p>Presently she spoke: "What did you say
+your crest is, Dick?"</p>
+
+<p>"My crest? Oh, something or other rampant
+on a something or other&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Dick!"</p>
+
+<p>"Dearest?"</p>
+
+<p>"Don't be flippant."</p>
+
+<p>"But I really forget. It's an ordinary
+crest; everybody in New York has them. No
+family should be without 'em."</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg75">[75]</span>
+"You are disagreeable, Dick. Send Josephine
+upstairs for my album."</p>
+
+<p>"Are you going to put that crest on the&mdash;the&mdash;whatever
+it is?"</p>
+
+<p>"I am; and my own crest, too."</p>
+
+<p>I thought of the Purple Emperor and wondered
+a little.</p>
+
+<p>"You didn't know I had one, did you?"
+she smiled.</p>
+
+<p>"What is it?" I replied evasively.</p>
+
+<p>"You shall see. Ring for Josephine."</p>
+
+<p>I rang, and, when 'Fine appeared, Lys gave
+her some orders in a low voice, and Josephine
+trotted away, bobbing her white-coiffed head
+with a "Bien, madame!"</p>
+
+<p>After a few minutes she returned, bearing
+a tattered, musty volume, from which the gold
+and blue had mostly disappeared.</p>
+
+<p>I took the book in my hands and examined
+the ancient emblazoned covers.</p>
+
+<p>"Lilies!" I exclaimed.</p>
+
+<p>"Fleur-de-lis," said my wife demurely.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!" said I, astonished, and opened the
+book.</p>
+
+<p>"You have never before seen this book?"
+asked Lys, with a touch of malice in her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"You know I haven't. Hello! what's this?
+Oho! So there should be a <em>de</em> before Trevec?
+Lys de Trevec? Then why in the world did
+the Purple Emperor&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Dick!" cried Lys.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg76">[76]</span>
+"All right," said I. "Shall I read about
+the Sieur de Trevec who rode to Saladin's tent
+alone to seek for medicine for St. Louis? or
+shall I read about&mdash;what is it? Oh, here it is,
+all down in black and white&mdash;about the Marquis
+de Trevec who drowned himself before
+Alva's eyes rather than surrender the banner
+of the fleur-de-lis to Spain? It's all written
+here. But, dear, how about that soldier named
+Trevec who was killed in the old fort on the
+cliff yonder?"</p>
+
+<p>"He dropped the <em>de</em>, and the Trevecs since
+then have been Republicans," said Lys&mdash;"all
+except me."</p>
+
+<p>"That's quite right," said I; "it is time
+that we Republicans should agree upon some
+feudal system. My dear, I drink to the king!"
+and I raised my wine-glass and looked at Lys.</p>
+
+<p>"To the king," said Lys, flushing. She
+smoothed out the tiny garment on her knees;
+she touched the glass with her lips; her eyes
+were very sweet. I drained the glass to the
+king.</p>
+
+<p>After a silence I said: "I will tell the king
+stories. His Majesty shall be amused."</p>
+
+<p>"His Majesty," repeated Lys softly.</p>
+
+<p>"Or hers," I laughed. "Who knows?"</p>
+
+<p>"Who knows?" murmured Lys, with a
+gentle sigh.</p>
+
+<p>"I know some stories about Jack the Giant-Killer,"
+I announced. "Do you, Lys?"</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg77">[77]</span>
+"I? No, not about a giant-killer, but I
+know all about the were-wolf, and Jeanne-la-Flamme,
+and the Man in Purple Tatters, and&mdash;O
+dear me! I know lots more."</p>
+
+<p>"You are very wise," said I. "I shall
+teach his Majesty English."</p>
+
+<p>"And I Breton," cried Lys jealously.</p>
+
+<p>"I shall bring playthings to the king," said
+I&mdash;"big green lizards from the gorse, little
+gray mullets to swim in glass globes, baby rabbits
+from the forest of Kerselec&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"And I," said Lys, "will bring the first
+primrose, the first branch of aubepine, the first
+jonquil, to the king&mdash;my king."</p>
+
+<p>"Our king," said I; and there was peace in
+Finistère.</p>
+
+<p>I lay back, idly turning the leaves of the
+curious old volume.</p>
+
+<p>"I am looking," said I, "for the crest."</p>
+
+<p>"The crest, dear? It is a priest's head with
+an arrow-shaped mark on the forehead, on a
+field&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>I sat up and stared at my wife.</p>
+
+<p>"Dick, whatever is the matter?" she
+smiled. "The story is there in that book.
+Do you care to read it? No? Shall I tell it
+to you? Well, then: It happened in the third
+crusade. There was a monk whom men called
+the Black Priest. He turned apostate, and sold
+himself to the enemies of Christ. A Sieur de
+Trevec burst into the Saracen camp, at the
+<span class="pb" id="Pg78">[78]</span>
+head of only one hundred lances, and carried
+the Black Priest away out of the very midst of
+their army."</p>
+
+<p>"So that is how you come by the crest," I
+said quietly; but I thought of the branded skull
+in the gravel pit, and wondered.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said Lys. "The Sieur de Trevec
+cut the Black Priest's head off, but first he
+branded him with an arrow mark on the forehead.
+The book says it was a pious action, and
+the Sieur de Trevec got great merit by it. But
+I think it was cruel, the branding," she sighed.</p>
+
+<p>"Did you ever hear of any other Black
+Priest?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. There was one in the last century,
+here in St. Gildas. He cast a white shadow in
+the sun. He wrote in the Breton language.
+Chronicles, too, I believe. I never saw them.
+His name was the same as that of the old
+chronicler, and of the other priest, Jacques
+Sorgue. Some said he was a lineal descendant
+of the traitor. Of course the first Black Priest
+was bad enough for anything. But if he did
+have a child, it need not have been the ancestor
+of the last Jacques Sorgue. They say this one
+was a holy man. They say he was so good he
+was not allowed to die, but was caught up to
+heaven one day," added Lys, with believing
+eyes.</p>
+
+<p>I smiled.</p>
+
+<p>"But he disappeared," persisted Lys.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg79">[79]</span>
+"I'm afraid his journey was in another direction,"
+I said jestingly, and thoughtlessly
+told her the story of the morning. I had utterly
+forgotten the masked man at her window,
+but before I finished I remembered him fast
+enough, and realized what I had done as I saw
+her face whiten.</p>
+
+<p>"Lys," I urged tenderly, "that was only
+some clumsy clown's trick. You said so yourself.
+You are not superstitious, my dear?"</p>
+
+<p>Her eyes were on mine. She slowly drew
+the little gold cross from her bosom and kissed
+it. But her lips trembled as they pressed the
+symbol of faith.</p>
+
+<h3>III.</h3>
+
+<p>About nine o'clock the next morning I
+walked into the Groix Inn and sat down at the
+long discoloured oaken table, nodding good-day
+to Marianne Bruyère, who in turn bobbed
+her white coiffe at me.</p>
+
+<p>"My clever Bannalec maid," said I, "what
+is good for a stirrup-cup at the Groix Inn?"</p>
+
+<p>"Schist?" she inquired in Breton.</p>
+
+<p>"With a dash of red wine, then," I replied.</p>
+
+<p>She brought the delicious Quimperlé cider,
+and I poured a little Bordeaux into it. Marianne
+watched me with laughing black eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"What makes your cheeks so red, Marianne?"
+I asked. "Has Jean Marie been
+here?"</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg80">[80]</span>
+"We are to be married, Monsieur Darrel,"
+she laughed.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! Since when has Jean Marie Tregunc
+lost his head?"</p>
+
+<p>"His head? Oh, Monsieur Darrel&mdash;his
+heart, you mean!"</p>
+
+<p>"So I do," said I. "Jean Marie is a practical
+fellow."</p>
+
+<p>"It is all due to your kindness&mdash;&mdash;" began
+the girl, but I raised my hand and held up the
+glass.</p>
+
+<p>"It's due to himself. To your happiness,
+Marianne;" and I took a hearty draught of the
+schist. "Now," said I, "tell me where I can
+find Le Bihan and Max Fortin."</p>
+
+<p>"Monsieur Le Bihan and Monsieur Fortin
+are above in the broad room. I believe they are
+examining the Red Admiral's effects."</p>
+
+<p>"To send them to Paris? Oh, I know.
+May I go up, Marianne?"</p>
+
+<p>"And God go with you," smiled the girl.</p>
+
+<p>When I knocked at the door of the broad
+room above little Max Fortin opened it. Dust
+covered his spectacles and nose; his hat, with
+the tiny velvet ribbons fluttering, was all awry.</p>
+
+<p>"Come in, Monsieur Darrel," he said; "the
+mayor and I are packing up the effects of the
+Purple Emperor and of the poor Red Admiral."</p>
+
+<p>"The collections?" I asked, entering the
+room. "You must be very careful in packing
+<span class="pb" id="Pg81">[81]</span>
+those butterfly cases; the slightest jar might
+break wings and antennæ, you know."</p>
+
+<p>Le Bihan shook hands with me and pointed
+to the great pile of boxes.</p>
+
+<p>"They're all cork lined," he said, "but
+Fortin and I are putting felt around each box.
+The Entomological Society of Paris pays the
+freight."</p>
+
+<p>The combined collections of the Red Admiral
+and the Purple Emperor made a magnificent
+display.</p>
+
+<p>I lifted and inspected case after case set
+with gorgeous butterflies and moths, each specimen
+carefully labelled with the name in Latin.
+There were cases filled with crimson tiger
+moths all aflame with colour; cases devoted to
+the common yellow butterflies; symphonies in
+orange and pale yellow; cases of soft gray and
+dun-coloured sphinx moths; and cases of
+garish nettle-bred butterflies of the numerous
+family of <em>Vanessa</em>.</p>
+
+<p>All alone in a great case by itself was pinned
+the purple emperor, the Apatura Iris, that fatal
+specimen that had given the Purple Emperor
+his name and quietus.</p>
+
+<p>I remembered the butterfly, and stood looking
+at it with bent eyebrows.</p>
+
+<p>Le Bihan glanced up from the floor where
+he was nailing down the lid of a box full of
+cases.</p>
+
+<p>"It is settled, then," said he, "that madame,
+<span class="pb" id="Pg82">[82]</span>
+your wife, gives the Purple Emperor's entire
+collection to the city of Paris?"</p>
+
+<p>I nodded.</p>
+
+<p>"Without accepting anything for it?"</p>
+
+<p>"It is a gift," I said.</p>
+
+<p>"Including the purple emperor there in
+the case? That butterfly is worth a great deal
+of money," persisted Le Bihan.</p>
+
+<p>"You don't suppose that we would wish to
+sell that specimen, do you?" I answered a
+trifle sharply.</p>
+
+<p>"If I were you I should destroy it," said the
+mayor in his high-pitched voice.</p>
+
+<p>"That would be nonsense," said I&mdash;"like
+your burying the brass cylinder and scroll yesterday."</p>
+
+<p>"It was not nonsense," said Le Bihan doggedly,
+"and I should prefer not to discuss the
+subject of the scroll."</p>
+
+<p>I looked at Max Fortin, who immediately
+avoided my eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"You are a pair of superstitious old women,"
+said I, digging my hands into my pockets;
+"you swallow every nursery tale that is invented."</p>
+
+<p>"What of it?" said Le Bihan sulkily;
+"there's more truth than lies in most of 'em."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!" I sneered, "does the Mayor of St.
+Gildas and St. Julien believe in the Loup-garou?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, not in the Loup-garou."</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg83">[83]</span>
+"In what, then&mdash;Jeanne-la-Flamme?"</p>
+
+<p>"That," said Le Bihan with conviction,
+"is history."</p>
+
+<p>"The devil it is!" said I; "and perhaps,
+monsieur the mayor, your faith in giants is unimpaired?"</p>
+
+<p>"There were giants&mdash;everybody knows it,"
+growled Max Fortin.</p>
+
+<p>"And you a chemist!" I observed scornfully.</p>
+
+<p>"Listen, Monsieur Darrel," squeaked Le
+Bihan; "you know yourself that the Purple
+Emperor was a scientific man. Now suppose I
+should tell you that he always refused to include
+in his collection a Death's Messenger?"</p>
+
+<p>"A what?" I exclaimed.</p>
+
+<p>"You know what I mean&mdash;that moth that
+flies by night; some call it the Death's Head,
+but in St. Gildas we call it 'Death's Messenger.'"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!" said I, "you mean that big sphinx
+moth that is commonly known as the 'death's-head
+moth.' Why the mischief should the
+people here call it death's messenger?"</p>
+
+<p>"For hundreds of years it has been known
+as death's messenger in St. Gildas," said Max
+Fortin. "Even Froissart speaks of it in his
+commentaries on Jacques Sorgue's Chronicles.
+The book is in your library."</p>
+
+<p>"Sorgue? And who was Jacques Sorgue?
+I never read his book."</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg84">[84]</span>
+"Jacques Sorgue was the son of some unfrocked
+priest&mdash;I forget. It was during the
+crusades."</p>
+
+<p>"Good Heavens!" I burst out, "I've been
+hearing of nothing but crusades and priests and
+death and sorcery ever since I kicked that skull
+into the gravel pit, and I am tired of it, I tell
+you frankly. One would think we lived in the
+dark ages. Do you know what year of our Lord
+it is, Le Bihan?"</p>
+
+<p>"Eighteen hundred and ninety-six," replied
+the mayor.</p>
+
+<p>"And yet you two hulking men are afraid
+of a death's-head moth."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't care to have one fly into the window,"
+said Max Fortin; "it means evil to the
+house and the people in it."</p>
+
+<p>"God alone knows why he marked one of
+his creatures with a yellow death's head on the
+back," observed Le Bihan piously, "but I
+take it that he meant it as a warning; and
+I propose to profit by it," he added triumphantly.</p>
+
+<p>"See here, Le Bihan," I said; "by a stretch
+of imagination one can make out a skull on the
+thorax of a certain big sphinx moth. What
+of it?"</p>
+
+<p>"It is a bad thing to touch," said the mayor,
+wagging his head.</p>
+
+<p>"It squeaks when handled," added Max
+Fortin.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg85">[85]</span>
+"Some creatures squeak all the time," I observed,
+looking hard at Le Bihan.</p>
+
+<p>"Pigs," added the mayor.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, and asses," I replied. "Listen, Le
+Bihan: do you mean to tell me that you saw
+that skull roll uphill yesterday?"</p>
+
+<p>The mayor shut his mouth tightly and
+picked up his hammer.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't be obstinate," I said; "I asked you
+a question."</p>
+
+<p>"And I refuse to answer," snapped Le Bihan.
+"Fortin saw what I saw; let him talk
+about it."</p>
+
+<p>I looked searchingly at the little chemist.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't say that I saw it actually roll up
+out of the pit, all by itself," said Fortin with a
+shiver, "but&mdash;but then, how did it come up
+out of the pit, if it didn't roll up all by itself?"</p>
+
+<p>"It didn't come up at all; that was a yellow
+cobblestone that you mistook for the skull
+again," I replied. "You were nervous, Max."</p>
+
+<p>"A&mdash;a very curious cobblestone, Monsieur
+Darrel," said Fortin.</p>
+
+<p>"I also was a victim to the same hallucination,"
+I continued, "and I regret to say that I
+took the trouble to roll two innocent cobblestones
+into the gravel pit, imagining each time
+that it was the skull I was rolling."</p>
+
+<p>"It was," observed Le Bihan with a morose
+shrug.</p>
+
+<p>"It just shows," said I, ignoring the
+<span class="pb" id="Pg86">[86]</span>
+mayor's remark, "how easy it is to fix up a train
+of coincidences so that the result seems to savour
+of the supernatural. Now, last night my
+wife imagined that she saw a priest in a mask
+peer in at her window&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Fortin and Le Bihan scrambled hastily from
+their knees, dropping hammer and nails.</p>
+
+<p>"W-h-a-t&mdash;what's that?" demanded the
+mayor.</p>
+
+<p>I repeated what I had said. Max Fortin
+turned livid.</p>
+
+<p>"My God!" muttered Le Bihan, "the
+Black Priest is in St. Gildas!"</p>
+
+<p>"D-don't you&mdash;you know the old prophecy?"
+stammered Fortin; "Froissart quotes it
+from Jacques Sorgue:</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="verse">'When the Black Priest rises from the dead,</div>
+<div class="verse">St. Gildas folk shall shriek in bed;</div>
+<div class="verse">When the Black Priest rises from his grave,</div>
+<div class="verse">May the good God St. Gildas save!'"</div>
+</div></div></div>
+
+<p>"Aristide Le Bihan," I said angrily, "and
+you, Max Fortin, I've got enough of this nonsense!
+Some foolish lout from Bannalec has
+been in St. Gildas playing tricks to frighten old
+fools like you. If you have nothing better to
+talk about than nursery legends I'll wait until
+you come to your senses. Good-morning."
+And I walked out, more disturbed than I cared
+to acknowledge to myself.</p>
+
+<p>The day had become misty and overcast.
+<span class="pb" id="Pg87">[87]</span>
+Heavy, wet clouds hung in the east. I heard
+the surf thundering against the cliffs, and the
+gray gulls squealed as they tossed and turned
+high in the sky. The tide was creeping across
+the river sands, higher, higher, and I saw
+the seaweed floating on the beach, and the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">lançons</i>
+springing from the foam, silvery thread-like
+flashes in the gloom. Curlew were flying
+up the river in twos and threes; the timid sea
+swallows skimmed across the moors toward
+some quiet, lonely pool, safe from the coming
+tempest. In every hedge field birds were
+gathering, huddling together, twittering restlessly.</p>
+
+<p>When I reached the cliffs I sat down, resting
+my chin on my clenched hands. Already
+a vast curtain of rain, sweeping across the ocean
+miles away, hid the island of Groix. To the
+east, behind the white semaphore on the hills,
+black clouds crowded up over the horizon.
+After a little the thunder boomed, dull, distant,
+and slender skeins of lightning unravelled across
+the crest of the coming storm. Under the cliff
+at my feet the surf rushed foaming over the
+shore, and the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">lançons</i> jumped and skipped and
+quivered until they seemed to be but the reflections
+of the meshed lightning.</p>
+
+<p>I turned to the east. It was raining over
+Groix, it was raining at Sainte Barbe, it was
+raining now at the semaphore. High in the
+storm whirl a few gulls pitched; a nearer cloud
+<span class="pb" id="Pg88">[88]</span>
+trailed veils of rain in its wake; the sky was
+spattered with lightning; the thunder boomed.</p>
+
+<p>As I rose to go, a cold raindrop fell upon the
+back of my hand, and another, and yet another
+on my face. I gave a last glance at the sea,
+where the waves were bursting into strange
+white shapes that seemed to fling out menacing
+arms toward me. Then something moved on
+the cliff, something black as the black rock it
+clutched&mdash;a filthy cormorant, craning its hideous
+head at the sky.</p>
+
+<p>Slowly I plodded homeward across the
+sombre moorland, where the gorse stems glimmered
+with a dull metallic green, and the
+heather, no longer violet and purple, hung
+drenched and dun-coloured among the dreary
+rocks. The wet turf creaked under my heavy
+boots, the black-thorn scraped and grated
+against knee and elbow. Over all lay a strange
+light, pallid, ghastly, where the sea spray
+whirled across the landscape and drove into my
+face until it grew numb with the cold. In
+broad bands, rank after rank, billow on billow,
+the rain burst out across the endless moors, and
+yet there was no wind to drive it at such a pace.</p>
+
+<p>Lys stood at the door as I turned into the
+garden, motioning me to hasten; and then for
+the first time I became conscious that I was
+soaked to the skin.</p>
+
+<p>"How ever in the world did you come to
+stay out when such a storm threatened?" she
+<span class="pb" id="Pg89">[89]</span>
+said. "Oh, you are dripping! Go quickly
+and change; I have laid your warm underwear
+on the bed, Dick."</p>
+
+<p>I kissed my wife, and went upstairs to
+change my dripping clothes for something more
+comfortable.</p>
+
+<p>When I returned to the morning room there
+was a driftwood fire on the hearth, and Lys
+sat in the chimney corner embroidering.</p>
+
+<p>"Catherine tells me that the fishing fleet
+from Lorient is out. Do you think they are
+in danger, dear?" asked Lys, raising her blue
+eyes to mine as I entered.</p>
+
+<p>"There is no wind, and there will be no
+sea," said I, looking out of the window. Far
+across the moor I could see the black cliffs looming
+in the mist.</p>
+
+<p>"How it rains!" murmured Lys; "come
+to the fire, Dick."</p>
+
+<p>I threw myself on the fur rug, my hands in
+my pockets, my head on Lys's knees.</p>
+
+<p>"Tell me a story," I said. "I feel like a
+boy of ten."</p>
+
+<p>Lys raised a finger to her scarlet lips. I
+always waited for her to do that.</p>
+
+<p>"Will you be very still, then?" she said.</p>
+
+<p>"Still as death."</p>
+
+<p>"Death," echoed a voice, very softly.</p>
+
+<p>"Did you speak, Lys?" I asked, turning so
+that I could see her face.</p>
+
+<p>"No; did you, Dick?"</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg90">[90]</span>
+"Who said 'death'?" I asked, startled.</p>
+
+<p>"Death," echoed a voice, softly.</p>
+
+<p>I sprang up and looked about. Lys rose
+too, her needles and embroidery falling to the
+floor. She seemed about to faint, leaning heavily
+on me, and I led her to the window and
+opened it a little way to give her air. As I did
+so the chain lightning split the zenith, the
+thunder crashed, and a sheet of rain swept into
+the room, driving with it something that fluttered&mdash;something
+that flapped, and squeaked,
+and beat upon the rug with soft, moist wings.</p>
+
+<p>We bent over it together, Lys clinging to
+me, and we saw that it was a death's-head moth
+drenched with rain.</p>
+
+<p>The dark day passed slowly as we sat beside
+the fire, hand in hand, her head against my
+breast, speaking of sorrow and mystery and
+death. For Lys believed that there were things
+on earth that none might understand, things
+that must be nameless forever and ever, until
+God rolls up the scroll of life and all is ended.
+We spoke of hope and fear and faith, and the
+mystery of the saints; we spoke of the beginning
+and the end, of the shadow of sin, of
+omens, and of love. The moth still lay on the
+floor, quivering its sombre wings in the warmth
+of the fire, the skull and ribs clearly etched
+upon its neck and body.</p>
+
+<p>"If it is a messenger of death to this house,"
+I said, "why should we fear, Lys?"</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg91">[91]</span>
+"Death should be welcome to those who
+love God," murmured Lys, and she drew the
+cross from her breast and kissed it.</p>
+
+<p>"The moth might die if I threw it out into
+the storm," I said after a silence.</p>
+
+<p>"Let it remain," sighed Lys.</p>
+
+<p>Late that night my wife lay sleeping, and
+I sat beside her bed and read in the Chronicle
+of Jacques Sorgue. I shaded the candle, but
+Lys grew restless, and finally I took the book
+down into the morning room, where the ashes
+of the fire rustled and whitened on the hearth.</p>
+
+<p>The death's-head moth lay on the rug before
+the fire where I had left it. At first I
+thought it was dead, but, when I looked closer
+I saw a lambent fire in its amber eyes. The
+straight white shadow it cast across the floor
+wavered as the candle flickered.</p>
+
+<p>The pages of the Chronicle of Jacques
+Sorgue were damp and sticky; the illuminated
+gold and blue initials left flakes of azure and
+gilt where my hand brushed them.</p>
+
+<p>"It is not paper at all; it is thin parchment,"
+I said to myself; and I held the discoloured
+page close to the candle flame and read,
+translating laboriously:</p>
+
+<p>"I, Jacques Sorgue, saw all these things.
+And I saw the Black Mass celebrated in the
+chapel of St. Gildas-on-the-Cliff. And it was
+said by the Abbé Sorgue, my kinsman: for
+which deadly sin the apostate priest was seized
+<span class="pb" id="Pg92">[92]</span>
+by the most noble Marquis of Plougastel and
+by him condemned to be burned with hot irons,
+until his seared soul quit its body and fly to its
+master the devil. But when the Black Priest
+lay in the crypt of Plougastel, his master Satan
+came at night and set him free, and carried him
+across land and sea to Mahmoud, which is Soldan
+or Saladin. And I, Jacques Sorgue,
+travelling afterward by sea, beheld with my own
+eyes my kinsman, the Black Priest of St. Gildas,
+borne along in the air upon a vast black
+wing, which was the wing of his master Satan.
+And this was seen also by two men of the crew."</p>
+
+<p>I turned the page. The wings of the moth
+on the floor began to quiver. I read on and
+on, my eyes blurring under the shifting candle
+flame. I read of battles and of saints, and I
+learned how the great Soldan made his pact
+with Satan, and then I came to the Sieur de
+Trevec, and read how he seized the Black
+Priest in the midst of Saladin's tents and carried
+him away and cut off his head, first branding
+him on the forehead. "And before he
+suffered," said the Chronicle, "he cursed the
+Sieur de Trevec and his descendants, and he
+said he would surely return to St. Gildas. 'For
+the violence you do to me, I will do violence to
+you. For the evil I suffer at your hands, I will
+work evil on you and your descendants. Woe
+to your children, Sieur de Trevec!'" There
+was a whirr, a beating of strong wings, and my
+<span class="pb" id="Pg93">[93]</span>
+candle flashed up as in a sudden breeze. A
+humming filled the room; the great moth
+<ins class="corr" title="dated" id="C093">darted</ins> hither and thither, beating, buzzing, on
+ceiling and wall. I flung down my book and
+stepped forward. Now it lay fluttering upon
+the window sill, and for a moment I had it
+under my hand, but the thing squeaked and I
+shrank back. Then suddenly it darted across
+the candle flame; the light flared and went out,
+and at the same moment a shadow moved in the
+darkness outside. I raised my eyes to the window.
+A masked face was peering in at me.</p>
+
+<p>Quick as thought I whipped out my revolver
+and fired every cartridge, but the face advanced
+beyond the window, the glass melting away before
+it like mist, and through the smoke of my
+revolver I saw something creep swiftly into the
+room. Then I tried to cry out, but the thing
+was at my throat, and I fell backward among
+the ashes of the hearth.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb"/>
+
+<p>When my eyes unclosed I was lying on the
+hearth, my head among the cold ashes. Slowly
+I got on my knees, rose painfully, and groped
+my way to a chair. On the floor lay my revolver,
+shining in the pale light of early morning.
+My mind clearing by degrees, I looked,
+shuddering, at the window. The glass was unbroken.
+I stooped stiffly, picked up my revolver
+and opened the cylinder. Every cartridge
+had been fired. Mechanically I closed
+<span class="pb" id="Pg94">[94]</span>
+the cylinder and placed the revolver in my
+pocket. The book, the Chronicles of Jacques
+Sorgue, lay on the table beside me, and as I
+started to close it I glanced at the page. It
+was all splashed with rain, and the lettering
+had run, so that the page was merely a confused
+blur of gold and red and black. As I stumbled
+toward the door I cast a fearful glance over my
+shoulder. The death's-head moth crawled
+shivering on the rug.</p>
+
+<h3>IV.</h3>
+
+<p>The sun was about three hours high. I
+must have slept, for I was aroused by the sudden
+gallop of horses under our window. People
+were shouting and calling in the road. I sprang
+up and opened the sash. Le Bihan was there,
+an image of helplessness, and Max Fortin stood
+beside him, polishing his glasses. Some gendarmes
+had just arrived from Quimperlé, and
+I could hear them around the corner of the
+house, stamping, and rattling their sabres and
+carbines, as they led their horses into my
+stable.</p>
+
+<p>Lys sat up, murmuring half-sleepy, half-anxious
+questions.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know," I answered. "I am going
+out to see what it means."</p>
+
+<p>"It is like the day they came to arrest you,"
+Lys said, giving me a troubled look. But I
+<span class="pb" id="Pg95">[95]</span>
+kissed her, and laughed at her until she smiled
+too. Then I flung on coat and cap and hurried
+down the stairs.</p>
+
+<p>The first person I saw standing in the road
+was the Brigadier Durand.</p>
+
+<p>"Hello!" said I, "have you come to arrest
+me again? What the devil is all this fuss
+about, anyway?"</p>
+
+<p>"We were telegraphed for an hour ago,"
+said Durand briskly, "and for a sufficient
+reason, I think. Look there, Monsieur Darrel!"</p>
+
+<p>He pointed to the ground almost under my
+feet.</p>
+
+<p>"Good heavens!" I cried, "where did that
+puddle of blood come from?"</p>
+
+<p>"That's what I want to know, Monsieur
+Darrel. Max Fortin found it at daybreak.
+See, it's splashed all over the grass, too. A trail
+of it leads into your garden, across the flower
+beds to your very window, the one that opens
+from the morning room. There is another
+trail leading from this spot across the road to
+the cliffs, then to the gravel pit, and thence
+across the moor to the forest of Kerselec. We
+are going to mount in a minute and search the
+bosquets. Will you join us? Bon Dieu! but
+the fellow bled like an ox. Max Fortin says
+it's human blood, or I should not have believed
+it."</p>
+
+<p>The little chemist of Quimperlé came up at
+<span class="pb" id="Pg96">[96]</span>
+that moment, rubbing his glasses with a coloured
+handkerchief.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, it is human blood," he said, "but
+one thing puzzles me: the corpuscles are yellow.
+I never saw any human blood before with
+yellow corpuscles. But your English Doctor
+Thompson asserts that he has&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, it's human blood, anyway&mdash;isn't
+it?" insisted Durand, impatiently.</p>
+
+<p>"Ye-es," admitted Max Fortin.</p>
+
+<p>"Then it's my business to trail it," said the
+big gendarme, and he called his men and gave
+the order to mount.</p>
+
+<p>"Did you hear anything last night?" asked
+Durand of me.</p>
+
+<p>"I heard the rain. I wonder the rain did
+not wash away these traces."</p>
+
+<p>"They must have come after the rain
+ceased. See this thick splash, how it lies over
+and weighs down the wet grass blades. Pah!"</p>
+
+<p>It was a heavy, evil-looking clot, and I
+stepped back from it, my throat closing in disgust.</p>
+
+<p>"My theory," said the brigadier, "is this:
+Some of those Biribi fishermen, probably the
+Icelanders, got an extra glass of cognac into
+their hides and quarrelled on the road. Some
+of them were slashed, and staggered to your
+house. But there is only one trail, and yet&mdash;and
+yet, how could all that blood come from
+only one person? Well, the wounded man,
+<span class="pb" id="Pg97">[97]</span>
+let us say, staggered first to your house and
+then back here, and he wandered off, drunk
+and dying, God knows where. That's my
+theory."</p>
+
+<p>"A very good one," said I calmly. "And
+you are going to trail him?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes."</p>
+
+<p>"When?"</p>
+
+<p>"At once. Will you come?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not now. I'll gallop over by-and-bye.
+You are going to the edge of the Kerselec forest?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes; you will hear us calling. Are you
+coming, Max Fortin? And you, Le Bihan?
+Good; take the dog-cart."</p>
+
+<p>The big gendarme tramped around the corner
+to the stable and presently returned
+mounted on a strong gray horse; his sabre shone
+on his saddle; his pale yellow and white facings
+were spotless. The little crowd of white-coiffed
+women with their children fell back, as
+Durand touched spurs and clattered away followed
+by his two troopers. Soon after Le
+Bihan and Max Fortin also departed in the
+mayor's dingy dog-cart.</p>
+
+<p>"Are you coming?" piped Le Bihan shrilly.</p>
+
+<p>"In a quarter of an hour," I replied, and
+went back to the house.</p>
+
+<p>When I opened the door of the morning
+room the death's-head moth was beating its
+strong wings against the window. For a second
+<span class="pb" id="Pg98">[98]</span>
+I hesitated, then walked over and opened
+the sash. The creature fluttered out, whirred
+over the flower beds a moment, then darted
+across the moorland toward the sea. I called
+the servants together and questioned them.
+Josephine, Catherine, Jean Marie Tregunc, not
+one of them had heard the slightest disturbance
+during the night. Then I told Jean Marie to
+saddle my horse, and while I was speaking Lys
+came down.</p>
+
+<p>"Dearest," I began, going to her.</p>
+
+<p>"You must tell me everything you know,
+Dick," she interrupted, looking me earnestly
+in the face.</p>
+
+<p>"But there is nothing to tell&mdash;only a
+drunken brawl, and some one wounded."</p>
+
+<p>"And you are going to ride&mdash;where,
+Dick?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, over to the edge of Kerselec forest.
+Durand and the mayor, and Max Fortin, have
+gone on, following a&mdash;a trail."</p>
+
+<p>"What trail?"</p>
+
+<p>"Some blood."</p>
+
+<p>"Where did they find it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Out in the road there." Lys crossed
+herself.</p>
+
+<p>"Does it come near our house?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes."</p>
+
+<p>"How near?"</p>
+
+<p>"It comes up to the morning-room window,"
+said I, giving in.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg99">[99]</span>
+Her hand on my arm grew heavy. "I
+dreamed last night&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"So did I&mdash;&mdash;" but I thought of the empty
+cartridges in my revolver, and stopped.</p>
+
+<p>"I dreamed that you were in great danger,
+and I could not move hand or foot to save you;
+but you had your revolver, and I called out to
+you to fire&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I did fire!" I cried excitedly.</p>
+
+<p>"You&mdash;you fired?"</p>
+
+<p>I took her in my arms. "My darling," I
+said, "something strange has happened&mdash;something
+that I can not understand as yet. But,
+of course, there is an explanation. Last night
+I thought I fired at the Black Priest."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah!" gasped Lys.</p>
+
+<p>"Is that what you dreamed?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, yes, that was it! I begged you to
+fire&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"And I did."</p>
+
+<p>Her heart was beating against my breast.
+I held her close in silence.</p>
+
+<p>"Dick," she said at length, "perhaps you
+killed the&mdash;the thing."</p>
+
+<p>"If it was human I did not miss," I answered
+grimly. "And it was human," I went
+on, pulling myself together, ashamed of having
+so nearly gone to pieces. "Of course it was
+human! The whole affair is plain enough.
+Not a drunken brawl, as Durand thinks; it was
+a drunken lout's practical joke, for which he
+<span class="pb" id="Pg100">[100]</span>
+has suffered. I suppose I must have filled him
+pretty full of bullets, and he has crawled away
+to die in Kerselec forest. It's a terrible affair;
+I'm sorry I fired so hastily; but that idiot Le
+Bihan and Max Fortin have been working on
+my nerves till I am as hysterical as a schoolgirl,"
+I ended angrily.</p>
+
+<p>"You fired&mdash;but the window glass was not
+shattered," said Lys in a low voice.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, the window was open, then. And
+as for the&mdash;the rest&mdash;I've got nervous indigestion,
+and a doctor will settle the Black Priest
+for me, Lys."</p>
+
+<p>I glanced out of the window at Tregunc
+waiting with my horse at the gate.</p>
+
+<p>"Dearest, I think I had better go to join
+Durand and the others."</p>
+
+<p>"I will go too."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, no!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, Dick."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't, Lys."</p>
+
+<p>"I shall suffer every moment you are
+away."</p>
+
+<p>"The ride is too fatiguing, and we can't
+tell what unpleasant sight you may come upon.
+Lys, you don't really think there is anything
+supernatural in this affair?"</p>
+
+<p>"Dick," she answered gently, "I am a Bretonne."
+With both arms around my neck, my
+wife said, "Death is the gift of God. I do
+not fear it when we are together. But alone&mdash;oh,
+<span class="pb" id="Pg101">[101]</span>
+my husband, I should fear a God who could
+take you away from me!"</p>
+
+<p>We kissed each other soberly, simply, like
+two children. Then Lys hurried away to
+change her gown, and I paced up and down the
+garden waiting for her.</p>
+
+<p>She came, drawing on her slender gauntlets.
+I swung her into the saddle, gave a hasty order
+to Jean Marie, and mounted.</p>
+
+<p>Now, to quail under thoughts of terror on a
+morning like this, with Lys in the saddle beside
+me, no matter what had happened or might
+happen, was impossible. Moreover, Môme
+came sneaking after us. I asked Tregunc to
+catch him, for I was afraid he might be brained
+by our horses' hoofs if he followed, but the wily
+puppy dodged and bolted after Lys, who was
+trotting along the high-road. "Never mind,"
+I thought; "if he's hit he'll live, for he has no
+brains to lose."</p>
+
+<p>Lys was waiting for me in the road beside
+the Shrine of Our Lady of St. Gildas when I
+joined her. She crossed herself, I doffed my
+cap, then we shook out our bridles and galloped
+toward the forest of Kerselec.</p>
+
+<p>We said very little as we rode. I always
+loved to watch Lys in the saddle. Her exquisite
+figure and lovely face were the incarnation
+of youth and grace; her curling hair
+glistened like threaded gold.</p>
+
+<p>Out of the corner of my eye I saw the
+<span class="pb" id="Pg102">[102]</span>
+spoiled puppy Môme come bounding cheerfully
+alongside, oblivious of our horses' heels. Our
+road swung close to the cliffs. A filthy cormorant
+rose from the black rocks and flapped
+heavily across our path. Lys's horse reared, but
+she pulled him down, and pointed at the bird
+with her riding crop.</p>
+
+<p>"I see," said I; "it seems to be going our
+way. Curious to see a cormorant in a forest,
+isn't it?"</p>
+
+<p>"It is a bad sign," said Lys. "You know
+the Morbihan proverb: 'When the cormorant
+turns from the sea, Death laughs in the forest,
+and wise woodsmen build boats.'"</p>
+
+<p>"I wish," said I sincerely, "that there were
+fewer proverbs in Brittany."</p>
+
+<p>We were in sight of the forest now; across
+the gorse I could see the sparkle of gendarmes'
+trappings, and the glitter of Le Bihan's silver-buttoned
+jacket. The hedge was low and we
+took it without difficulty, and trotted across the
+moor to where Le Bihan and Durand stood gesticulating.</p>
+
+<p>They bowed ceremoniously to Lys as we
+rode up.</p>
+
+<p>"The trail is horrible&mdash;it is a river," said
+the mayor in his squeaky voice. "Monsieur
+Darrel, I think perhaps madame would scarcely
+care to come any nearer."</p>
+
+<p>Lys drew bridle and looked at me.</p>
+
+<p>"It is horrible!" said Durand, walking up
+<span class="pb" id="Pg103">[103]</span>
+beside me; "it looks as though a bleeding regiment
+had passed this way. The trail winds and
+winds about there in the thickets; we lose it
+at times, but we always find it again. I can't
+understand how one man&mdash;no, nor twenty&mdash;could
+bleed like that!"</p>
+
+<p>A halloo, answered by another, sounded
+from the depths of the forest.</p>
+
+<p>"It's my men; they are following the trail,"
+muttered the brigadier. "God alone knows
+what is at the end!"</p>
+
+<p>"Shall we gallop back, Lys?" I asked.</p>
+
+<p>"No; let us ride along the western edge of
+the woods and dismount. The sun is so hot
+now, and I should like to rest for a moment,"
+she said.</p>
+
+<p>"The western forest is clear of anything
+disagreeable," said Durand.</p>
+
+<p>"Very well," I answered; "call me, Le Bihan,
+if you find anything."</p>
+
+<p>Lys wheeled her mare, and I followed across
+the springy heather, Môme trotting cheerfully
+in the rear.</p>
+
+<p>We entered the sunny woods about a quarter
+of a kilometre from where we left Durand. I
+took Lys from her horse, flung both bridles over
+a limb, and, giving my wife my arm, aided her
+to a flat mossy rock which overhung a shallow
+brook gurgling among the <ins class="corr" title="beach" id="C103">beech</ins> trees. Lys
+sat down and drew off her gauntlets. Môme
+pushed his head into her lap, received an undeserved
+<span class="pb" id="Pg104">[104]</span>
+caress, and came doubtfully toward
+me. I was weak enough to condone his offence,
+but I made him lie down at my feet, greatly
+to his disgust.</p>
+
+<p>I rested my head on Lys's knees, looking up
+at the sky through the crossed branches of the
+trees.</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose I have killed him," I said. "It
+shocks me terribly, Lys."</p>
+
+<p>"You could not have known, dear. He
+may have been a robber, and&mdash;if&mdash;not&mdash;&mdash; Did&mdash;have
+you ever fired your revolver since that
+day four years ago, when the Red Admiral's
+son tried to kill you? But I know you have
+not."</p>
+
+<p>"No," said I, wondering. "It's a fact, I
+have not. Why?"</p>
+
+<p>"And don't you remember that I asked
+you to let me load it for you the day when
+Yves went off, swearing to kill you and his
+father?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I do remember. Well?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I&mdash;I took the cartridges first to St.
+Gildas chapel and dipped them in holy water.
+You must not laugh, Dick," said Lys gently,
+laying her cool hands on my lips.</p>
+
+<p>"Laugh, my darling!"</p>
+
+<p>Overhead the October sky was pale amethyst,
+and the sunlight burned like orange flame
+through the yellow leaves of <ins class="corr" title="beach" id="C104">beech</ins> and oak.
+Gnats and midges danced and wavered overhead;
+<span class="pb" id="Pg105">[105]</span>
+a spider dropped from a twig halfway
+to the ground and hung suspended on the end
+of his gossamer thread.</p>
+
+<p>"Are you sleepy, dear?" asked Lys, bending
+over me.</p>
+
+<p>"I am&mdash;a little; I scarcely slept two hours
+last night," I answered.</p>
+
+<p>"You may sleep, if you wish," said Lys, and
+touched my eyes caressingly.</p>
+
+<p>"Is my head heavy on your knees?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, Dick."</p>
+
+<p>I was already in a half doze; still I heard the
+brook babbling under the beeches and the humming
+of forest flies overhead. Presently even
+these were stilled.</p>
+
+<p>The next thing I knew I was sitting bolt
+upright, my ears ringing with a scream, and I
+saw Lys cowering beside me, covering her white
+face with both hands.</p>
+
+<p>As I sprang to my feet she cried again and
+clung to my knees. I saw my dog rush growling
+into a thicket, then I heard him whimper,
+and he came backing out, whining, ears flat,
+tail down. I stooped and disengaged Lys's
+hand.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't go, Dick!" she cried. "O God, it's
+the Black Priest!"</p>
+
+<p>In a moment I had leaped across the brook
+and pushed my way into the thicket. It was
+empty. I stared about me; I scanned every
+tree trunk, every bush. Suddenly I saw him.
+<span class="pb" id="Pg106">[106]</span>
+He was seated on a fallen log, his head resting
+in his hands, his rusty black robe gathered
+around him. For a moment my hair stirred
+under my cap; sweat started on forehead and
+cheek-bone; then I recovered my reason, and
+understood that the man was human and was
+probably wounded to death. Ay, to death; for
+there, at my feet, lay the wet trail of blood, over
+leaves and stones, down into the little hollow,
+across to the figure in black resting silently
+under the trees.</p>
+
+<p>I saw that he could not escape even if he
+had the strength, for before him, almost at his
+very feet, lay a deep, shining swamp.</p>
+
+<p>As I stepped forward my foot broke a twig.
+At the sound the figure started a little, then its
+head fell forward again. Its face was masked.
+Walking up to the man, I bade him tell where
+he was wounded. Durand and the others broke
+through the thicket at the same moment and
+hurried to my side.</p>
+
+<p>"Who are you who hide a masked face in a
+priest's robe?" said the gendarme loudly.</p>
+
+<p>There was no answer.</p>
+
+<p>"See&mdash;see the stiff blood all over his robe!"
+muttered Le Bihan to Fortin.</p>
+
+<p>"He will not speak," said I.</p>
+
+<p>"He may be too badly wounded," whispered
+Le Bihan.</p>
+
+<p>"I saw him raise his head," I said; "my
+wife saw him creep up here."</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg107">[107]</span>
+Durand stepped forward and touched the
+figure.</p>
+
+<p>"Speak!" he said.</p>
+
+<p>"Speak!" quavered Fortin.</p>
+
+<p>Durand waited a moment, then with a sudden
+upward movement he stripped off the mask
+and threw back the man's head. We were looking
+into the eye sockets of a skull. Durand
+stood rigid; the mayor shrieked. The skeleton
+burst out from its rotting robes and collapsed
+on the ground before us. From between the
+staring ribs and the grinning teeth spurted a
+torrent of black blood, showering the shrinking
+grasses; then the thing shuddered, and fell over
+into the black ooze of the bog. Little bubbles
+of iridescent air appeared from the mud; the
+bones were slowly engulfed, and, as the last fragments
+sank out of sight, up from the depths
+and along the bank crept a creature, shiny, shivering,
+quivering its wings.</p>
+
+<p>It was a death's-head moth.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb"/>
+
+<p>I wish I had time to tell you how Lys outgrew
+superstitions&mdash;for she never knew the
+truth about the affair, and she never will know,
+since she has promised not to read this book.
+I wish I might tell you about the king and his
+coronation, and how the coronation robe fitted.
+I wish that I were able to write how Yvonne
+and Herbert Stuart rode to a boar hunt in
+Quimperlé, and how the hounds raced the
+<span class="pb" id="Pg108">[108]</span>
+quarry right through the town, overturning
+three gendarmes, the notary, and an old woman.
+But I am becoming garrulous, and Lys is calling
+me to come and hear the king say that he is
+sleepy. And his Highness shall not be kept
+waiting.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb"/>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="center">THE KING'S CRADLE SONG.</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<div class="verse indent4">Seal with a seal of gold</div>
+<div class="verse indent4">The scroll of a life unrolled;</div>
+<div class="verse indent2">Swathe him deep in his purple stole;</div>
+<div class="verse indent2">Ashes of diamonds, crystalled coal,</div>
+<div class="verse indent4">Drops of gold in each scented fold.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<div class="verse indent2">Crimson wings of the Little Death,</div>
+<div class="verse indent2">Stir his hair with your silken breath;</div>
+<div class="verse indent2">Flaming wings of sins to be,</div>
+<div class="verse indent2">Splendid pinions of prophecy,</div>
+<div class="verse indent4">Smother his eyes with hues and dyes,</div>
+<div class="verse">While the white moon spins and the winds arise,</div>
+<div class="verse indent4">And the stars drip through the skies.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<div class="verse indent4">Wave, O wings of the Little Death!</div>
+<div class="verse indent4">Seal his sight and stifle his breath,</div>
+<div class="verse indent2">Cover his breast with the gemmed shroud pressed;</div>
+<div class="verse indent2">From north to north, from west to west,</div>
+<div class="verse indent4">Wave, O wings of the Little Death!</div>
+<div class="verse">Till the white moon reels in the cracking skies,</div>
+<div class="verse indent4">And the ghosts of God arise.</div>
+</div></div></div>
+
+<hr /></div>
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2>THE WHITE SHADOW.<span class="pb" id="Pg109">[109]</span></h2>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poem "><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pb" id="Pg110">[110]</span>
+<div class="verse">We are no other than a moving row</div>
+<div class="verse">Of magic shadow-shapes, that come and go</div>
+<div class="verse indent2">  Round with this sun-illumined lantern, held</div>
+<div class="verse">In midnight by the master of the show.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<div class="verse">A moment's halt&mdash;a momentary taste</div>
+<div class="verse">Of being from the well amid the waste&mdash;</div>
+<div class="verse indent2">  And lo! the phantom caravan has reached</div>
+<div class="verse">The nothing it set out from. Oh, make haste!</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<div class="verse">Ah, Love! could you and I with him conspire</div>
+<div class="verse">To grasp this sorry scheme of things entire,</div>
+<div class="verse indent2">Would not we shatter it to bits&mdash;and then</div>
+<div class="verse">Remould it nearer to the heart's desire!</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<div class="verse indent32"><span class="smcap">Fitzgerald.</span></div>
+</div></div></div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="center"><big>THE WHITE SHADOW.</big><span class="pb" id="Pg111">[111]</span></p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="verse">Listen, then, love, and with your white hand clear</div>
+<div class="verse">Your forehead from its cloudy hair.</div>
+</div></div></div>
+
+<h3>I.</h3>
+
+<p>"Three great hulking cousins," said she,
+closing her gray eyes disdainfully.</p>
+
+<p>We accepted the rebuke in astonished silence.
+Presently she opened her eyes, and
+seemed surprised to see us there yet.</p>
+
+<p>"O," she said, "if you think I am going to
+stay here until you make up your minds&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I've made up mine," said Donald. "We
+will go to the links. You may come."</p>
+
+<p>"I shall not," she announced. "Walter,
+what do you propose?"</p>
+
+<p>Walter looked at his cartridge belt and then
+at the little breech-loader standing in a corner
+of the arbour.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I know," she said, "but I won't! I
+won't! I won't!"</p>
+
+<p>The uncles and aunts on the piazza turned
+to look at us; her mother arose from a steamer-chair
+and came across the lawn.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg112">[112]</span>
+"Won't what, Sweetheart?" she asked,
+placing both hands on her daughter's shoulders.</p>
+
+<p>"Mamma, Walter wants me to shoot, and
+Don wants me to play golf, and I&mdash;won't!"</p>
+
+<p>"She doesn't know what she wants," said I.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't I?" she said, flushing with displeasure.</p>
+
+<p>"Her mother might suggest something,"
+hazarded Donald. We looked at our aunt.</p>
+
+<p>"Sweetheart is spoiled," said that lady decisively.
+"If you children don't go away at
+once and have a good time, I shall find employment
+for her."</p>
+
+<p>"Algebra?" I asked maliciously.</p>
+
+<p>"How dare you!" cried Sweetheart, sitting
+up. "Oh, isn't he mean! isn't he ignoble!&mdash;and
+I've done my algebra; haven't I, mamma?"</p>
+
+<p>"But your French?" I began.</p>
+
+<p>Donald laughed, and so did Walter. As for
+Sweetheart, she arose in all the dignity of sixteen
+years, closed her eyes with superb insolence,
+and, clasping her mother's waist with
+one round white arm, marched out of the arbour.</p>
+
+<p>"We tease her too much," said Donald.</p>
+
+<p>"She's growing up fast; we ought not to
+call her 'Sweetheart' when she puts her hair
+up," added Walter.</p>
+
+<p>"She's going to put it up in October, when
+she goes back to school," said Donald. "Jack,
+<span class="pb" id="Pg113">[113]</span>
+she will hate you if you keep reminding her of
+her algebra and French."</p>
+
+<p>"Then I'll stop," said I, suddenly conscious
+what an awful thing it would be if she
+hated me.</p>
+
+<p>Donald's two pointers came frisking across
+the lawn from the kennels, and Donald picked
+up his gun.</p>
+
+<p>"Here we go again," said I. "Donny's
+going to the coverts after grouse, Walter's going
+up on the hill with his dust-shot and arsenic,
+and I'm going across the fields after butterflies.
+Why the deuce can't we all go together, just for
+once?"</p>
+
+<p>"And take Sweetheart? She would like
+it if we all went together," said Walter; "she
+is tired of seeing Jack net butterflies."</p>
+
+<p>"Collecting birds and shooting grouse are
+two different things," began Donald. "You
+spoil my dogs by shooting your confounded
+owls and humming birds."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, your precious dogs!" I cried. "Shut
+up, Donny, and give Sweetheart a good day's
+tramp. It's a pity if three cousins can't pool
+their pleasures for once."</p>
+
+<p>Donald nodded uncertainly.</p>
+
+<p>"Come on," said Walter, "we'll find Sweetheart.
+Jack, you get your butterfly togs and
+come back here."</p>
+
+<p>I nodded, and watched my two cousins
+sauntering across the lawn&mdash;big, clean-cut fellows,
+<span class="pb" id="Pg114">[114]</span>
+resembling each other enough to be
+brothers instead of cousins.</p>
+
+<p>We all resembled each other more or less,
+Donald, Walter, and I. As for Sweetheart,
+she looked like none of us.</p>
+
+<p>It was all very well for her mother to call
+her Sweetheart, and for her aunts to echo it in
+chorus, but the time was coming when we saw
+we should have to stop. A girl of sixteen with
+such a name is ridiculous, and Sweetheart was
+nearly seventeen; and her hair was "going up"
+and her gowns were "coming down" in October.</p>
+
+<p>Her own name was pretty enough. I don't
+know that I ought to tell it, but I will: it was
+the same as her mother's. We called her Sweetheart
+sometimes, sometimes "The Aspen
+Beauty." Donald had given her that name
+from a butterfly in my collection, the Vanessa
+Pandora, commonly known as the Aspen
+beauty, from its never having been captured
+in America except in our village of Aspen.</p>
+
+<p>Here, in the north of New York State, we
+four cousins spent our summers in the family
+house. There was not much to do in Aspen.
+We used the links, we galloped over the sandy
+roads, we also trotted our several hobbies, Donald,
+Walter, and I. Sweetheart had no hobby;
+to make up for this, however, she owned a magnificent
+team of bêtes-noires&mdash;Algebra and
+French.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg115">[115]</span>
+As for me, my butterfly collection languished.
+I had specimens of nearly every butterfly
+in New York State, and I rather longed
+for new states to conquer. Anyway, there
+were plenty of Aspen beauties&mdash;I mean the
+butterflies&mdash;flying about the roads and balm-of-Gilead
+trees, and perhaps that is why I lingered
+there long enough to collect hundreds of
+duplicates for exchange. And perhaps it
+wasn't.</p>
+
+<p>I thought of these things as I sat in the sun-flecked
+arbour, watching the yellow elm leaves
+flutter down from the branches. I thought,
+too, of Sweetheart, and wondered how she
+would look with her hair up. And while I sat
+there smoking, watching the yellow leaves drifting
+across the lawn, a sharp explosion startled
+me and I raised my head.</p>
+
+<p>Sweetheart was standing on the lawn, gazing
+dreamily at the smoking débris of a large firecracker.</p>
+
+<p>"What's that for?" I asked.</p>
+
+<p>"It proclaims my independence," said
+Sweetheart&mdash;"my independence forever. Hereafter
+my cousins will ask to accompany me on
+my walks; they need no longer charitably permit
+me to accompany them. Are you three
+boys going to ride your hobbies?"</p>
+
+<p>"We are," I said.</p>
+
+<p>"Then good-bye. I am going to walk."</p>
+
+<p>"Can't we come too?" I asked, laughing.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg116">[116]</span>
+"Oh," she said graciously, "if you put it
+in that way I could not refuse."</p>
+
+<p>"May we bring our guns?" asked Donald
+from the piazza.</p>
+
+<p>"May I bring my net?" I added, half
+amused, half annoyed.</p>
+
+<p>She made a gesture, indifferent, condescending.</p>
+
+<p>"Dear me!" murmured the aunts in chorus
+from the piazza as we trooped after the Aspen
+beauty, "Sweetheart is growing very fast."</p>
+
+<p>I smiled vaguely at Sweetheart. I was wondering
+how she would look in long frocks and
+coiled hair.</p>
+
+<h3>II.</h3>
+
+<p>In the fall of the year the meadows of Aspen
+glimmer in the sunlight like crumpled
+sheets of beaten gold; for Aspen is the land of
+golden-rod, of yellow earth and gilded fern.</p>
+
+<p>There the crisp oaks rustle, every leaf a blot
+of yellow; there the burnished pines sound,
+sound, tremble, and resound, like gilt-stringed
+harps aquiver in the wind.</p>
+
+<p>Sweet fern, sun-dried, bronzed, fills all the
+hills with incense, vague and delicate as the
+white down drifting from the frothy milkweed.</p>
+
+<p>And where the meadow brook prattled,
+limpid, filtered with sunlight, Sweetheart stood
+knee-deep in fragrant mint, watching the aimless
+minnows swimming in circles. On a distant
+<span class="pb" id="Pg117">[117]</span>
+hill, dark against the blue, Donald moved
+with his dogs, and I saw the sun-glint on his
+gun, and I heard the distant "Hi&mdash;on! Hi&mdash;on!"
+long after he disappeared below the
+brown hill's brow.</p>
+
+<p>Walter, too, had gone, leaving us there
+by the brook together, Sweetheart and I; and
+I saw the crows flapping and circling far over
+the woods, and I heard the soft report of his
+dust-shot shells among the trees.</p>
+
+<p>"The ruling passion, Sweetheart," I said.
+"Donny chases the phantom of pleasure with
+his dogs. The phantom flies from Walter, and
+he follows with his dust-shot."</p>
+
+<p>"Then," said Sweetheart, "follow your
+phantom also; there are butterflies everywhere."
+She raised both arms and turned
+from the brook. "Everywhere flying I see
+butterflies&mdash;phantoms of pleasure; and, Jack,
+you do not follow with your net."</p>
+
+<p>"No," said I, "the world to-day is too fair
+to&mdash;slay in. I even doubt that the happiness
+of empires hinges on the discovery of a new species
+of anything. Do I bore you?"</p>
+
+<p>"A little," said Sweetheart, touching the
+powdered gold of the blossoms about her. She
+laid the tip of her third finger on her lips and
+then on the golden-rod. "I shall not pick it;
+the world is too fair to-day," she said. "What
+are you going to do, Jack?"</p>
+
+<p>"I could doze," I said. "Could you?"</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg118">[118]</span>
+"Yes&mdash;if you told me stories."</p>
+
+<p>I contemplated her in silence for a moment.
+After a while she sat down under an oak and
+clasped her hands.</p>
+
+<p>"I am growing so old," she sighed, "I no
+longer take pleasure in childish things&mdash;Donald's
+dogs, Walter's humming birds, your butterflies.
+Jack?"</p>
+
+<p>"What?"</p>
+
+<p>"Sit down on the grass."</p>
+
+<p>"What for?"</p>
+
+<p>"Because I ask you."</p>
+
+<p>I sat down.</p>
+
+<p>Presently she said: "I am as tall as mamma.
+Why should I study algebra?"</p>
+
+<p>"Because," I answered evasively.</p>
+
+<p>"Your answer is as rude as though I were
+twenty, instead of sixteen," said Sweetheart.
+"If you treat me as a child from this moment, I
+shall hate you."</p>
+
+<p>"Me&mdash;Sweetheart?"</p>
+
+<p>"And that name!&mdash;it is good for children
+and kittens."</p>
+
+<p>I looked at her seriously. "It is good for
+women, too&mdash;when it is time," I said. "I
+prophesy that one day you will hear it again.
+As for me, I shall not call you by that name if
+you dislike it."</p>
+
+<p>"I am a woman&mdash;now," she said.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! at sixteen."</p>
+
+<p>"To-morrow I am to be seventeen."</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg119">[119]</span>
+Presently, looking off at the blue hills, I
+said: "For a long time I have recognised that
+that subtle, indefinable attitude&mdash;we call it
+deference&mdash;due from men to women is due
+from us to you. Donny and Walter are slower
+to accept this. You know what you have been
+to us as a child; we can't bear to lose you&mdash;to
+meet you in another way&mdash;to reckon with you
+as we reckon with a woman. But it is true:
+our little Sweetheart has vanished, and&mdash;<em>you</em>
+are here!"</p>
+
+<p>The oak leaves began to rustle in the hill
+winds; the crows cawed from the woods.</p>
+
+<p>"Oui c'est moi," she said at length.</p>
+
+<p>"I shall never call you Sweetheart again,"
+I said, smiling.</p>
+
+<p>"Who knows?" she laughed, and leaned
+over to pick a blade of wild wheat. She coloured
+faintly a moment later, and said: "I
+didn't mean that, Jack."</p>
+
+<p>And so Sweetheart took her first step across
+that threshold of mystery, the Temple of Idols.
+And of the gilded idols within the temple, one
+shall turn to living flesh at the sound of a voice.
+And lo! where a child had entered, a woman
+returned with the key to the Temple of Gilded
+Idols.</p>
+
+<p>"Jack," said Sweetheart, "you are wrong.
+No day is too fair to kill in. I shall pick my
+arms full&mdash;full of flowers."</p>
+
+<p>Over the yellow fields, red with the stalks
+<span class="pb" id="Pg120">[120]</span>
+of the buckwheat, crowned with a glimmering
+cloud of the dusty gold of the golden-rod,
+Sweetheart passed, pensive, sedate, awed by the
+burden of sixteen years.</p>
+
+<p>I followed.</p>
+
+<p>Over the curling fern and wind-stirred
+grasses the silken milkweed seeds sailed, sailed,
+and the great red-brown butterflies drifted
+above, ruddy as autumn leaves aglow in the sun.</p>
+
+<p>"On the sand-cliff there are marigolds," said
+Sweetheart.</p>
+
+<p>I looked at the mass of wild flowers in her
+arms; her white polished skin reflected the
+blaze of colour, warming like ivory under their
+glow.</p>
+
+<p>"Marigolds," I repeated; "we will get
+some."</p>
+
+<p>"The sand slides on the face of the cliff;
+you must be careful," she said.</p>
+
+<p>"And I may see one of those rare cliff butterflies.
+I haven't any good examples."</p>
+
+<p>I fancy she was not listening; the crows
+were clamouring above the beech woods; the
+hill winds filled our ears with a sound like the
+sound of the sea on shoals. Her gray eyes,
+touched with the sky's deep blue and the blue
+of the misty hills, looked out across the miles of
+woods and fields, and saw a world; not a world
+old, scarred, rock-ribbed, and salt with tears,
+but a new world, youthful, ripe, sunny, hazy
+with the splendour of wonders hidden behind
+<span class="pb" id="Pg121">[121]</span>
+the horizon&mdash;a world jewelled with gems,
+spanned by rose-mist rainbows&mdash;a world of sixteen
+years.</p>
+
+<p>"We are already at the cliff's edge," I said.</p>
+
+<p>She stepped to the edge and looked over. I
+drew her back. The sand started among the
+rocks, running, running with a sound like
+silver water.</p>
+
+<p>"Then you shall not go either," she said.
+"I do not care for marigolds."</p>
+
+<p>But I was already on the edge, stooping for
+a blossom. The next instant I fell.</p>
+
+<p>There was a whistle of sand, a flurry and a
+rush of wind, a blur of rock, fern, dead grasses&mdash;a cry!</p>
+
+<p>For I remember as I fell, falling I called,
+"Sweetheart!" and again "Sweetheart!"
+Then my body struck the rocks below.</p>
+
+<h3>III.</h3>
+
+<p>Of all the seconds that tick the whole year
+through, of all the seconds that have slipped onward
+marking the beat of time since time was
+loosed, there is one, one brief moment, steeped
+in magic and heavy with oblivion, that sometimes
+lingers in the soul of man, annihilating
+space and time. If, at the feet of God, a year
+is a second passed unnoted, this magic second,
+afloat on the tide of time, moves on and on till,
+<span class="pb" id="Pg122">[122]</span>
+caught in the vortex of some life's whirl, it sinks
+into the soul of a being near to death.</p>
+
+<p>And in that soul the magic second glows
+and lingers, stretching into minutes, hours,
+days&mdash;aye, days and days, till, if the magic
+hold, the calm years crowd on one by one; and
+yet it all is but a second&mdash;that magic moment
+that comes on the tide of time&mdash;that came to me
+and was caught up in my life's whirl as I fell,
+dropping there between sky and earth.</p>
+
+<p>And so that magic moment grew to minutes,
+to hours; and when my body, whirling, pitching,
+struck and lay flung out on the earth, the
+magic second grew until the crystal days fell
+from my life, as beads, one by one, fall from the
+rosaries that saints tell kneeling.</p>
+
+<p>Those days of a life that I have lived, those
+years that linger still aglow in the sun behind
+me, dim yet splendid as dust-dimmed jewels,
+they also have ended, not in vague night, but in
+the sunburst of another second&mdash;such a second
+as ticks from my watch as I write, quick, sharp,
+joyous, irrevocable! So, of that magic second,
+or day, or year, I shall tell&mdash;I, as I was, standing
+beside my body flung there across the earth.</p>
+
+<p>I looked at my body, lying in a heap, then
+turned to the sand cliff smiling.</p>
+
+<p>"Sweetheart!" I called.</p>
+
+<p>But she was already at my side.</p>
+
+<p>We walked on through fragrant pastures,
+watching the long shadows stretch from field
+<span class="pb" id="Pg123">[123]</span>
+to field, speaking of what had been and of all
+that was to be. It was so simple&mdash;everything
+was clear before us. Had there been doubts,
+fears, sudden alarms, startled heartbeats?</p>
+
+<p>If there had been, now they were ended forever.</p>
+
+<p>"Not forever," said Sweetheart; "who
+knows how long the magic second may last?"</p>
+
+<p>"But we&mdash;what difference can that make?" I asked.</p>
+
+<p>"To us?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes."</p>
+
+<p>"None," said Sweetheart decisively.</p>
+
+<p>We looked out into the west. The sun
+turned to a mound of cinders; the hills loomed
+in opalescent steam.</p>
+
+<p>"But&mdash;but&mdash;your shadow!" said Sweetheart.</p>
+
+<p>I bent my head, thrilled with happiness.</p>
+
+<p>"And yours," I whispered.</p>
+
+<p>The shadows we cast were whiter than snow.</p>
+
+<p>I still heard the hill winds, soft in my ears
+as breaking surf; a bird-note came from the
+dusky woodland; a star broke out overhead.</p>
+
+<p>"What is your pleasure, Sweetheart, now all
+is said?" I asked.</p>
+
+<p>"The world is all so fair," she sighed; "is
+it fairer beyond the hills, Jack?"</p>
+
+<p>"It is fair where you pass by, north, south,
+and from west to west again. In France the
+poplars are as yellow as our oaks. In Morbihan
+<span class="pb" id="Pg124">[124]</span>
+the gorse gilds all the hills, yellow as
+golden-rod. Shall we go?"</p>
+
+<p>"But in the spring&mdash;let us wait until spring."</p>
+
+<p>"Where?"</p>
+
+<p>"Here."</p>
+
+<p>"Until spring?"</p>
+
+<p>"It is written that Time shall pass as a
+shadow across the sea. What is that book there
+under your feet&mdash;that iron-bound book, half
+embedded like a stone in the grass."</p>
+
+<p>"I did not see it!"</p>
+
+<p>"Bring it to me."</p>
+
+<p>I raised the book; it left a bare mark in the
+sod as a stone that is turned. Then, holding it
+on my knees, I opened it, and Sweetheart, leaning
+on my shoulder, read. The tall stars flared
+like candles, flooding the page with diamond
+light; the earth, perfumed with blossoms,
+stirred with the vague vibration of countless
+sounds, tiny voices swaying breathless in the
+hidden surge of an endless harmony.</p>
+
+<p>"The white shadow is the shadow of the
+soul," she read. Even the winds were hushed
+as her sweet lips moved.</p>
+
+<p>"And what shall make thee to understand
+what hell is?... When the sun shall be folded
+up as a garment that is laid away; when the
+stars fall, and the seas boil, and when souls shall
+be joined again to their bodies; and when the
+girl who hath been buried alive shall be asked
+<span class="pb" id="Pg125">[125]</span>
+for what crime; when books shall be laid open,
+when hell shall burn fiercely, and when paradise
+shall be brought very near:</p>
+
+<p>"Every soul shall know what it hath wrought!"</p>
+
+<p>I closed my eyes; the splendour of the starlight
+on the page was more than my eyes could bear.</p>
+
+<p>But she read on; for what can dim her eyes?</p>
+
+<p>"O man, verily, labouring, thou labourest
+to meet thy <span class="smcap">Lord</span>.</p>
+
+<p>"And thou shalt meet <span class="smcap">Him</span>!</p>
+
+<p>"When the earth shall be stretched like a
+skin, and shall cast forth that which is therein;</p>
+
+<p>"By the heaven adorned with signs, by the
+witness and the witnessed;</p>
+
+<p>"By that which appeareth by night; by the
+daybreak and the ten nights&mdash;the ten nights;</p>
+
+<p>"The night of Al Kadr is better than a
+thousand months.</p>
+
+<p>"Praise be to God, the Lord of all creatures;
+the Most Merciful, the King of the Day of
+Judgment. Thee do we worship, and of thee
+do we beg assistance. Direct us in the right
+way, in the way of those to whom thou hast
+been gracious; not of those against whom thou
+art incensed, nor of those who go astray!"</p>
+
+<hr class="tb"/>
+
+<p>In the sudden silence that spread across
+earth and heaven I heard the sound of a voice
+under the earth, calling, calling, calling.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg126">[126]</span>
+"It is already spring," said Sweetheart; and
+she rose, placing her white hands in mine.
+"Shall we go?"</p>
+
+<p>"But we are already there," I stammered,
+turning my eyes fearfully; for the tall pines
+dwindled and clustered and rose again cool
+and gray in the morning air, all turned to stone,
+fretted and carved like lacework; and where
+the pines had faded, the twin towers of a cathedral
+loomed; and where the hills swept across
+the horizon, the roofs of a white city glimmered
+in the morning sun. Bridges and
+quays and streets and domes and the hum of
+traffic and rattle of arms; and over all, the
+veil of haze and the twin gray towers of Notre
+Dame!</p>
+
+<p>"Sweetheart!" I faltered.</p>
+
+<p>But we were already in my studio.</p>
+
+<h3>IV.</h3>
+
+<p>The studio had not changed. The sun
+flooded it.</p>
+
+<p>Sweetheart sat in the broken armchair and
+watched me struggle with the packing. Every
+now and then she made an impulsive movement
+toward the heap of clothes on the floor, which
+I checked with a "Thanks! I can fix it all alone,
+Sweetheart."</p>
+
+<p>Clifford seemed to extract amusement from
+it all, and said as much to Rowden, who was as
+<span class="pb" id="Pg127">[127]</span>
+usual ruining my zitherine by trying to play it
+like a banjo.</p>
+
+<p>Elliott, knowing he could be of no use to
+us, had the decency to sit outside the studio
+on one of the garden benches. He appeared
+at intervals at the studio door, saying, "Come
+along, Clifford; they don't want you messing
+about. Drop that banjo, Rowden, or Jack will
+break your head with it&mdash;won't you, Jack?"</p>
+
+<p>I said I would, but not with the zitherine.</p>
+
+<p>Clifford flatly refused to move unless Sweetheart
+would take him out into our garden and
+show him the solitary goldfish which lurked
+in the fountain under the almond trees. But
+Sweetheart, apparently fascinated by the mysteries
+of packing, turned a deaf ear to Clifford's
+blandishments and Rowden's discords.</p>
+
+<p>"I imagined," said Clifford, somewhat hurt,
+"that you would delight in taking upon yourself
+the duties of a hostess. I should be pleased
+to believe that I am not an unwelcome guest."</p>
+
+<p>"So should I," echoed Rowden; "I'd be
+pleased too."</p>
+
+<p>"What a shame for you to bother, Jack!"
+she said. "Mr. Clifford shall go and make some
+tea directly. Mr. Rowden, you may take a
+table out by the fountain&mdash;and stay there."</p>
+
+<p>Clifford, motioning Elliott to take the other
+end of the Japanese table, backed with it
+through the hallway and out to the gravel walk,
+expostulating.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg128">[128]</span>
+"The sugar is there in that tin box by the
+model stand," she said, when he reappeared,
+"and the extra spoons are lying in a long box
+on Jack's big easel."</p>
+
+<p>When Rowden, reluctantly relinquishing
+the zitherine, followed Clifford, bearing the
+cups and alcohol lamp, I raised my head and
+wiped the dust from my forehead. I believe I
+swore a little in French. Sweetheart looked
+startled. She knew more French than I supposed
+she did.</p>
+
+<p>"What is it, Jack?"</p>
+
+<p>"Mais&mdash;rien, ça m'embête&mdash;cette espèce de malle&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Then why won't you let me help you,
+Jack? I can at least put in my gowns."</p>
+
+<p>"But I must pack my colour box first, and
+the gun case, and the box of reels, and the pastel
+case, and our shooting boots, and the water-colour
+box, and the cartridge belt, and your
+golf shoes, and&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"O dear!" said Sweetheart with a shudder.</p>
+
+<p>I stood up and scowled at the trunk.</p>
+
+<p>"To look at you, Jack," murmured Sweetheart,
+"one might think you unhappy."</p>
+
+<p>Unhappy! At the thought our eyes met
+across the table.</p>
+
+<p>"Unhappy!" I whispered.</p>
+
+<p>Then Clifford came stumbling in, wearing
+a pair of Joseph's sabots, and, imitating that
+faithful domestic in voice and manner, invited
+<span class="pb" id="Pg129">[129]</span>
+us to tea under the lilacs and almond
+blossoms.</p>
+
+<p>"In a moment," cried Sweetheart impatiently.
+"Go and pour the tea."</p>
+
+<p>Clifford looked aghast. "No, no!" he
+cried; "it's impossible&mdash;I won't believe that
+you two are deliberately getting rid of me so
+you can be alone to spoon! And your honeymoon
+already a year old, and&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Sweetheart frowned, and tapped her foot.</p>
+
+<p>Clifford retired indignant.</p>
+
+<p>Then she raised her eyes to mine, and a delicate
+colour stained her cheeks and neck.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," I said, "we have been married nearly
+a year, Sweetheart."</p>
+
+<p>We looked at our white shadows on the floor.</p>
+
+<h3>V.</h3>
+
+<p>Sweetheart sat under the lilac blossoms
+pouring out tea for Clifford, Elliott, and Rowden.
+She was gracious to Clifford, gentle to
+Elliott, and she took Rowden under her wing
+in the sweetest way possible, to which Clifford
+stated his objections.</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Rowden is younger than you are," she
+said gravely. "Monsieur Clifford, I do not
+wish you to torment him."</p>
+
+<p>"Rowden's no baby; he's as old as Jack is,
+and Jack doesn't murder music."</p>
+
+<p>"I am glad to see you acknowledge Jack's
+<span class="pb" id="Pg130">[130]</span>
+superiority in all matters," said Sweetheart
+with a dangerous smile.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't," cried Clifford laughing; "and
+I don't see what you find to care about in a
+man who clips his hair like a gendarme and
+paints everything purple."</p>
+
+<p>"Everything is purple&mdash;if Jack paints it
+so," said Sweetheart, smiling at her reflected
+face in the water. She stood at the rim of the
+little stone fountain with her hands clasped
+behind her back. Elliott and Clifford were
+poking about in the water plants to dislodge
+the solitary goldfish, while Rowden
+gathered dewy clusters of lilacs as an offering.</p>
+
+<p>"There he goes!" said Elliott.</p>
+
+<p>"Poor fellow, living there all alone!" said
+Sweetheart. "Jack must leave word with
+Joseph to get him a little lady fish to pay his
+court to."</p>
+
+<p>"Better put in another gentleman fish,
+then, if you're following Nature," said Clifford,
+with an attempt at cynicism which drew the
+merriest laugh from Sweetheart.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, how funny is Monsieur Clifford when
+he wants to be like Frenchmen!" she murmured.</p>
+
+<p>"Jack," said Elliott, as I came from the
+studio and picked up a cup of tea grown cold,
+"Clifford's doing the world-worn disenchanted
+roué."</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg131">[131]</span>
+"And&mdash;and I fear he will next make love
+to me!" cried Sweetheart.</p>
+
+<p>"You'd better look out, Jack," said Clifford
+darkly, and pretended to sulk until Sweetheart
+sent him off to buy the bonbons she would
+need for the train.</p>
+
+<p>"They're packed," I said, "every trunk of them!"</p>
+
+<p>Sweetheart was enchanted. "All my new
+gowns, and the shoes from Rix's&mdash;O Jack, you
+didn't forget the shoes&mdash;and the bath robes&mdash;and&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"All packed," I said, swallowing the tea
+with a wry face.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh," she cried reproachfully, "don't drink
+that! Here, I will have some hot tea in a moment,"
+and she ran over and perched on the
+arm of the garden bench while I lighted the
+alcohol lamp and then a cigarette.</p>
+
+<p>Rowden came up with his offering of lilacs,
+and she decorated each of us with a spray.</p>
+
+<p>It was growing late. The long shadows fell
+across the gravel walks and flecked the white
+walls of the sculptor's studio opposite.</p>
+
+<p>"It's the nine-o'clock train, isn't it?" said
+Elliott.</p>
+
+<p>"We will meet you at the station at eight-thirty,"
+added Rowden.</p>
+
+<p>"You don't mind, do you, our dining
+alone?" said Sweetheart shyly; "it's our last
+day&mdash;Jack's and mine&mdash;in the old studio."</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg132">[132]</span>
+"Not the last, I hope," said Elliott sincerely.</p>
+
+<p>We all sat silent for a moment.</p>
+
+<p>"O Paris, Paris&mdash;how I fear it!" murmured
+Sweetheart to me; and in the same
+breath, "No, no, we must love it, you and I."</p>
+
+<p>Then Elliott said aloud, "I suppose you
+have no idea when you will return?"</p>
+
+<p>"No," I replied, thinking of the magic second
+that had become a year.</p>
+
+<p>And so we dined alone, Sweetheart and I,
+in the old studio.</p>
+
+<p>At half-past eight o'clock the cab stood at
+the gate with all our traps piled on top, and
+Joseph and his wife and the two brats were crying,
+"Au revoir, madame! au revoir, monsieur!
+We will keep the studio well dusted. Bon voyage!
+bon voyage!" and all of a sudden my arm
+was caught by Sweetheart's little gloved hand,
+and she drew me back through the long ivy-covered
+alley to the garden where the studio
+stood, its doorway closed and silent, the hollow
+windows black and grim. Truly the light
+had passed away with the passing of Sweetheart.
+Her hand slipped from my arm, and
+she went and knelt down at the threshold and kissed it.</p>
+
+<p>"I first knew happiness when I first crossed
+it," she said; "it breaks my heart to leave it.
+Only that magic second! but it seems years
+that we have lived here."</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg133">[133]</span>
+"It was you who brought happiness to it," I said.</p>
+
+<p>"Good-bye! good-bye, dear, dear, old studio!"
+she cried. "Oh, if Jack is always the
+same to me as he has been here&mdash;if he will be
+faithful and true in that new home!"</p>
+
+<p>The new home was to be in a strange land.
+Sweetheart was a little frightened, but was
+dying to go there. Sweetheart had never seen
+the golden gorse ablaze on the moors of Morbihan.</p>
+
+<h3>VI.</h3>
+
+<p>I went inside the brass railing and waited my
+turn to buy the tickets. When it came, I took
+two first class to Quimperlé, for it was to be an
+all-night ride, and there was no sleeping car.
+Clifford had taken charge of the baggage, and
+I went with him to have it registered, leaving
+Sweetheart with Elliott and Rowden. All the
+traps were there&mdash;the big trunks, the big valises,
+my sketching kit, the zitherine in a
+leather case, two handbags, a bundle of umbrellas
+and canes, and a huge package of
+canvases. The toilet case and the rugs and
+waterproofs we took with us into the compartment.</p>
+
+<p>The compartment was empty. Sweetheart
+nestled into one corner, and when I had placed
+our traps in the racks overhead I sat down opposite,
+while Clifford handed in our sandwiches,
+<span class="pb" id="Pg134">[134]</span>
+a bottle of red wine, and Sweetheart's box of
+bonbons.</p>
+
+<p>We didn't say much; most had been said before
+starting. Clifford was more affected than
+he cared to show&mdash;I know by the way he
+grasped my hand. They are dear fellows, every
+one. We did not realize that we were actually
+going&mdash;going, perhaps, forever. She laughed,
+and chatted, and made fun of Clifford, and
+teased Rowden, aided and abetted by Elliott,
+until the starting gong clanged and a warning
+whistle sounded along the gaslit platform.</p>
+
+<p>"Jack," cried Clifford, leaning in the window,
+"God bless you! God bless you both!"</p>
+
+<p>Elliott touched her hand and wrung mine,
+and Rowden risked his neck to give us both
+one last cordial grasp.</p>
+
+<p>"Count on me&mdash;on us," cried Clifford,
+speaking in English, "if you are&mdash;troubled!"</p>
+
+<p>By what, my poor Clifford? Can you, with
+all your gay courage, turn back the hands of the
+dials? Can you, with all your warm devotion,
+add one second to the magic second and make
+it two? The shadows we cast are white.</p>
+
+<p>The train stole out into the night, and I
+saw them grouped on the platform, silhouettes
+in the glare of the yellow signals. I drew in
+my head and shut the window. Sweetheart's
+face had grown very serious, but now she smiled
+across from her corner.</p>
+
+<p>"Aren't you coming over by me, Jack?"</p>
+
+<h3>VII.<span class="pb" id="Pg135">[135]</span></h3>
+
+<p>We must have been moving very swiftly, for
+the car rocked and trembled, and it was probably
+that which awoke me. I looked across at
+Sweetheart. She was lying on her side, one
+cheek resting on her gloved hand, her travelling
+cap pushed back, her eyes shut. I smoothed
+away the curly strands of hair which straggled
+across her cheeks, and tucked another rug well
+about her feet. Her feet were small as a child's.
+I speak as if she were not a child. She was
+eighteen then.</p>
+
+<p>The next time I awoke we lay in a long
+gaslit station. Some soldiers were disembarking
+from the forward carriages, and a gendarme
+stalked up and down the platform.</p>
+
+<p>I looked sleepily about for the name of the
+station. It was painted in blue over the buffet&mdash;"Petit
+St. Yves." "Is it possible we are in
+Brittany?" I thought. Then the voices of
+the station hands, who were hoisting a small
+boat upon the forward carriage, settled my
+doubts. "Allons! tire hardiment, Jean Louis!
+mets le cannotte deboutte."</p>
+
+<p>"Arrête toi Yves! doucement! doucement! <ins class="corr" title="Sacré" id="C135">Sacrée</ins> garce!"</p>
+
+<p>Somewhere in the darkness a mellow bell
+tolled. I settled back to slumber, my eyes on Sweetheart.</p>
+
+<p>She slept.</p>
+
+<h3>VIII.<span class="pb" id="Pg136">[136]</span></h3>
+
+<p>I awoke in a flood of brightest sunshine.
+From our window I could look into the centre
+of a most enchanting little town, all built of
+white limestone and granite. The June sunshine
+slanted on thatched roof and painted gable, and
+fairly blazed on the little river slipping by under
+the stone bridge in the square.</p>
+
+<p>The streets and the square were alive
+with rosy-faced women in white head-dresses.
+Everywhere the constant motion of blue skirts
+and spotless coiffes, the twinkle of varnished
+socks, the clump! clump! of sabots.</p>
+
+<p>Like a black shadow a priest stole across the
+square. Above him the cross on the church
+glowed like a live cinder, flashing its reflection
+along the purple-slated roof from the eaves
+of which a cloud of ash-gray pigeons drifted
+into the gutter below. I turned from the window
+to encounter Sweetheart's eyes. Her lips
+moved a little, her long lashes heavy with
+slumber drooped lower, then with a little sigh
+she sat bolt upright. When I laughed, as I
+always did, she smiled, a little confused, a little
+ashamed, murmuring: "Bonjour, mon chéri!
+Quelle heure est-il?" That was always the way
+Sweetheart awoke.</p>
+
+<p>"O dear, I am so rumpled!" she said.
+"Jack, get me the satchel this minute, and
+don't look at me until I ask you to."</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg137">[137]</span>
+I unlocked the satchel, and then turning to
+the window again threw it wide open. Oh,
+how sweet came the morning air from the
+meadows! Some young fellows below on the
+bank of the stream were poking long cane fishing-rods
+under the arches of the bridge.</p>
+
+<p>"Sweetheart," I said over my shoulder, "I
+believe there are trout in this stream."</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Elliott says that whenever you see a
+puddle you always say that," she replied.</p>
+
+<p>"What does he know about it?" I answered,
+for I am touchy on the subject; "he
+doesn't know a catfish from a&mdash;a dogfish."</p>
+
+<p>"Neither do I, Jack dear, but I'm going to
+learn. Don't be cross."</p>
+
+<p>She had finished her toilet and came over to
+the window, leaning out over my shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>"Where are we?" she cried in startled
+wonder at the little white town and the acres
+of swaying clover. "Oh, Jack, is&mdash;is this the country?"</p>
+
+<p>A man in uniform passing under our window
+looked up surprised.</p>
+
+<p>"What are you doing here?" he demanded;
+then, seeing Sweetheart, he took off his gold-laced
+cap, and added, with a bow: "This carriage
+goes no farther, monsieur&mdash;madame&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Merci!" exclaimed Sweetheart, "we wish
+to go to Quimperlé!"</p>
+
+<p>"And we have tickets for Quimperlé," I insisted.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg138">[138]</span>
+"But," smiled the official, "this is Quimperlé."</p>
+
+<p>It was true. There was the name written
+over the end of the station; and, looking ahead,
+I saw that our car had been detached and was
+standing in stately seclusion under the freight
+shed. How long it had been standing so
+Heaven alone knows; but they evidently had
+neglected to call us, and there we were inhabiting
+a detached carriage in the heart of Quimperlé.
+I managed to get a couple of porters,
+and presently we found all our traps piled up
+on the platform, and a lumbering vehicle with
+a Breton driver waiting to convey us to the hotel.</p>
+
+<p>"Which," said I to the docile Breton, "is
+the best hotel in Quimperlé?"</p>
+
+<p>"The Hôtel Lion d'Or," he replied.</p>
+
+<p>"How do you know?" I demanded.</p>
+
+<p>"Because," said he mildly, "it is the only
+hotel in Quimperlé."</p>
+
+<p>Sweetheart observed that this ought to be
+convincing, even to me, and she tormented me
+all the way to the square, where I got even by
+pretending to be horrified at her dishevelled
+condition incident to a night's railway ride in
+a stuffy compartment.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't, Jack! people will look at us."</p>
+
+<p>"Let 'em."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, this is cruel! Oh, I'll pay you for this!"</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg139">[139]</span>
+And they did look at us&mdash;or rather at her;
+for from the time Sweetheart and I had
+cast our lots together, I noticed that I seemed
+to escape the observation of passers-by. When
+I lived alone in Paris I attracted a fair share of
+observation from the world as it wagged on its
+Parisian way. It was pleasant to meet a pretty
+girl's eyes now and then in the throng which
+flowed through the park and boulevard. I
+really never flattered myself that it was because
+of my personal beauty; but in Paris, any young
+fellow who is dressed in the manner of Albion,
+hatted and gloved in the same style, is not entirely
+a cipher. But now it was not the same,
+by a long shot.</p>
+
+<p>Sweetheart's beauty simply put me in my
+place as an unnoticed but perhaps correct supplement
+to her.</p>
+
+<p>She knew she was a beauty, and was delighted
+when she looked into her mirror.
+Nothing escaped her. The soft hair threaded
+with sunshine, which, when loosened, curled to
+her knees; the clear white forehead and straight
+brows; the nose delicate and a trifle upturned;
+the scarlet lips and fine cut chin&mdash;she knew the
+value of each of these. She was pleased with
+the soft, full curve of her throat, the little ears,
+and the colour which came and went in her cheeks.</p>
+
+<p>But her eyes were the first thing one noticed.
+They were the most beautiful gray eyes
+<span class="pb" id="Pg140">[140]</span>
+that ever opened under silken lashes. She approved
+of my telling her this, which duty I fulfilled
+daily. Perhaps it may be superfluous to
+say that we were very much in love. Did I
+say <em>were</em>?</p>
+
+<p>I think that, as I am chanting the graces of
+Sweetheart, it might not be amiss to say that
+she is just an inch shorter than I am, and that
+no Parisienne carried a pretty gown with more
+perfection than she did. I have seen gowns
+that looked like the devil on the manikin, but
+when Sweetheart wore them they were the astonishment
+and admiration of myself. And I
+do know when a woman is well dressed, though
+I am an art critic.</p>
+
+<p>Sweetheart regarded her beauty as an intimate
+affair between ourselves, a precious gift
+for our mutual benefit, to be carefully treasured
+and petted. Her attitude toward the world
+was unmistakable. The world might look&mdash;she
+was indifferent. With our intimate friends
+she was above being flattered. Clifford said to
+me once: "She carries her beauty as a princess
+would carry the Koh-i-noor&mdash;she knows she is
+worthy of it, and hopes it is worthy of her."</p>
+
+<p>"We ought to be so happy that I am beautiful!"
+she would say to me. "Just think, supposing
+I were not!"</p>
+
+<p>I used to try to make her believe that it
+would have made no difference.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, not now," she would say gravely. "I
+<span class="pb" id="Pg141">[141]</span>
+know that if I lost it it would be the same to
+us both, now; but you can't make me believe
+that, at first, when you used to lean over the
+terrace of the Luxembourg and wait patiently
+for hours just to see me walk out of the Odeon."</p>
+
+<p>"I didn't," I would always explain; "I was
+there by accident."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, what a funny accident to happen
+every day for two months!"</p>
+
+<p>"Stop teasing! Of course, after the first week&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"And what a funny accident that I should
+pass the same way every day for two months,
+when before I always went by the Rue de Seine!"</p>
+
+<p>There was once such an accident, and such
+a girl. I never knew her; she is dead. I wondered
+sometimes that Sweetheart knew, and
+believed it was she herself. Yet the other
+woman's shadow was black.</p>
+
+<p>Sweetheart had a most peculiar and unworldly
+habit of not embellishing facts. She
+presently displayed it when we arrived at the
+Hôtel Lion d'Or.</p>
+
+<p>"Jack," said she nervously, "the cinders
+have made your face unpleasant. I am ashamed.
+They may not believe you are my husband."</p>
+
+<p>"As monsieur and madame," I said, "we
+may have dirty faces and be honest."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you suppose they&mdash;they will believe it?
+These queer people&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg142">[142]</span>
+"They'd better!" I said fiercely.</p>
+
+<p>"I&mdash;I hadn't thought of that," she said.
+"You see, in our own little place in Paris everybody
+knew it, but here&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>I said, "Dearest, what nonsense!" and we
+marched unceremoniously up to the register,
+where I wrote our names. Then, with a hasty
+little squeeze of her gloved hand, she turned to
+the maid and tripped off to inspect our quarters.
+While I was pumping the fat-headed old proprietor
+about the trout fishing in the vicinity,
+the maid returned with the request that I
+mount to the room above. I followed her along
+the tiled passages and found Sweetheart sitting
+on a trunk.</p>
+
+<p>"It's charming! charming!" she said.
+"Just look at the roses outside, and the square,
+and the river! and oh, Jack, the funny little
+Breton cattle, and the old man with knee-breeches!
+It's charming! and"&mdash;here she
+caught sight of the enraptured and fascinated
+maid&mdash;"and you are charming, with your red
+cheeks and white coiffe," she said. "Oh, how pretty!"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, madame!" murmured the servant in dire confusion.</p>
+
+<p>I said, "Dearest, that will do. Nobody
+speaks of my peculiar charms, and I wish to be
+noticed."</p>
+
+<p>The presence of the maid prevented Sweetheart
+from making amends, so we told her we
+<span class="pb" id="Pg143">[143]</span>
+were satisfied, and we would spare her life if
+she prepared breakfast in seventeen seconds.</p>
+
+<p>She accepted the gift of existence with a
+dazed courtsey, and vanished.</p>
+
+<p>It was refreshing to get hold of a sponge
+and cold water after fourteen hours in a cramped
+compartment. Hunger drove us to hurry&mdash;a
+thing we rarely did in the morning&mdash;and the
+way we splashed cold water about would have
+been fatal to any but a tiled floor.</p>
+
+<p>"Dear," I said, "you have not yet seen me
+in my Tyrolese knickerbockers and beautiful
+shooting jacket. You have never beheld my
+legs clothed in Tyrolese stockings, at twenty
+francs a pair."</p>
+
+<p>"The legs?" she inquired from the depths
+of a bath robe.</p>
+
+<p>I ignored the question, and parted my hair
+with care. Then I sat down on the window
+and whistled.</p>
+
+<p>Of course I was ready first. Sweetheart's
+hair had got into a tangle and needed to be all
+combed out.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I know you are impatient, because
+you're whistling the Chant du Départ," she said
+from the door of her toilet room.</p>
+
+<p>"As usual," I said, "I am ready first."</p>
+
+<p>"If you say that again&mdash;&mdash;" she threatened.</p>
+
+<p>I said it, and dodged a sponge. Presently I
+was requested to open the trunk and select a
+gown for her. Dear little Sweetheart! she
+<span class="pb" id="Pg144">[144]</span>
+loved to pretend that she had so many it needed
+long consultation to decide which.</p>
+
+<p>"The dark blue?" I inquired.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't you think it is too warm?"</p>
+
+<p>"The pale blue, then&mdash;or the pink and white?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why not the white, with the cuffs à
+l'Anglaise, and the canoe hat?"</p>
+
+<p>I hauled it out.</p>
+
+<p>Then, of course, she changed her mind.</p>
+
+<p>"I think the gray is better for the morning;
+then I can wear the big chip hat."</p>
+
+<p>I fished up the gray. It was light, almost
+silvery, and had white spots on it.</p>
+
+<p>"Jack, dear," she said, coming out with her
+hair tucked up in a knot, drawing the bath robe
+up to her chin with both hands, "I think that
+the white cloth would be better, and that I
+can wear the béret."</p>
+
+<p>By this time the trunk was in a pretty mess,
+which amused her; but at last I ferreted out
+the white cloth dress, and, refusing to listen to
+further discussion, sat down on the window
+seat. Sweetheart enjoyed it.</p>
+
+<p>"Stop telling me to hurry," she said; "I
+can't, if you keep saying it all the time."</p>
+
+<p>After a while she called me to fasten her
+corsage, which hooked with about ten hundred
+hooks along the side and collar. I hated to do
+it, and my finger ends stung for hours after,
+but, as Sweetheart very rightly says, "When we
+<span class="pb" id="Pg145">[145]</span>
+are rich enough to have a maid you needn't," I
+submitted with an air which delighted her.
+Her tormenting "Thank you, Jack," was the
+last straw, so I calmly picked her up and carried
+her out, and almost to the dining room,
+where I set her down just in time to avoid the
+proprietor and three domestics issuing from the
+office.</p>
+
+<p>Sweetheart was half inclined to laugh, half
+indignant, and wholly scandalized. But she
+did not dare say anything, for we were at the
+dining-room door.</p>
+
+<p>There were some people there, but except
+for a slight inclination we did not notice each
+other. We had a small table to ourselves by
+the rose-bowered window.</p>
+
+<p>We were very hungry. Breakfast began
+with fresh sardines just caught, and ended with
+little Breton cakes and a demi-tasse. I finished
+first; I always do, because the wretched habit
+of bolting my food, contracted while studying
+under Bouguereau at Julian's, clings to me yet.
+Oh, I shall have a merry time paying for it when
+I am forty! I began, as usual, to tease Sweetheart.</p>
+
+<p>"If you continue to eat like this, dear, you
+will never be able to wear your new frocks.
+This one seems a trifle too tight now."</p>
+
+<p>Sweetheart, who prided herself as much on
+her figure as on her lovely face, repelled the
+insult with disdain and nibbled her Breton biscuit
+<span class="pb" id="Pg146">[146]</span>
+defiantly. When at last she condescended
+to rise, we strolled out under the trees in front
+of the hotel, and sat down on the low stone wall
+surrounding the garden. The noon sun hung
+in the zenith, flooding the town with a dazzling
+downpour. Sunbeams glanced and danced on
+the water; sunbeams filtered through the foliage;
+sunbeams stole under Sweetheart's big
+straw hat, searching the depths of the gray eyes.
+Sunbeams played merry mischief with my ears
+and neck, which were beginning to sting in the
+first sunburn of the year. Through the square
+the white-coiffed women passed and repassed;
+small urchins with silver-buckled hatbands
+roamed about the bridge and market-place until
+collected and trooped off to school by a black-robed
+Jesuit frère; and in the shade of the trees
+a dozen sprawling men in Breton costume
+smoked their microscopical pipes and watched
+the water.</p>
+
+<p>"They are an industrious race," said I
+with fine irony, watching a happy inebriate
+pursuing a serpentine course toward the café
+opposite.</p>
+
+<p>Sweetheart, who was as patriotic a little girl
+as ever hummed the Marseillaise, and adopted
+France as long as she lived in it, was up in arms
+in an instant.</p>
+
+<p>"I have read," she said with conviction,
+"that the Bretons are a brave, industrious race.
+They are French."</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg147">[147]</span>
+"They speak a different language," I said&mdash;"not
+a word of French in it."</p>
+
+<p>"They are French," repeated Sweetheart,
+with an inflection which decided me to shun the
+subject until I could unpack my guide-book.</p>
+
+<p>We sat a little while longer under the trees,
+until we both began nodding and mutually accused
+each other. Then Sweetheart went up
+to the room to take a nap, and I, scorning
+such weakness, lay down in a steamer chair
+under our window and fell fast asleep in no time.</p>
+
+<p>I was aroused by a big pink rose which hit
+me squarely on the mouth. Sweetheart was
+perched in the window seat above, and as I
+looked up she sent a shower of blossoms down upon me.</p>
+
+<p>"Jack, you lazy creature, it's five o'clock,
+and I'm dressed and ready for a walk!"</p>
+
+<p>"So am I," I said, jumping up.</p>
+
+<p>"But not like that. You must come up
+and make yourself nice for dinner."</p>
+
+<p>"Nice? What's the matter with these
+tweeds? Aren't these new stockings presentable?"</p>
+
+<p>"Look at your hair!" she said evasively.
+"Come up this minute and brush it."</p>
+
+<p>I went, and was compelled to climb into a
+white collar and shirt, and trousers of an English
+cut. But before we had gone far along
+the great military road that climbed the heights
+<span class="pb" id="Pg148">[148]</span>
+above the little river, I took Sweetheart's hand
+in mine and imparted to her my views and intentions
+upon the subject of my costume for the future.</p>
+
+<p>"You see, dearest, we are here in Brittany
+for three reasons. The first is, that I should
+paint outdoors. The second is, that we should
+economize like the deuce. The third is, our
+shadows&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I know," she interrupted faintly. "Never
+mind, Jack, dear."</p>
+
+<p>We walked silently for a while, hand clasping
+hand very tightly, for we were both thinking
+of the third reason.</p>
+
+<p>I broke the silence first, speaking cheerfully,
+and she looked up with a quick smile while the
+shadow fell from her brow.</p>
+
+<p>"You see, dear, in this place, where we are
+going, there are no people but peasants. Your
+frocks are all right for a place like this; we must
+both wear our free-and-easy togs&mdash;I for painting,
+and you for scrambling about after your
+wild flowers or fishing with me. If you get
+tired of seeing me in corduroys or tweeds, I'll
+dress for you when you think you can't stand
+it any longer."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Jack, I do like your knickerbockers&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"And you shall wear your most gorgeous gown for me&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Indeed I won't," she laughed, adding impulsively,
+<span class="pb" id="Pg149">[149]</span>
+"indeed I will&mdash;every day, if you wish it!"</p>
+
+<p>At the top of the hill stood an ancient Ursuline
+convent surrounded by a high wall, which
+also inclosed the broad acres of the wealthy
+sisterhood. We sat down by the roadside hedge
+and looked across the valley, where the hurrying
+river had ceased to hasten and now lingered
+in placid pools and long, deep reaches. The
+sun had set behind the forest, and the sky threw
+a purple light over woods and meadow. The
+grassy pools below were swept by flocks of whistling
+martins and swallows. One or two white
+gulls flapped slowly toward the tide water below,
+and a young curlew, speeding high overhead,
+uttered a lonesome cry. The grass&mdash;the
+brilliant green grass of Brittany&mdash;had turned
+a deep metallic blue in the twilight. A pale
+primrose light grew and died in the sky, and
+the forest changed from rose to ashes. Then a
+dull red bar shot across the parting clouds in
+the west, the forest smouldered an instant, and
+the pools glowed crimson. Slowly the red bar
+melted away, the light died out among the
+branches, the pools turned sombre. Looking
+up, we saw the new moon flashing in the sky
+above our heads. Sweetheart sighed in perfect
+contentment.</p>
+
+<p>"It's beautiful!" I said, with another sigh.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, yes," she murmured, "beautiful to
+<span class="pb" id="Pg150">[150]</span>
+you, and to me&mdash;to me, Jack, who have never
+before seen this land of Morbihan."</p>
+
+<p>After a while she said, "And the ocean&mdash;oh,
+how I long to see it! Is it near us, Jack?"</p>
+
+<p>"The river runs into it twenty kilometres
+below. We feel the tide at Quimperlé." I
+did not add, "Baedeker."</p>
+
+<p>"I wonder," I said presently, "what are
+the feelings of a little American who sees
+this country&mdash;the real country&mdash;for the first time?"</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose you mean me," she said. "I
+don't know&mdash;I don't think I understand it yet,
+but I know I shall love it, and never want to go back."</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps we never shall," I said. "The
+magic second may stretch into years that end
+at last as all ends."</p>
+
+<p>Then our hands met in that sudden nervous
+clasp which seemed to help and steady us
+when we were thinking of the real world, so
+long, so long forgotten.</p>
+
+<h3>IX.</h3>
+
+<p>I was awakened next morning by a spongeful
+of cold water in the face, which I hate. I
+started up to wreak vengeance upon Sweetheart,
+but she fled to the toilet room and locked herself
+in. From this retreat she taunted me until
+further sleep was out of the question, and I
+<span class="pb" id="Pg151">[151]</span>
+bowed to the inevitable&mdash;indignantly, when I
+saw my watch pointed to five o'clock.</p>
+
+<p>Sweetheart was perfectly possessed to row;
+so when I had bolted my coffee and sat watching
+her placidly sip hers, we decided to go
+down to the bank of the little stream and hire
+a boat. The boat was a wretched, shapeless
+affair, with two enormous oars and the remnants
+of rowlocks. It was the best boat in
+town, so we took it. I managed to get away
+from the bank, and, conscious of Sweetheart's
+open admiration, pulled boldly down the stream.
+It was easy work, for the tide was ebbing. The
+river up to the bridge was tidal, but above the
+bridge it leaped and flowed, a regular salmon
+stream. Sweetheart was so impatient to take
+the oars that I relinquished them and picked
+up my rod. The boat swung down the stream
+and under the high stone viaduct, where I insisted
+on anchoring and whipping the promising-looking
+water. The water was likely
+enough, and the sudden splash of a leaping
+grilse added to its likelihood. I was in hopes
+a grilse might become entangled with one of
+the flies, but though a big one shot up out of the
+water within five feet of Sweetheart, causing
+her to utter a suppressed scream, neither grilse
+nor trout rose to the beautiful lures I trailed
+about, and I only hooked two or three enormous
+dace, which came up like logs and covered the
+bottom of the boat with their coarse scales.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg152">[152]</span>
+Sweetheart had never seen a French trout
+uncooked, and scarcely shared my disappointment.</p>
+
+<p>"They are splendid fish," she repeated;
+"you are unreasonable."</p>
+
+<p>There was an ancient Breton squatting on
+the bank; from his sulky attitude I took
+him to be a poacher visiting his infernal set
+lines and snares; but I hailed him pleasantly
+with a bonjour, which he returned civilly enough.</p>
+
+<p>"Are there trout in this stream?"</p>
+
+<p>"About the bridge," he replied cautiously.</p>
+
+<p>"Have you caught any?"</p>
+
+<p>"I ain't fishing," he said, much alarmed.</p>
+
+<p>"What's that?" I demanded, pointing to
+as plump a trout as ever I saw, floating on the
+end of a string under the bank.</p>
+
+<p>"Where?" he asked, looking about him
+with affected concern.</p>
+
+<p>"There!"</p>
+
+<p>He looked around, everywhere except where
+I pointed. He examined the horizon, and the
+tree tops, as though he expected a fish on
+every twig. I poled the boat up to the bank
+and pointed out the fish.</p>
+
+<p>"Ma doui!" he exclaimed, "there <em>is</em> a fish!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, a trout," I said.</p>
+
+<p>"Trout?" He burst into a forced laugh.
+"Trout! Ha! ha! Why, monsieur, that is a
+<span class="pb" id="Pg153">[153]</span>
+dace&mdash;a poor little dace!" He hastily jerked it
+up with a long homemade gaff which lay&mdash;of
+course quite by accident&mdash;at his feet.</p>
+
+<p>"A poor little dace!" he mumbled. "Of
+course, monsieur would not care to claim such
+a poor, coarse little fish; but I am only too
+glad to eat it&mdash;ah, yes, only too glad!"</p>
+
+<p>"You see," said Sweetheart impulsively,
+"that you are wrong. Give him our fish; that
+will make four dace for the poor fellow."</p>
+
+<p>I placed the three dace across the blade of
+my oar and held it out to the poacher. He
+took them as if he were really glad to get them.
+Then I said, "These are dace, and they don't
+have red spots."</p>
+
+<p>He stood as if ready to bolt, but I laughed,
+and settled back on my oars, saying: "You're
+a poacher; but I don't care a continental, and
+you can poach all day in this confounded country,
+where there is about one trout to the kilometre.
+Don't look scared. What do I care?
+Only don't tell me I'm unable to distinguish a
+trout when I can see the tip of his nose."</p>
+
+<p>I then sailed majestically out into the
+stream.</p>
+
+<p>Sweetheart wanted to know whether that
+was really a real poacher. She had read about
+them. Her ideal poacher was a young, stalwart,
+eagle-eyed giant, with a tangle of hair
+and a disposition toward assassination. The
+reality shocked her.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg154">[154]</span>
+"Anyway," she said, "you frightened the
+poor old thing. How rough men are!"</p>
+
+<p>We returned to the landing place with difficulty,
+for the tide was still on the ebb, and we
+got aground more than once. My hands were
+in a fine condition when at last I drove that
+wretched scow into the mud and lifted Sweetheart
+out to the firm bank. The evil-eyed old
+man who rented us the boat glanced sardonically
+at my rod and blistered hands, and I was
+glad enough to pay him all he asked and break
+away for the hotel.</p>
+
+<p>We had an hour to lunch in, pack, and be
+ready for the trap which was to bear us to our
+destination&mdash;the distant village of Faöuet, in
+Morbihan.</p>
+
+<h3>X.</h3>
+
+<p>A long drive on a smooth white road, acres
+of gorse and broom, beech woods and oak thickets,
+and the "Heu! heu! Allo! Allons! en
+route!" of the Breton driver, these are my
+recollections of the ride to Faöuet. There are
+others, too&mdash;the hedges heavy with bloom, the
+perfume of the wild honeysuckle, the continual
+bird chorus from every grove and every bramble
+patch&mdash;and Sweetheart's veil flying into my
+face.</p>
+
+<p>We have spoken of it since together, but
+she has few recollections of that journey. She
+<span class="pb" id="Pg155">[155]</span>
+only remembers it as her first steps into our
+heritage.</p>
+
+<p>And so we entered into our heritage, Sweetheart
+and I; and our heritage was very fair, for
+it lay everywhere about us. It was a world
+which we alone inhabited. Men said, "This
+land is Gloanec's," "This is Gurnalec's," "This
+is Kerdec's"; they spoke of "my woods" and
+"his meadows" and "their pastures." And
+how we laughed; for when we passed together
+through their lands, around us, far as the eye
+could reach, our heritage lay in the sunshine.</p>
+
+<h3>XI.</h3>
+
+<p>One day, when Sweetheart had been weeping&mdash;for
+we were thinking of the end to the
+magic second&mdash;I spoke of our heritage which
+swept far as the eye could reach across the
+moors of Faöuet.</p>
+
+<p>She said: "The past is ours, Jack; the present
+is ours; the future&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>We tried to smile, but our hearts were like
+lead. Yet we know that the future will also
+be ours. I know it as I write.</p>
+
+<h3>XII.</h3>
+
+<p>The letter from St. Gildas, bringing with it
+a breath of salt air, lay on the table before us.
+Sweetheart clasped her hands and looked at me.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg156">[156]</span>
+"I'm in favour of going at once," I said
+for the third time. Over by the wall were piled
+my canvases, the result of three months in Faöuet.</p>
+
+<p>The first was a study of Sweetheart under
+the trees of the ancient orchard in the convent
+grounds. What trouble I had had with that
+canvas! I remembered the morning that the
+old gardener came over and stood behind me
+as I painted; and when I had replied to his
+"Good-morning," I recalled the pang his next
+words gave me:</p>
+
+<p>"I am so sorry, monsieur, but it is forbidden
+to enter the convent grounds."</p>
+
+<p>My canvas was almost finished, and, as the
+romancers have it, "my despair was great!"
+A month's work for nothing&mdash;or next to nothing!</p>
+
+<p>Sweetheart rose from her pose on the low
+bough of the apple tree and came over to my
+side. "Never mind, Jack; I shall go and ask
+the Mother Superior about it."</p>
+
+<p>I knew that she would win over the Mother
+Superior; and when, that evening, she came
+back radiant, crying, "She is lovely!&mdash;she says
+you may finish the picture, and I think you
+ought to go and thank her," I put on my cap,
+and stepping across the street, we rang at the gate.</p>
+
+<p>The old gardener let us in, and in a moment
+I stood before the latticed windows behind
+<span class="pb" id="Pg157">[157]</span>
+which some one was moving. In a low voice the
+invisible nun told us that the Superior granted
+to us the privilege of working in the orchard,
+but we must be careful of the grass, because it
+was almost time to cut it.</p>
+
+<p>"I am sure we may have confidence in you," she said.</p>
+
+<p>"We will not trample the grass, my sister,
+and I thank you for us both."</p>
+
+<p>The lattice trembled, was raised a little, and
+then fell.</p>
+
+<p>"You are English," said the hidden nun.</p>
+
+<p>"I am American, my sister."</p>
+
+<p>I looked at the lattice a moment, then
+dropped my eyes. I may have been mistaken,
+but I think she sighed.</p>
+
+<p>Sweetheart came closer to the lattice and
+murmured her thanks.</p>
+
+<p>There was a pause.</p>
+
+<p>Then came the voice again, sweet and
+gentle: "May Our Lady of Saint Gildas protect
+you"; and we went out by the little iron wicket.</p>
+
+<p>The next picture was another study of
+Sweetheart in the woods; the next, another
+study of Sweetheart; and the others were
+studies of the same young lady.</p>
+
+<p>The light in the room had grown dim, and
+I walked to the window which overlooked the
+convent chapel. The chapel windows were
+open; within, the nuns stood or knelt chanting.
+<span class="pb" id="Pg158">[158]</span>
+Three white-veiled figures were advancing
+to the altar, and the others, draped in black
+now knelt behind. I didn't think I had any
+business to look at them, so I did not. After
+all, they were cloistered nuns, and it was only
+on hot nights that they opened the chapel windows.
+Sweetheart was speaking beside my shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>"Poor things! The ones in white, they
+are the novices; they will never see parents
+or friends again. When they enter the
+gates they never leave&mdash;never; they are buried
+there."</p>
+
+<p>I said: "After all, we are much like them.
+We have left all; we have nothing now but
+each other, for the world is dead, and we are
+bound by vows which keep us within the narrow
+confines of our heritage."</p>
+
+<p>"But our heritage is everywhere&mdash;as far as
+we can see."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, yes, but we can only see to the horizon.
+There is a world beyond."</p>
+
+<p>"I have renounced it," said Sweetheart faintly.</p>
+
+<h3>XIII.</h3>
+
+<p>The letter from St. Gildas had been lying
+on our table for a week before I thought of
+answering it, and even then it was Sweetheart
+who wrote:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquote">
+<span class="pb" id="Pg159">[159]</span>
+<p>"<span class="smcap">Dear Mr. Stuart</span>:</p>
+
+<p>"Jack is too lazy to answer your kind note,
+so, in pure shame for his discourtesy, I hasten
+to reply to your questions.</p>
+
+<p>"First: Yes; we have been working very
+hard, and Jack's pictures are charming, though
+he growls over them all day.</p>
+
+<p>"Second: Yes; we intend to stay in Brittany
+this winter for lots of reasons&mdash;one being
+economy, and another, Jack's outdoor painting.</p>
+
+<p>"Third: Yes; we are coming to St. Gildas.</p>
+
+<p>"Fourth: To-morrow.</p>
+
+<p>"Fifth: No; we had not heard of Mr.
+Clifford's affair with the policeman; and oh, I
+am so sorry he was locked up and fined! Jack
+laughs. I suspect he, too, was as wicked as
+you all when he was a student, alone in Paris.</p>
+
+<p>"Sixth: I know you are Jack's oldest and
+most intimate friend, so I allow you more liberty
+than I do Messieurs Clifford and Elliott;
+therefore I will answer your question as to
+whether the honeymoon is not on the wane.
+No! no! no! There are three answers to one
+question. See how generous I can be!"</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>Sweetheart called me to see whether or not
+I approved. I did, and added my answer to
+Stuart's last question as follows: "No, you
+idiot!" Then I signed the note, and Sweetheart
+sealed and directed it.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg160">[160]</span>
+So we left for St. Gildas next morning before
+sunrise and in the rain. This leaving at
+such an unearthly hour was not my doing, but
+Sweetheart was determined, and rose by candlelight
+in spite of desperate opposition on my
+part. It was cold, and the rain beat against
+the windows.</p>
+
+<p>It was many kilometres to St. Gildas, but before
+we had gone six, the rain had ceased and
+the eastern sky flushed to a pale rose.</p>
+
+<p>"Thank goodness!" I said, "we shall have the sun."</p>
+
+<p>Then the daily repeated miracle of the coming
+of dawn was wrought before our eyes. The
+heavens glowed in rainbow tints; the shredded
+mist rising along the river was touched with
+purple and gold, and acres of meadow and pasture
+dripped precious stones. Shreds of the
+fading night-mist drifted among the tree tops,
+now tipped with fire, while in the forest depths
+faint sparkles came from some lost ray of morning
+light falling on wet leaves. Then of a
+sudden up shot the sun, and against it, black
+and gigantic, a peasant towered, leaning upon
+his spade.</p>
+
+<h3>XIV.</h3>
+
+<p>We were fast nearing the end of our long
+journey. The sun blazed on us from the
+zenith, and the wheels creaked with the heat of
+the white road. The driver leaned back, saying,
+<span class="pb" id="Pg161">[161]</span>
+"We enter Finistère here by this granite
+post." Presently he added, "The ocean!"</p>
+
+<p>There it lay, a basin of silver and blue.
+Sweetheart had started to her feet, speechless,
+one hand holding to my shoulder, the other
+clasped to her breast. And now, as the road
+wound through the hills and down to the coast,
+long stretches of white sand skirted the distant
+cliffs, and over the cliffs waved miles and miles
+of yellow gorse. A cluster of white and gray
+houses lay in the hollow to the left almost at
+the mouth of the river, and beyond, the waves
+were beating in the bar&mdash;beating the same
+rhythm which we were to hear so long there
+together, day and night. There was not a boat
+to be seen, not a creature, nor was there any
+sign of life save for the smoke curling from
+a cottage chimney below. The ocean lay
+sparkling beneath, and beyond its deeper blue
+melted into the haze on the horizon.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly, in the road below, the figure of a
+man appeared, and at the same moment a
+pointer pup came gambolling up beside us in
+an ecstasy of self-abnegation and apology. I
+sprang out of the lumbering vehicle and lifted
+Sweetheart to the ground, and in an instant we
+were shaking hands with a stalwart young fellow
+in knickerbockers and jersey, who said we
+were a pretty pair not to have come sooner,
+and told Sweetheart he pitied her lot&mdash;meaning me.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg162">[162]</span>
+Then we walked arm in arm down a fragrant
+lane to the river bank, where the dearest old
+lady toddled out of the granite house to welcome
+us and show us our rooms. Sweetheart went
+with her, while I stopped an instant to chat with Stuart.</p>
+
+<p>"That is Madame Ylven," he said. "She
+is the most stunning peasant woman in Finistère,
+and you will want for nothing." Then,
+after a moment, "Good heavens! Jack, what a
+beauty your wife&mdash;&mdash;" He stopped short, but
+added, "What a delicious little beauty Sweetheart
+has grown to be!"</p>
+
+<p>A white-coiffed maid came to the door, and
+said, "Will monsieur have the goodness to
+come? Madame wishes him to see the rooms."</p>
+
+<p>The wind blew from the south, and the
+thunder of the sea was in my ears as I mounted
+the stairs to our new quarters.</p>
+
+<p>Sweetheart met me at the door, saying, "It
+seems almost too much happiness to bear, but
+I feel that we are at home at last&mdash;alone together
+for all time."</p>
+
+<p>Alone together? The ocean at our threshold,
+the moors and forests at our back, and a
+good slate roof above us. Before me through
+the open door I could see the great old-fashioned
+room, warm in the afternoon sunlight&mdash;the
+room we were to live in so long, the room
+in which we were to pass the happiest and bitterest
+moments of our lives.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg163">[163]</span>
+She hesitated an instant before the threshold.
+I think we knew that we stood upon the
+threshold of our destiny. Then I said, half in
+earnest: "Are you afraid to cross with me into
+the unknown future? See, the room is filled
+with sunshine. Are you afraid?"</p>
+
+<p>She sprang across the threshold, and, turning
+to me, held out both hands.</p>
+
+<h3>XV.</h3>
+
+<p>The sun slipped lower and lower into the
+sea, until a distant tossing wave washed it out
+against the sky. Light died in the room, and
+shadows closed around us; yet it was in the
+darkness and shadows that we drew nearer to
+each other, then and after.</p>
+
+<h3>XVI.</h3>
+
+<p>Stuart stood under our window and yelled
+up at me, "Oh, Jack! I say, Jack!"</p>
+
+<p>Sweetheart, who was fussing over the half-unpacked
+trunk, went to the window and threw
+open the panes.</p>
+
+<p>"You don't mean to say you have had your
+coffee?" she said. "Jack isn't up yet."</p>
+
+<p>"Jack is up," I explained, coming to the
+window in pajamas. "Hello!"</p>
+
+<p>"I only wanted to say that I haven't had
+my coffee," he explained, "and I'm going to
+take it with you when you're ready."</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg164">[164]</span>
+Sweetheart picked up her béret, and, passing
+a hatpin through it, turned to me with a
+warning, "I shall eat all the breakfast, monsieur!"
+and vanished down the stairs. A moment
+later I heard her clear voice below:</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="verse">Sonnez le chœur,</div>
+<div class="verse indent2">Chasseur!</div>
+<div class="verse">Sonnez la mort!</div>
+</div></div></div>
+
+<p>Before I had finished dressing, Sweetheart
+tripped in with my coffee and toast.</p>
+
+<p>"Of course I've finished," she said, "and
+you don't deserve this. Mr. Stuart has gone off
+with his canvases, and says he'll see you at
+lunch."</p>
+
+<p>I swallowed the coffee and browsed on little
+squares of toast which she condescendingly buttered
+for me, and then, lighting a cigarette,
+I announced my intention of commanding an
+exploring expedition consisting of Sweetheart
+and myself. A scratching at the door and a
+patter of feet announced that I had been overheard.</p>
+
+<p>Sweetheart unlatched the door, and the
+pointer pup of the evening before charged into
+the room and covered us with boisterous caresses,
+which we took to indicate that he not
+only approved of the expedition, but intended
+to undertake the general supervision of it himself.
+I resigned the leadership at once.</p>
+
+<p>"His name," said Sweetheart in the tone
+<span class="pb" id="Pg165">[165]</span>
+of one who presents a distinguished guest, "is
+'Luff.'"</p>
+
+<p>I gravely acknowledged the honour by patting
+his head.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm afraid," I said to Sweetheart, "that
+there is a bar sinister upon his escutcheon, but
+possibly it is only the indelible mark of the
+conquering British foxhound."</p>
+
+<p>Sweetheart said, "Nonsense!" and the expedition
+moved, Luff leading with a series of
+ear-splitting orders in the dog language which
+we perfectly understood.</p>
+
+<p>In ten minutes we stood on the cliffs, the
+salt wind whipping our faces. Saint-Gildas-des-Prés
+lay at our feet.</p>
+
+<p>"I know," observed Sweetheart calmly, "all
+about this place. Captain Ylven told me at
+breakfast."</p>
+
+<p>"Well," said I, "what's that island on the
+horizon?"</p>
+
+<p>Then she overwhelmed me with erudition,
+until I longed for Baedeker and revenge.</p>
+
+<p>"That is the Isle de Groix, and all about us
+is the Bay of Biscay. This little hamlet on the
+cliff is St. Julien, and if we follow the coast
+far enough we come to Lorient."</p>
+
+<p>"Follow the coast? Which way?"</p>
+
+<p>Sweetheart had forgotten, and I triumphed
+in silence, until she stamped her foot and
+marched off to assist Luff in investigating a
+suspicious hole in the cliff.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg166">[166]</span>
+I went to the edge of the plateau and looked
+over. The surf thundered against the rocks,
+tossing long strands of seaweed over the pebbly
+beach. A man with a wooden rake stood in the
+water up to his knees. He raked the seaweed
+from the breakers as a farmer rakes weeds from
+the lawn. The salt wind began to sting my lips
+and eyes. My throat felt dry and salty. I
+turned toward the hamlet of St. Gildas. I had
+not imagined it so small. Besides our house
+there were but three others clustered under
+the river bank. Behind it stretched woods and
+grain fields broken by patches of yellow gorse.
+Across the river stood a stone chapel almost lost
+in the miles of moorland. To the east and
+west the downs covered with gorse and heather
+rolled to the horizon. Here and there along the
+cliffs stood what appeared to be the ruins of ancient
+forts, and on a rock, just where the river
+sweeps out into the sea, rose a dirty white signal
+tower. The tower was low and squatty
+and wet. It looked like some saline excrescence
+which had slowly exuded from the brine-soaked
+rock. On the bar hundreds of white gulls rose
+and settled as the tide encroached; curlew were
+running along the foam-splashed shore under
+the eastern cliffs across the river.</p>
+
+<p>On our side of the river the cliffs were covered
+with blackthorn and hawthorn, with here
+and there a stunted oak, probably so placed by
+Providence as general rendezvous for all the
+<span class="pb" id="Pg167">[167]</span>
+small twittering birds of Finistère. Birds were
+everywhere. From the clouds came the ceaseless
+carol of skylarks; from the grain fields and
+the flowering gorse rose an unbroken chorus,
+taken up and repeated by flocks of microscopical
+songsters among the blackthorns on the cliffs.</p>
+
+<p>"This is paradise, this wilderness," I thought.</p>
+
+<p>Then, as I heard Sweetheart's mocking voice
+from the cliff:</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="verse">O frère <ins class="corr" title="Jaques" id="C167">Jacques</ins>,</div>
+<div class="verse">Dormez vous!</div>
+</div></div></div>
+
+<p>"I'm not asleep!" I cried in answer.
+"What is it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Luff has unearthed a poor little mole, but
+I won't allow him to hurt it."</p>
+
+<p>"Jack, dear," she said, as I came up,
+"couldn't we keep it as a pet? See, the poor
+little thing is blind."</p>
+
+<p>As it was blind we called it "Love," which
+later was changed to "Cupid," and finally, when
+we discovered it true gormandizing character,
+for "Cupid" we substituted "Cupidity," by
+which name it flourished and fattened.</p>
+
+<p>"What a change," said Sweetheart sadly,
+"from Blind Love to Blind Greed!"</p>
+
+<p>The mole grew very fat.</p>
+
+<h3>XVII.<span class="pb" id="Pg168">[168]</span></h3>
+
+<p>When the winds stir the leaves among the
+poplars, and the long shadows fall athwart the
+fields; when the winds rise at night, and the
+branches scrape and crack above the moonlit
+snow; when in the long hot days the earth is
+bathed in fragrance, and all the little creatures
+of the fields are silent; when in the still evenings
+the flowers perfume the air, and the gravel
+walks shine white in the moonlight; when the
+breezes quicken from the distant coast; when
+the sand shakes beneath the shock of the breakers,
+and every wave is plumed with white; when
+the calm eye of the beacon turns to mine, lingers,
+and turn away, and the surf is yeasty and
+thick; when I start at the sound of a voice from
+the cliffs, and my eyes are raised in vain;
+when the white gulls toss and drift in the storm-clouds,
+and the water hurries out in the black
+ebb tide; when I rise and look from the window;
+when I dress; when I work with pen and
+colour; when I rest; when I walk; when I
+sleep&mdash;there is one face before my eyes, one
+name on my lips. For the white shadow is
+turning gray, and God alone knows the end.</p>
+
+<h3>XVIII.</h3>
+
+<p>And God alone knows the end, for the mists
+are crowding, brooding like angry-browed
+<span class="pb" id="Pg169">[169]</span>
+clouds, and I hear the whistle of unseen winds,
+and my life-flame wavers and sinks and flares,
+blown hither and thither, tossing, fading, leaping,
+but fading, always fading.</p>
+
+<p>In a flash, like a printed picture on a screen,
+illuminated, keenly etched in the white glare,
+I see the bed, and the people around me, the
+black gowns, the pale eyes of the doctor, the
+sponge and basin, the rolls of lint.</p>
+
+<p>Voices, minute but clean-cut and clear as
+picked harp-strings, tinkle in my ears; the voice
+of the doctor, other voices, but always the voice
+of the doctor&mdash;"The splinter of bone on the
+brain; the splinter pressing on the tissues; the
+depression."</p>
+
+<p>The doctor! That is the man! That is the
+man who comes to my side, who follows, follows
+where I go, who seeks me throughout the
+world! I saw him as I lay flung on the turf,
+limp, unconscious, below the cliffs on the Aspen
+hills; I felt his presence in the studio; I heard
+him creeping at my heels across the gorse thickets
+of St. Gildas. And now he has come
+to cut short the magic second, to turn back
+time&mdash;back, back, into the old worn channels,
+rock-ribbed and salt with tears.</p>
+
+<p>As a leaf of written paper torn in two, so
+shall my life be torn in two; and the long tear
+shall mangle the chapter written in rose and gold.</p>
+
+<p>Then, too, my shadow, already turned from
+<span class="pb" id="Pg170">[170]</span>
+white to gray, shall fall with a deeper stain
+wherever I pass; and I shall see the yellow gorse
+glimmer and turn to golden-rod, and the poplars
+turn to oaks; and the twin towers of Notre
+Dame, filmy, lace-carved, and gray with centuries,
+shall dwindle as I look&mdash;dwindle and
+sway and turn to pines, singing pines that murmur
+to the winds, blowing across the Aspen
+hills.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb"/>
+
+<p>All that is fair shall pass away; all that I
+love, all that I fear for&mdash;these shall the doctor
+take away, lifting them from my memory on
+the point of a steel blade. What has he to
+give in return? A hell of vapour, distorting
+sight; a hell of sound, drowning the soul.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb"/>
+
+<p>Gigantic apparitions arise across the world
+of water, wavering like shadows on the clouds.
+Steel-clad, clothed in skins, casqued in steel,
+their winged heads bend and nod and move
+against the clouds. And even they are changing
+as clouds change shape. I see steel limbs
+turn red and naked. I see winged casques trail
+to the earth, feathered, painted in colours of
+earth.</p>
+
+<p>Ihó! Inâh! Etó! E-hó!</p>
+
+<p>The bridge of stars spans the vast lake of air;
+the sun and the moon travel over it.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb"/>
+
+<p>My shadow is turning dark; I can scarcely
+<span class="pb" id="Pg171">[171]</span>
+see the doctor, but now&mdash;God have mercy!&mdash;<em>I
+can touch him.</em></p>
+
+<hr class="tb"/>
+
+<p>All the high spectres are stooping from the
+clouds, bending above me to watch. I know
+them and their eyes of shadow&mdash;I know them
+now; Hârpen that was to Chaské what Hárpstinâ
+shall be to Hapéda; and Hârka shall come after
+all with the voice of winter winds:</p>
+
+<p>"Aké u, aké u, aké u!"</p>
+
+<p>But the magic second shall never return.</p>
+
+<p>"Mâ cânté maséca!"</p>
+
+<hr class="tb"/>
+
+<p>Now they leave my bed, the people who
+crowded there under the shadowy forms of the
+spectres; now the doctor bends over; I see and
+feel him. His hands are tangled in the threads
+of time; he is cutting a thread; he&mdash;&mdash;</p>
+
+<h3>XIX.</h3>
+
+<p>When I spoke to him first I spoke in the
+French language. Before he answered, the
+scream of a blue jay in the elms outside set my
+nerves aquiver, and I called for Donald and
+Walter.</p>
+
+<p>As I lay there I could see the Aspen hills
+from the window, heaps of crumpled gold
+bathed in sunshine. Over them sailed the froth
+from the silken milkweed; over them drifted
+<span class="pb" id="Pg172">[172]</span>
+the big brown-red butterflies, luminous as richest
+autumn leaves.</p>
+
+<p>Some one closed the door softly. The doctor
+had gone.</p>
+
+<p>The sunlight poured into the window, etching
+my shadow on the wall behind. Lying
+very still there I saw it motionless beside me.
+<em>The shadow was black.</em></p>
+
+<p>Somebody said in the next room, "Will he die?"</p>
+
+<p>"Die?" I said aloud.</p>
+
+<p>A bird twittered outside my window.</p>
+
+<p>The door opened again, noiselessly.</p>
+
+<p>"Sweetheart?" I whispered.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, Jack."</p>
+
+<p>After a moment I said, "When do you go
+back to school?"</p>
+
+<p>"I? I finished school a year ago."</p>
+
+<p>"Come nearer."</p>
+
+<p>"I am here, Jack."</p>
+
+<p>"Time stopped a year ago."</p>
+
+<p>"A year ago to-day."</p>
+
+<p>The same gray eyes, the same face, paler, perhaps.</p>
+
+<p>"We have journeyed far," I sighed, "always
+together, but in those days our shadows
+were white as snow. Am I going to die? There
+are tears in your eyes."</p>
+
+<p>They fell on my cheek; her arms fell too,
+closer, closer, around my neck.</p>
+
+<p>"Life has begun," she said.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg173">[173]</span>
+"Life? What was the year that ends to-day?
+The magic second of life?"</p>
+
+<p>"A year of death, to me!"</p>
+
+<p>Ah, but her soul knows of a life in death!
+And she shall know it, too, when her shadow
+turns whiter than snow. For the Temple of
+Idols has closed its doors at the sound of a
+voice, and an idol of gilt has turned to flesh and
+blood.</p>
+
+<p>I-hó!</p>
+
+<p>So shall she know of the life in death when
+her soul and her body are one.</p>
+
+<hr /></div>
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2>PASSEUR.<span class="pb" id="Pg175">[175]</span></h2>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pb" id="Pg176">[176]</span>
+<div class="verse">O friends, I've served ye food and bed;</div>
+<div class="verse indent2">O friends, the mist is rising wet;</div>
+<div class="verse">Then bide a moment, O my dead,</div>
+<div class="verse indent2">Where, lonely, I must linger yet!</div>
+</div></div></div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="center"><big>PASSEUR.<span class="pb" id="Pg177">[177]</span></big></p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="verse">Because man goeth to his long home,</div>
+<div class="verse">And the mourners go about the streets.</div>
+</div></div></div>
+
+<p>When he had finished his pipe he tapped
+the brier bowl against the chimney until the
+ashes powdered the charred log smouldering
+across the andirons. Then he sank back in his
+chair, absently touching the hot pipe-bowl with
+the tip of each finger until it grew cool enough
+to be dropped into his coat pocket.</p>
+
+<p>Twice he raised his eyes to the little American
+clock ticking upon the mantel. He had
+half an hour to wait.</p>
+
+<p>The three candles that lighted the room
+might be trimmed to advantage; this would
+give him something to do. A pair of scissors
+lay open upon the bureau, and he rose and
+picked them up. For a while he stood dreamily
+shutting and opening the scissors, his eyes roaming
+about the room. There was an easel in the
+corner, and a pile of dusty canvases behind it;
+behind the canvases there was a shadow&mdash;that
+gray, menacing shadow that never moved.</p>
+
+<p>When he had trimmed each candle he wiped
+<span class="pb" id="Pg178">[178]</span>
+the smoky scissors on a paint rag and flung
+them on the bureau again. The clock pointed
+to ten; he had been occupied exactly three minutes.</p>
+
+<p>The bureau was littered with neckties, pipes,
+combs and brushes, matches, reels and fly-books,
+collars, shirt studs, a new pair of Scotch
+shooting stockings, and a woman's workbasket.</p>
+
+<p>He picked out all the neckties, folded them
+once, and hung them over a bit of twine that
+stretched across the looking-glass; the shirt
+studs he shovelled into the top drawer along
+with brushes, combs, and stockings; the reels
+and fly-books he dusted with his handkerchief
+and placed methodically along the mantel shelf.
+Twice he stretched out his hand toward the
+woman's workbasket, but his hand fell to his
+side again, and he turned away into the room
+staring at the dying fire.</p>
+
+<p>Outside the snow-sealed window a shutter
+broke loose and banged monotonously, until he
+flung open the panes and fastened it. The soft,
+wet snow, that had choked the window-panes
+all day, was frozen hard now, and he had to
+break the polished crust before he could find
+the rusty shutter hinge.</p>
+
+<p>He leaned out for a moment, his numbed
+hands resting on the snow, the roar of a rising
+snow-squall in his ears; and out across the desolate
+garden and stark hedgerow he saw the flat
+black river spreading through the gloom.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg179">[179]</span>
+A candle sputtered and snapped behind
+him; a sheet of drawing-paper fluttered across
+the floor, and he closed the panes and turned
+back into the room, both hands in his worn
+pockets.</p>
+
+<p>The little American clock on the mantel
+ticked and ticked, but the hands lagged, for
+he had not been occupied five minutes in all.
+He went up to the mantel and watched the
+hands of the clock. A minute&mdash;longer than a
+year to him&mdash;crept by.</p>
+
+<p>Around the room the furniture stood ranged&mdash;a
+chair or two of yellow pine, a table, the
+easel, and in one corner the broad curtained
+bed; and behind each lay shadows, menacing
+shadows that never moved.</p>
+
+<p>A little pale flame started up from the smoking
+log on the andirons; the room sang with
+the sudden hiss of escaping wood gases. After
+a little the back of the log caught fire; jets of
+blue flared up here and there with mellow
+sounds like the lighting of gas-burners in a
+row, and in a moment a thin sheet of yellow
+flame wrapped the whole charred log.</p>
+
+<p>Then the shadows moved; not the shadows
+behind the furniture&mdash;they never moved&mdash;but
+other shadows, thin, gray, confusing, that came
+and spread their slim patterns all around him,
+and trembled and trembled.</p>
+
+<p>He dared not step or tread upon them, they
+were too real; they meshed the floor around
+<span class="pb" id="Pg180">[180]</span>
+his feet, they ensnared his knees, they fell across
+his breast like ropes. Some night, in the silence
+of the moors, when wind and river were
+still, he feared these strands of shadow might
+tighten&mdash;creep higher around his throat and
+tighten. But even then he knew that those
+other shadows would never move, those gray
+shapes that knelt crouching in every corner.</p>
+
+<p>When he looked up at the clock again ten
+minutes had straggled past. Time was disturbed
+in the room; the strands of shadow
+seemed entangled among the hands of the
+clock, dragging them back from their rotation.
+He wondered if the shadows would strangle
+Time, some still night when the wind and the
+flat river were silent.</p>
+
+<p>There grew a sudden chill across the floor;
+the cracks of the boards let it in. He leaned
+down and drew his sabots toward him from
+their place near the andirons, and slipped them
+over his chaussons; and as he straightened up,
+his eyes mechanically sought the mantel above,
+where in the dusk another pair of sabots stood,
+little, slender, delicate sabots, carved from red
+<ins class="corr" title="beach" id="C180">beech</ins>. A year's dust grayed their surface; a
+year's rust dulled the silver band across the instep.
+He said this to himself aloud, knowing
+that it was within a few minutes of the
+year.</p>
+
+<p>His own sabots came from Mort-Dieu; they
+were shaved square and banded with steel. But
+<span class="pb" id="Pg181">[181]</span>
+in days past he had thought that no sabot in
+Mort-Dieu was delicate enough to touch the
+instep of the Mort-Dieu passeur. So he sent to
+the shore lighthouse, and they sent to Lorient,
+where the women are coquettish and show their
+hair under the coiffe, and wear dainty sabots;
+and in this town, where vanity corrupts and
+<ins class="corr" title="their" id="C181">there</ins> is much lace on coiffe and collarette, a pair
+of delicate sabots was found, banded with silver
+and chiselled in red <ins class="corr" title="beach" id="C181a">beech</ins>. The sabots stood
+on the mantel above the fire now, dusty and
+tarnished.</p>
+
+<p>There was a sound from the window, the soft
+murmur of snow blotting glass panes. The
+wind, too, muttered under the roof eaves. Presently
+it would begin to whisper to him from
+the chimney&mdash;he knew it&mdash;and he held his
+hands over his ears and stared at the clock.</p>
+
+<p>In the hamlet of Mort-Dieu the pines sing
+all day of the sea secrets, but in the night the
+ghosts of little gray birds fill the branches,
+singing of the sunshine of past years. He heard
+the song as he sat, and he crushed his hands
+over his ears; but the gray birds joined with
+the wind in the chimney, and he heard all that
+he dared not hear, and he thought all that he
+dared not hope or think, and the swift tears
+scalded his eyes.</p>
+
+<p>In Mort-Dieu the nights are longer than
+anywhere on earth; he knew it&mdash;why should he
+not know? This had been so for a year; it
+<span class="pb" id="Pg182">[182]</span>
+was different before. There were so many
+things different before; days and nights vanished
+like minutes then; the pines told no secrets
+of the sea, and the gray birds had not yet
+come to Mort-Dieu. Also, there was Jeanne,
+passeur at the Carmes.</p>
+
+<p>When he first saw her she was poling the
+square, flat-bottomed ferry skiff from the Carmes
+to Mort-Dieu, a red handkerchief bound across
+her silky black hair, a red skirt fluttering just
+below her knees. The next time he saw her he
+had to call to her across the placid river, "Ohé!
+Ohé, passeur!" She came, poling the flat skiff,
+her deep blue eyes fixed pensively on him, the
+scarlet skirt and kerchief idly flapping in the
+April wind. Then day followed day when the
+far call "Passeur!" grew clearer and more
+joyous, and the faint answering cry, "I come!"
+rippled across the water like music tinged with
+laughter. Then spring came, and with spring
+came love&mdash;love, carried free across the ferry
+from the Carmes to Mort-Dieu.</p>
+
+<p>The flame above the charred log whistled,
+flickered, and went out in a jet of wood vapour,
+only to play like lightning above the gas and
+relight again. The clock ticked more loudly,
+and the song from the pines filled the room.
+But in his straining eyes a summer landscape
+was reflected, where white clouds sailed and
+white foam curled under the square bow of a
+little skiff. And he pressed his numbed hands
+<span class="pb" id="Pg183">[183]</span>
+tighter to his ears to drown the cry, "Passeur!
+Passeur!"</p>
+
+<p>And now for a moment the clock ceased
+ticking. It was time to go&mdash;who but he should
+know it, he who went out into the night swinging
+his lantern? And he went. He had gone
+each night from the first&mdash;from that first
+strange winter evening when a strange voice
+had answered him across the river, the voice
+of the new passeur. He had never heard <em>her</em>
+voice again.</p>
+
+<p>So he passed down the windy wooden stairs,
+lantern hanging lighted in his hand, and
+stepped out into the storm. Through sheets of
+drifting snow, over heaps of frozen seaweed and
+icy drift he moved, shifting his lantern right
+and left, until its glimmer on the water warned
+him. Then he called out into the night,
+"Passeur!" The frozen spray spattered his
+face and crusted the lantern; he heard the distant
+boom of breakers beyond the bar, and the
+noise of mighty winds among the seaward cliffs.</p>
+
+<p>"Passeur!"</p>
+
+<p>Across the broad flat river, black as a sea of
+pitch, a tiny light sparkled a moment. Again
+he cried, "Passeur!"</p>
+
+<p>"I come!"</p>
+
+<p>He turned ghastly white, for it was her
+voice&mdash;or was he crazy?&mdash;and he sprang waist
+deep into the icy current and cried out again,
+but his voice ended in a sob.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg184">[184]</span>
+Slowly through the snow the flat skiff took
+shape, creeping nearer and nearer. But she
+was not at the pole&mdash;he saw that; there was
+only a tall, thin man, shrouded to the eyes in
+oilskin; and he leaped into the boat and bade
+the ferryman hasten.</p>
+
+<p>Halfway across he rose in the skiff, and
+called, "Jeanne!" But the roar of the storm
+and the thrashing of icy waves drowned his
+voice. Yet he heard her again, and she called
+to him by name.</p>
+
+<p>When at last the boat grated upon the invisible
+shore, he lifted his lantern, trembling,
+stumbling among the rocks, and calling to her,
+as though his voice could silence the voice that
+had spoken a year ago that night. And it could
+not. He sank shivering upon his knees, and
+looked out into the darkness, where an ocean
+rolled across a world. Then his stiff lips moved,
+and he repeated her name; but the hand of the
+ferryman fell gently upon his head.</p>
+
+<p>And when he raised his eyes he saw that the
+ferryman was Death.</p>
+
+<hr /></div>
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2>THE KEY TO GRIEF.<span class="pb" id="Pg185">[185]</span></h2>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pb" id="Pg186">[186]</span>
+<div class="verse">The moving finger writes, and, having writ,</div>
+<div class="verse indent2">Moves on; nor all your piety nor wit</div>
+<div class="verse">Shall lure it back to cancel half a line,</div>
+<div class="verse indent2">Nor all your tears wash out a word of it.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<div class="verse indent32"><span class="smcap">Fitzgerald.</span></div>
+</div></div></div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="center"><big>THE KEY TO GRIEF.</big><span class="pb" id="Pg187">[187]</span></p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="verse">The wild hawk to the wind-swept sky</div>
+<div class="verse indent2">The deer to the wholesome wold,</div>
+<div class="verse">And the heart of a man to the heart of a maid,</div>
+<div class="verse indent2">As it was in the days of old.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<div class="verse indent32"><span class="smcap">Kipling.</span></div>
+</div></div></div>
+
+<h3>I.</h3>
+
+<p>They were doing their work very badly.
+They got the rope around his neck, and tied his
+wrists with moose-bush withes, but again he
+fell, sprawling, turning, twisting over the leaves,
+tearing up everything around him like a trapped panther.</p>
+
+<p>He got the rope away from them; he clung
+to it with bleeding fists; he set his white teeth
+in it, until the jute strands relaxed, unravelled,
+and snapped, gnawed through by his white teeth.</p>
+
+<p>Twice Tully struck him with a gum hook.
+The dull blows fell on flesh rigid as stone.</p>
+
+<p>Panting, foul with forest mould and rotten
+leaves, hands and face smeared with blood, he
+sat up on the ground, glaring at the circle of
+men around him.</p>
+
+<p>"Shoot him!" gasped Tully, dashing the
+<span class="pb" id="Pg188">[188]</span>
+sweat from his bronzed brow; and Bates,
+breathing heavily, sat down on a log and
+dragged a revolver from his rear pocket. The
+man on the ground watched him; there was
+froth in the corners of his mouth.</p>
+
+<p>"Git back!" whispered Bates, but his voice
+and hand trembled. "Kent," he stammered,
+"won't ye hang?"</p>
+
+<p>The man on the ground glared.</p>
+
+<p>"Ye've got to die, Kent," he urged; "they
+all say so. Ask Lefty Sawyer; ask Dyce; ask
+Carrots.&mdash;He's got to swing fur it&mdash;ain't he,
+Tully?&mdash;Kent, fur God's sake, swing fur these
+here gents!"</p>
+
+<p>The man on the ground panted; his bright
+eyes never moved.</p>
+
+<p>After a moment Tully sprang on him again.
+There was a flurry of leaves, a crackle, a gasp
+and a grunt, then the thumping and thrashing
+of two bodies writhing in the brush. Dyce and
+Carrots jumped on the prostrate men. Lefty
+Sawyer caught the rope again, but the jute
+strands gave way and he stumbled. Tully began
+to scream, "He's chokin' me!" Dyce
+staggered out into the open, moaning over a
+broken wrist.</p>
+
+<p>"Shoot!" shouted Lefty Sawyer, and
+dragged Tully aside. "Shoot, Jim Bates!
+Shoot straight, b' God!"</p>
+
+<p>"Git back!" gasped Bates, rising from the
+fallen log.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg189">[189]</span>
+The crowd parted right and left; a quick
+report rang out&mdash;another&mdash;another. Then
+from the whirl of smoke a tall form staggered,
+dealing blows&mdash;blows that sounded sharp as the
+crack of a whip.</p>
+
+<p>"He's off! Shoot straight!" they cried.</p>
+
+<p>There was a gallop of heavy boots in the
+woods. Bates, faint and dazed, turned his
+head.</p>
+
+<p>"Shoot!" shrieked Tully.</p>
+
+<p>But Bates was sick; his smoking revolver
+fell to the ground; his white face and pale eyes
+contracted. It lasted only a moment; he started
+after the others, plunging, wallowing through
+thickets of osier and hemlock underbrush.</p>
+
+<p>Far ahead he heard Kent crashing on like a
+young moose in November, and he knew he was
+making for the shore. The others knew too.
+Already the gray gleam of the sea cut a straight
+line along the forest edge; already the soft
+clash of the surf on the rocks broke faintly
+through the forest silence.</p>
+
+<p>"He's got a canoe there!" bawled Tully.
+"He'll be into it!"</p>
+
+<p>And he was into it, kneeling in the bow,
+driving his paddle to the handle. The rising
+sun gleamed like red lightning on the flashing
+blade; the canoe shot to the crest of a wave,
+hung, bows dripping in the wind, dropped into
+the depths, glided, tipped, rolled, shot up again,
+staggered, and plunged on.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg190">[190]</span>
+Tully ran straight out into the cove surf;
+the water broke against his chest, bare and wet
+with sweat. Bates sat down on a worn black
+rock and watched the canoe listlessly.</p>
+
+<p>The canoe dwindled to a speck of gray and
+silver; and when Carrots, who had run back to
+the gum camp for a rifle, returned, the speck
+on the water might have been easier to hit than
+a loon's head at twilight. So Carrots, being
+thrifty by nature, fired once, and was satisfied
+to save the other cartridges. The canoe was
+still visible, making for the open sea. Somewhere
+beyond the horizon lay the keys, a string
+of rocks bare as skulls, black and slimy where
+the sea cut their base, white on the crests with
+the excrement of sea birds.</p>
+
+<p>"He's makin' fur the Key to Grief!" whispered
+Bates to Dyce.</p>
+
+<p>Dyce, moaning, and nursing his broken
+wrist, turned a sick face out to sea.</p>
+
+<p>The last rock seaward was the Key to Grief,
+a splintered pinnacle polished by the sea. From
+the Key to Grief, seaward a day's paddle, if a
+man dared, lay the long wooded island in the
+ocean known as Grief on the charts of the bleak coast.</p>
+
+<p>In the history of the coast, two men had
+made the voyage to the Key to Grief, and from
+there to the island. One of these was a rum-crazed
+pelt hunter, who lived to come back;
+the other was a college youth; they found his
+<span class="pb" id="Pg191">[191]</span>
+battered canoe at sea, and a day later his battered
+body was flung up in the cove.</p>
+
+<p>So, when Bates whispered to Dyce, and
+when Dyce called to the others, they knew that
+the end was not far off for Kent and his canoe;
+and they turned away into the forest, sullen,
+but satisfied that Kent would get his dues when
+the devil got his.</p>
+
+<p>Lefty spoke vaguely of the wages of sin.
+Carrots, with an eye to thrift, suggested a plan
+for an equitable division of Kent's property.</p>
+
+<p>When they reached the gum camp they piled
+Kent's personal effects on a blanket.</p>
+
+<p>Carrots took the inventory: a revolver, two
+gum hooks, a fur cap, a nickel-plated watch,
+a pipe, a pack of new cards, a gum sack, forty
+pounds of spruce gum, and a frying pan.</p>
+
+<p>Carrots shuffled the cards, picked out the
+joker, and flipped it pensively into the fire.
+Then he dealt cold decks all around.</p>
+
+<p>When the goods and chattels of their late
+companion had been divided by chance&mdash;for
+there was no chance to cheat&mdash;somebody remembered
+Tully.</p>
+
+<p>"He's down there on the coast, starin' after
+the canoe," said Bates huskily.</p>
+
+<p>He rose and walked toward a heap on the
+ground covered by a blanket. He started to
+lift the blanket, hesitated, and finally turned
+away. Under the blanket lay Tully's brother,
+shot the night before by Kent.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg192">[192]</span>
+"Guess we'd better wait till Tully comes,"
+said Carrots uneasily. Bates and Kent had
+been campmates. An hour later Tully walked
+into camp.</p>
+
+<p>He spoke to no one that day. In the morning
+Bates found him down on the coast digging,
+and said: "Hello, Tully! Guess we ain't
+much hell on lynchin'!"</p>
+
+<p>"Naw," said Tully. "Git a spade."</p>
+
+<p>"Goin' to plant him there?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yep."</p>
+
+<p>"Where he kin hear them waves?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yep."</p>
+
+<p>"Purty spot."</p>
+
+<p>"Yep."</p>
+
+<p>"Which way will he face?"</p>
+
+<p>"Where he kin watch fur that damned
+canoe!" cried Tully fiercely.</p>
+
+<p>"He&mdash;he can't see," ventured Bates uneasily.
+"He's dead, ain't he?"</p>
+
+<p>"He'll heave up that there sand when the
+canoe comes back! An' it's a-comin'! An'
+Bud Kent'll be in it, dead or alive! Git a
+spade!"</p>
+
+<p>The pale light of superstition flickered in
+Bates's eyes. He hesitated.</p>
+
+<p>"The&mdash;the dead can't see," he began; "kin
+they?"</p>
+
+<p>Tully turned a distorted face toward him.</p>
+
+<p>"Yer lie!" he roared. "My brother kin
+see, dead or livin'! An' he'll see the hangin'
+<span class="pb" id="Pg193">[193]</span>
+of Bud Kent! An' he'll git up outer the grave
+fur to see it, Bill Bates! I'm tellin' ye! I'm
+tellin' ye! Deep as I'll plant him, he'll heave
+that there sand and call to me, when the canoe
+comes in! I'll hear him; I'll be here! An'
+we'll live to see the hangin' of Bud Kent!"</p>
+
+<p>About sundown they planted Tully's
+brother, face to the sea.</p>
+
+<h3>II.</h3>
+
+<p>On the Key to Grief the green waves rub
+all day. White at the summit, black at the
+base, the shafted rocks rear splintered pinnacles,
+slanting like channel buoys. On the polished
+pillars sea birds brood&mdash;white-winged,
+bright-eyed sea birds, that nestle and preen
+and flap and clatter their orange-coloured beaks
+when the sifted spray drives and drifts across
+the reef.</p>
+
+<p>As the sun rose, painting crimson streaks
+criss-cross over the waters, the sea birds sidled
+together, huddling row on row, steeped in downy
+drowse.</p>
+
+<p>Where the sun of noon burnished the sea,
+an opal wave washed, listless, noiseless; a sea
+bird stretched one listless wing.</p>
+
+<p>And into the silence of the waters a canoe
+glided, bronzed by the sunlight, jewelled by the
+salt drops stringing from prow to thwart, seaweed
+a-trail in the diamond-flashing wake, and
+in the bow a man dripping with sweat.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg194">[194]</span>
+Up rose the gulls, sweeping in circles, turning,
+turning over rock and sea, and their
+clamour filled the sky, starting little rippling
+echoes among the rocks.</p>
+
+<p>The canoe grated on a shelf of ebony; the
+seaweed rocked and washed; the little sea crabs
+sheered sideways, down, down into limpid depths
+of greenest shadows. Such was the coming
+of Bud Kent to the Key to Grief.</p>
+
+<p>He drew the canoe halfway up the shelf
+of rock and sat down, breathing heavily, one
+brown arm across the bow. For an hour he
+sat there. The sweat dried under his eyes. The
+sea birds came back, filling the air with soft
+querulous notes.</p>
+
+<p>There was a livid mark around his neck, a
+red, raw circle. The salt wind stung it; the
+sun burned it into his flesh like a collar of red-hot
+steel. He touched it at times; once he
+washed it with cold salt water.</p>
+
+<p>Far in the north a curtain of mist hung on
+the sea, dense, motionless as the fog on the
+Grand Banks. He never moved his eyes from
+it; he knew what it was. Behind it lay the
+Island of Grief.</p>
+
+<p>All the year round the Island of Grief is
+hidden by the banks of mist, ramparts of dead
+white fog encircling it on every side. Ships give
+it wide berth. Some speak of warm springs on
+the island whose waters flow far out to sea, rising
+in steam eternally.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg195">[195]</span>
+The pelt hunter had come back with tales
+of forests and deer and flowers everywhere;
+but he had been drinking much, and much was
+forgiven him.</p>
+
+<p>The body of the college youth tossed up in
+the cove on the mainland was battered out of
+recognition, but some said, when found, one
+hand clutched a crimson blossom half wilted,
+but broad as a sap pan.</p>
+
+<p>So Kent lay motionless beside his canoe,
+burned with thirst, every nerve vibrating,
+thinking of all these things. It was not fear
+that whitened the firm flesh under the tan; it
+was the fear of fear. He must not think&mdash;he
+must throttle dread; his eyes must never falter,
+his head never turn from that wall of mist
+across the sea. With set teeth he crushed back
+terror; with glittering eyes he looked into the
+hollow eyes of fright. And so he conquered fear.</p>
+
+<p>He rose. The sea birds whirled up into the
+sky, pitching, tossing, screaming, till the sharp
+flapping of their pinions set the snapping echoes
+flying among the rocks.</p>
+
+<p>Under the canoe's sharp prow the kelp
+bobbed and dipped and parted; the sunlit
+waves ran out ahead, glittering, dancing.
+Splash! splash! bow and stern! And now he
+knelt again, and the polished paddle swung and
+dipped, and swept and swung and dipped again.</p>
+
+<p>Far behind, the clamour of the sea birds
+<span class="pb" id="Pg196">[196]</span>
+lingered in his ears, till the mellow dip of the
+paddle drowned all sound and the sea was a sea
+of silence.</p>
+
+<p>No wind came to cool the hot sweat on
+cheek and breast. The sun blazed a path
+of flame before him, and he followed out into
+the waste of waters. The still ocean divided
+under the bows and rippled innocently away
+on either side, tinkling, foaming, sparkling like
+the current in a woodland brook. He looked
+around at the world of flattened water, and the
+fear of fear rose up and gripped his throat
+again. Then he lowered his head, like a tortured
+bull, and shook the fear of fear from his
+throat, and drove the paddle into the sea as a
+butcher stabs, to the hilt.</p>
+
+<p>So at last he came to the wall of mist. It
+was thin at first, thin and cool, but it thickened
+and grew warmer, and the fear of fear dragged
+at his head, but he would not look behind.</p>
+
+<p>Into the fog the canoe shot; the gray water
+ran by, high as the gunwales, oily, silent. Shapes
+flickered across the bows, pillars of mist that
+rode the waters, robed in films of tattered
+shadows. Gigantic forms towered to dizzy
+heights above him, shaking out shredded
+shrouds of cloud. The vast draperies of the
+fog swayed and hung and trembled as he
+brushed them; the white twilight deepened to
+a sombre gloom. And now it grew thinner;
+the fog became a mist, and the mist a haze, and
+<span class="pb" id="Pg197">[197]</span>
+the haze floated away and vanished into the
+blue of the heavens.</p>
+
+<p>All around lay a sea of pearl and sapphire,
+lapping, lapping on a silver shoal.</p>
+
+<p>So he came to the Island of Grief.</p>
+
+<h3>III.</h3>
+
+<p>On the silver shoal the waves washed and
+washed, breaking like crushed opals where the
+sands sang with the humming froth.</p>
+
+<p>Troops of little shore birds, wading on the
+shoal, tossed their sun-tipped wings and scuttled
+inland, where, dappled with shadow from
+the fringing forest, the white beach of the
+island stretched.</p>
+
+<p>The water all around was shallow, limpid
+as crystal, and he saw the ribbed sand shining
+on the bottom, where purple seaweed floated,
+and delicate sea creatures darted and swarmed
+and scattered again at the dip of his paddle.</p>
+
+<p>Like velvet rubbed on velvet the canoe
+brushed across the sand. He staggered to his
+feet, stumbled out, dragged the canoe high up
+under the trees, turned it bottom upward, and
+sank beside it, face downward in the sand.
+Sleep came to drive away the fear of fear, but
+hunger, thirst, and fever fought with sleep, and
+he dreamed&mdash;dreamed of a rope that sawed his
+neck, of the fight in the woods, and the shots.
+He dreamed, too, of the camp, of his forty
+<span class="pb" id="Pg198">[198]</span>
+pounds of spruce gum, of Tully, and of Bates.
+He dreamed of the fire and the smoke-scorched
+kettle, of the foul odour of musty bedding, of the
+greasy cards, and of his own new pack, hoarded
+for weeks to please the others. All this he
+dreamed, lying there face downward in the
+sand; but he did not dream of the face of the
+dead.</p>
+
+<p>The shadows of the leaves moved on his
+blonde head, crisp with clipped curls. A butterfly
+flitted around him, alighting now on
+his legs, now on the back of his bronzed hands.
+All the afternoon the bees hung droning among
+the wildwood blossoms; the leaves above scarcely
+rustled; the shore birds brooded along the
+water's edge; the thin tide, sleeping on the
+sand, mirrored the sky.</p>
+
+<p>Twilight paled the zenith; a breeze moved
+in the deeper woods; a star glimmered, went
+out, glimmered again, faded, and glimmered.</p>
+
+<p>Night came. A moth darted to and fro
+under the trees; a beetle hummed around a
+heap of seaweed and fell scrambling in the
+sand. Somewhere among the trees a sound
+had become distinct, the song of a little brook,
+melodious, interminable. He heard it in his
+dream; it threaded all his dreams like a needle
+of silver, and like a needle it pricked him&mdash;pricked
+his dry throat and cracked lips. It
+could not awake him; the cool night swathed
+him head and foot.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg199">[199]</span>
+Toward dawn a bird woke up and piped.
+Other birds stirred, restless, half awakened; a
+gull spread a cramped wing on the shore,
+preened its feathers, scratched its tufted neck,
+and took two drowsy steps toward the sea.</p>
+
+<p>The sea breeze stirred out behind the mist
+bank; it raised the feathers on the sleeping
+gulls; it set the leaves whispering. A twig
+snapped, broke off, and fell. Kent stirred,
+sighed, trembled, and awoke.</p>
+
+<p>The first thing he heard was the song of
+the brook, and he stumbled straight into the
+woods. There it lay, a thin, deep stream in
+the gray morning light, and he stretched himself
+beside it and laid his cheek in it. A bird
+drank in the pool, too&mdash;a little fluffy bird,
+bright-eyed and fearless.</p>
+
+<p>His knees were firmer when at last he rose,
+heedless of the drops that beaded lips and chin.
+With his knife he dug and scraped at some
+white roots that hung half meshed in the bank
+of the brook, and when he had cleaned them
+in the pool he ate them.</p>
+
+<p>The sun stained the sky when he went down
+to the canoe, but the eternal curtain of fog, far
+out at sea, hid it as yet from sight.</p>
+
+<p>He lifted the canoe, bottom upwards, to his
+head, and, paddle and pole in either hand, carried
+it into the forest.</p>
+
+<p>After he had set it down he stood a moment,
+opening and shutting his knife. Then he looked
+<span class="pb" id="Pg200">[200]</span>
+up into the trees. There were birds there, if
+he could get at them. He looked at the brook.
+There were the prints of his fingers in the sand;
+there, too, was the print of something else&mdash;a
+deer's pointed hoof.</p>
+
+<p>He had nothing but his knife. He opened
+it again and looked at it.</p>
+
+<p>That day he dug for clams and ate them
+raw. He waded out into the shallows, too, and
+jabbed at fish with his setting pole, but hit
+nothing except a yellow crab.</p>
+
+<p>Fire was what he wanted. He hacked and
+chipped at flinty-looking pebbles, and scraped
+tinder from a stick of sun-dried driftwood. His
+knuckles bled, but no fire came.</p>
+
+<p>That night he heard deer in the woods, and
+could not sleep for thinking, until the dawn
+came up behind the wall of mist, and he rose
+with it to drink his fill at the brook and tear
+raw clams with his white teeth. Again he
+fought for fire, craving it as he had never
+craved water, but his knuckles bled, and the
+knife scraped on the flint in vain.</p>
+
+<p>His mind, perhaps, had suffered somewhat.
+The white beach seemed to rise and fall like a
+white carpet on a gusty hearth. The birds,
+too, that ran along the sand, seemed big and
+juicy, like partridges; and he chased them,
+hurling shells and bits of driftwood at them
+till he could scarcely keep his feet for the rising,
+plunging beach&mdash;or carpet, whichever it
+<span class="pb" id="Pg201">[201]</span>
+was. That night the deer aroused him at intervals.
+He heard them splashing and grunting
+and crackling along the brook. Once he arose
+and stole after them, knife in hand, till a false
+step into the brook awoke him to his folly, and
+he felt his way back to the canoe, trembling.</p>
+
+<p>Morning came, and again he drank at the
+brook, lying on the sand where countless heart-shaped
+hoofs had passed leaving clean imprints;
+and again he ripped the raw clams from their
+shells and swallowed them, whimpering.</p>
+
+<p>All day long the white beach rose and fell
+and heaved and flattened under his bright dry
+eyes. He chased the shore birds at times, till
+the unsteady beach tripped him up and he fell
+full length in the sand. Then he would rise
+moaning, and creep into the shadow of the
+wood, and watch the little song-birds in the
+branches, moaning, always moaning.</p>
+
+<p>His hands, sticky with blood, hacked steel
+and flint together, but so feebly that now even
+the cold sparks no longer came.</p>
+
+<p>He began to fear the advancing night; he
+dreaded to hear the big warm deer among the
+thickets. Fear clutched him suddenly, and he
+lowered his head and set his teeth and shook
+fear from his throat again.</p>
+
+<p>Then he started aimlessly into the woods,
+crowding past bushes, scraping trees, treading
+on moss and twig and mouldy stump, his
+bruised hands swinging, always swinging.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg202">[202]</span>
+The sun set in the mist as he came out of the
+woods on to another beach&mdash;a warm, soft beach,
+crimsoned by the glow in the evening clouds.</p>
+
+<p>And on the sand at his feet lay a young girl
+asleep, swathed in the silken garment of her
+own black hair, round limbed, brown, smooth
+as the bloom on the tawny beach.</p>
+
+<p>A gull flapped overhead, screaming. Her
+eyes, deeper than night, unclosed. Then her
+lips parted in a cry, soft with sleep, "Ihó!"</p>
+
+<p>She rose, rubbing her velvet eyes. "Ihó!"
+she cried in wonder; "Inâh!"</p>
+
+<p>The gilded sand settled around her little
+feet. Her cheeks crimsoned.</p>
+
+<p>"E-hó! E-hó!" she whispered, and hid her
+face in her hair.</p>
+
+<h3>IV.</h3>
+
+<p>The bridge of the stars spans the sky seas;
+the sun and the moon are the travellers who
+pass over it. This was also known in the lodges
+of the Isantee, hundreds of years ago. Chaské
+told it to Hârpam, and when Hârpam knew
+he told it to Hapéda; and so the knowledge
+spread to Hârka, and from Winona to Wehârka,
+up and down, across and ever across, woof and
+web, until it came to the Island of Grief. And
+how? God knows!</p>
+
+<p>Wehârka, prattling in the tules, may have
+told Ne-kâ; and Ne-kâ, high in the November
+<span class="pb" id="Pg203">[203]</span>
+clouds, may have told Kay-óshk, who told it to
+Shinge-bis, who told it to Skeé-skah, who told
+it to Sé-só-Kah.</p>
+
+<p>Ihó! Inâh! Behold the wonder of it! And
+this is the fate of all knowledge that comes to
+the Island of Grief.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb"/>
+
+<p>As the red glow died in the sky, and the
+sand swam in shadows, the girl parted the silken
+curtains of her hair and looked at him.</p>
+
+<p>"Ehó!" she whispered again in soft delight.</p>
+
+<p>For now it was plain to her that he was the
+sun! He had crossed the bridge of stars in the
+blue twilight; he had come!</p>
+
+<p>"E-tó!"</p>
+
+<p>She stepped nearer, shivering, faint with
+the ecstasy of this holy miracle wrought before
+her.</p>
+
+<p>He was the Sun! His blood streaked the
+sky at dawn; his blood stained the clouds at
+even. In his eyes the blue of the sky still
+lingered, smothering two blue stars; and his
+body was as white as the breast of the Moon.</p>
+
+<p>She opened both arms, hands timidly
+stretched, palm upward. Her face was raised
+to his, her eyes slowly closed; the deep-fringed
+lids trembled.</p>
+
+<p>Like a young priestess she stood, motionless
+save for the sudden quiver of a limb, a quick
+pulse-flutter in the rounded throat. And so
+she worshipped, naked and unashamed, even
+<span class="pb" id="Pg204">[204]</span>
+after he, reeling, fell heavily forward on his
+face; even when the evening breeze stealing
+over the sands stirred the hair on his head, as
+winds stir the fur of a dead animal in the
+dust.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb"/>
+
+<p>When the morning sun peered over the wall
+of mist, and she saw it was the sun, and she
+saw him, flung on the sand at her feet, then
+she knew that he was a man, only a man, pallid
+as death and smeared with blood.</p>
+
+<p>And yet&mdash;miracle of miracles!&mdash;the divine
+wonder in her eyes deepened, and her body
+seemed to swoon, and fall a-trembling, and
+swoon again.</p>
+
+<p>For, although it was but a man who lay at
+her feet, it had been easier for her to look upon
+a god.</p>
+
+<p>He dreamed that he breathed fire&mdash;fire, that
+he craved as he had never craved water.
+Mad with delirium, he knelt before the flames,
+rubbing his torn hands, washing them in the
+crimson-scented flames. He had water, too,
+cool scented water, that sprayed his burning
+flesh, that washed in his eyes, his hair, his
+throat. After that came hunger, a fierce rending
+agony, that scorched and clutched and tore
+at his entrails; but that, too, died away, and he
+dreamed that he had eaten and all his flesh was
+warm. Then he dreamed that he slept; and
+when he slept he dreamed no more.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg205">[205]</span>
+One day he awoke and found her stretched
+beside him, soft palms tightly closed, smiling,
+asleep.</p>
+
+<h3>V.</h3>
+
+<p>Now the days began to run more swiftly
+than the tide along the tawny beach; and the
+nights, star-dusted and blue, came and vanished
+and returned, only to exhale at dawn like
+perfume from a violet.</p>
+
+<p>They counted hours as they counted the
+golden bubbles, winking with a million eyes
+along the foam-flecked shore; and the hours
+ended, and began, and glimmered, iridescent,
+and ended as bubbles end in a tiny rainbow
+haze.</p>
+
+<p>There was still fire in the world; it flashed
+up at her touch and where she chose. A bow
+strung with the silk of her own hair, an arrow
+winged like a sea bird and tipped with shell,
+a line from the silver tendon of a deer, a hook
+of polished bone&mdash;these were the mysteries he
+learned, and learned them laughing, her silken
+head bent close to his.</p>
+
+<p>The first night that the bow was wrought
+and the glossy string attuned, she stole into
+the moonlit forest to the brook; and there they
+stood, whispering, listening, and whispering,
+though neither understood the voice they loved.</p>
+
+<p>In the deeper woods, Kaug, the porcupine,
+scraped and snuffed. They heard Wabóse, the
+<span class="pb" id="Pg206">[206]</span>
+rabbit, pit-a-pat, pit-a-pat, loping across dead
+leaves in the moonlight. Skeé-skah, the wood-duck,
+sailed past, noiseless, gorgeous as a floating
+blossom.</p>
+
+<p>Out on the ocean's placid silver, Shinge-bis,
+the diver, shook the scented silence with his
+idle laughter, till Kay-óshk, the gray gull,
+stirred in his slumber. There came a sudden
+ripple in the stream, a mellow splash, a soft
+sound on the sand.</p>
+
+<p>"Ihó! Behold!"</p>
+
+<p>"I see nothing."</p>
+
+<p>The beloved voice was only a wordless melody
+to her.</p>
+
+<p>"Ihó! Ta-hinca, the red deer! E-hó! The
+buck will follow!"</p>
+
+<p>"Ta-hinca," he repeated, notching the arrow.</p>
+
+<p>"E-tó! Ta-mdóka!"</p>
+
+<p>So he drew the arrow to the head, and the
+gray gull feathers brushed his ear, and the darkness
+hummed with the harmony of the singing
+string.</p>
+
+<p>Thus died Ta-mdóka, the buck deer of seven prongs.</p>
+
+<h3>VI.</h3>
+
+<p>As an apple tossed spinning into the air,
+so spun the world above the hand that tossed
+it into space.</p>
+
+<p>And one day in early spring, Sé-só-Kah, the
+<span class="pb" id="Pg207">[207]</span>
+robin, awoke at dawn, and saw a girl at the foot
+of the blossoming tree holding a babe cradled
+in the silken sheets of her hair.</p>
+
+<p>At its feeble cry, Kaug, the porcupine,
+raised his quilled head. Wabóse, the rabbit,
+sat still with palpitating sides. Kay-óshk, the
+gray gull, tiptoed along the beach.</p>
+
+<p>Kent knelt with one bronzed arm around
+them both.</p>
+
+<p>"Ihó! Inâh!" whispered the girl, and held
+the babe up in the rosy flames of dawn.</p>
+
+<p>But Kent trembled as he looked, and his
+eyes filled. On the pale green moss their
+shadows lay&mdash;three shadows. But the shadow
+of the babe was white as froth.</p>
+
+<p>Because it was the firstborn son, they named
+it Chaské; and the girl sang as she cradled it
+there in the silken vestments of her hair; all
+day long in the sunshine she sang:</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="verse indent2">Wâ-wa, wâ-wa, wâ-we&mdash;yeá;</div>
+<div class="verse">Kah-wéen, nee-zhéka Ke-diaus-âi,</div>
+<div class="verse">Ke-gâh nau-wâi, ne-mé-go S'weén,</div>
+<div class="verse">Ne-bâun, ne-bâun, ne-dâun-is âis.</div>
+<div class="verse">E-we wâ-wa, wâ-we&mdash;yeá;</div>
+<div class="verse">E-we wâ-wa, wâ-we&mdash;yeá.</div>
+</div></div></div>
+
+<p>Out in the calm ocean, Shinge-bis, the
+diver, listened, preening his satin breast in silence.
+In the forest, Ta-hinca, the red deer,
+turned her delicate head to the wind.</p>
+
+<p>That night Kent thought of the dead, for
+<span class="pb" id="Pg208">[208]</span>
+the first time since he had come to the Key of
+Grief.</p>
+
+<p>"Aké-u! aké-u!" chirped Sé-só-Kah, the
+robin. But the dead never come again.</p>
+
+<p>"Beloved, sit close to us," whispered the
+girl, watching his troubled eyes. "Ma-cânte
+maséca."</p>
+
+<p>But he looked at the babe and its white
+shadow on the moss, and he only sighed: "Ma-cânte
+maséca, beloved! Death sits watching
+us across the sea."</p>
+
+<p>Now for the first time he knew more than
+the fear of fear; he knew fear. And with fear
+came grief.</p>
+
+<p>He never before knew that grief lay hidden
+there in the forest. Now he knew it. Still, that
+happiness, eternally reborn when two small
+hands reached up around his neck, when feeble
+fingers clutched his hand&mdash;that happiness that
+Sé-só-Kah understood, chirping to his brooding
+mate&mdash;that Ta-mdóka knew, licking his
+dappled fawns&mdash;that happiness gave him heart
+to meet grief calmly, in dreams or in the forest
+depths, and it helped him to look into the hollow
+eyes of fear.</p>
+
+<p>He often thought of the camp now; of
+Bates, his blanket mate; of Dyce, whose wrist
+he had broken with a blow; of Tully, whose
+brother he had shot. He even seemed to hear
+the shot, the sudden report among the hemlocks;
+again he saw the haze of smoke, he
+<span class="pb" id="Pg209">[209]</span>
+caught a glimpse of a tall form falling through
+the bushes.</p>
+
+<p>He remembered every minute incident of
+the trial: Bates's hand laid on his shoulder;
+Tully, red-bearded and wild-eyed, demanding
+his death; while Dyce spat and spat and smoked
+and kicked at the blackened log-ends projecting
+from the fire. He remembered, too, the verdict,
+and Tully's terrible laugh; and the new
+jute rope that they stripped off the market-sealed
+gum packs.</p>
+
+<p>He thought of these things, sometimes wading
+out on the shoals, shell-tipped fish spear
+poised: at such times he would miss his fish.
+He thought of it sometimes when he knelt by
+the forest stream listening for Ta-hinca's splash
+among the cresses: at such moments the feathered
+shaft whistled far from the mark, and Ta-mdóka
+stamped and snorted till even the white
+fisher, stretched on a rotting log, flattened his
+whiskers and stole away into the forest's blackest
+depths.</p>
+
+<p>When the child was a year old, hour for hour
+notched at sunset and sunrise, it prattled with
+the birds, and called to Ne-Kâ, the wild goose,
+who called again to the child from the sky:
+"Northward! northward, beloved!"</p>
+
+<p>When winter came&mdash;there is no frost on the
+Island of Grief&mdash;Ne-Kâ, the wild goose, passing
+high in the clouds, called: "Southward! southward,
+beloved!" And the child answered in
+<span class="pb" id="Pg210">[210]</span>
+a soft whisper of an unknown tongue, till the
+mother shivered, and covered it with her silken
+hair.</p>
+
+<p>"O beloved!" said the girl, "Chaské calls
+to all things living&mdash;to Kaug, the porcupine,
+to Wabóse, to Kay-óshk, the gray gull&mdash;he calls,
+and they understand."</p>
+
+<p>Kent bent and looked into her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"Hush, beloved; it is not <em>that</em> I fear."</p>
+
+<p>"Then what, beloved?"</p>
+
+<p>"His shadow. It is white as surf foam.
+And at night&mdash;I&mdash;I have seen&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, what?"</p>
+
+<p>"The air about him aglow like a pale rose."</p>
+
+<p>"Ma cânté maséca. The earth alone lasts.
+I speak as one dying&mdash;I know, O beloved!"</p>
+
+<p>Her voice died away like a summer wind.</p>
+
+<p>"Beloved!" he cried.</p>
+
+<p>But there before him she was changing;
+the air grew misty, and her hair wavered like
+shreds of fog, and her slender form swayed, and
+faded, and swerved, like the mist above a pond.</p>
+
+<p>In her arms the babe was a figure of mist,
+rosy, vague as a breath on a mirror.</p>
+
+<p>"The earth alone lasts. Inâh! It is the
+end, O beloved!"</p>
+
+<p>The words came from the mist&mdash;a mist as
+formless as the ether&mdash;a mist that drove in and
+crowded him, that came from the sea, from
+the clouds, from the earth at his feet. Faint
+with terror, he staggered forward calling, "Beloved!
+<span class="pb" id="Pg211">[211]</span>
+And thou, Chaské, O beloved! Aké u!
+Aké u!"</p>
+
+<p>Far out at sea a rosy star glimmered an instant
+in the mist and went out.</p>
+
+<p>A sea bird screamed, soaring over the waste
+of fog-smothered waters. Again he saw the
+rosy star; it came nearer; its reflection glimmered
+in the water.</p>
+
+<p>"Chaské!" he cried.</p>
+
+<p>He heard a voice, dull in the choking mist.</p>
+
+<p>"O beloved, I am here!" he called again.</p>
+
+<p>There was a sound on the shoal, a flicker in
+the fog, the flare of a torch, a face white, livid,
+terrible&mdash;the face of the dead.</p>
+
+<p>He fell upon his knees; he closed his eyes
+and opened them. Tully stood beside him with
+a coil of rope.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb"/>
+
+<p>Ihó! Behold the end! The earth alone
+lasts. The sand, the opal wave on the golden
+beach, the sea of sapphire, the dusted starlight,
+the wind, and love, shall die. Death also shall
+die, and lie on the shores of the skies like the
+bleached skull there on the Key to Grief, polished,
+empty, with its teeth embedded in the sand.</p>
+
+<hr /></div>
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2>A MATTER OF INTEREST.<span class="pb" id="Pg213">[213]</span></h2>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="center"><big>A MATTER OF INTEREST.</big><span class="pb" id="Pg215">[215]</span></p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="verse">He that knows not, and knows not that he knows not, is a fool. Shun him.</div>
+<div class="verse">He that knows not, and knows that he knows not, is simple. Teach him.</div>
+<div class="verse">He that knows, and knows not that he knows, is asleep. Wake him.</div>
+<div class="verse">He that knows, and knows that he knows, is wise. Follow him.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<div class="verse indent32"><i>Arabian Proverb.</i></div>
+</div></div></div>
+
+<h3>I.</h3>
+
+<p>Much as I dislike it, I am obliged to include
+this story in a volume devoted to fiction: I have
+attempted to tell it as an absolutely true story,
+but until three months ago, when the indisputable
+proofs were placed before the British
+Association by Professor James Holroyd, I was
+regarded as an impostor. Now that the Smithsonian
+Institute in Washington, the Philadelphia
+Zoölogical Society, and the Natural History
+Museum of New York city, are convinced
+that the story is truthful and accurate in every
+particular, I prefer to tell it my own way. Professor
+Holroyd urges me to do this, although
+Professor Bruce Stoddard, of Columbia College,
+<span class="pb" id="Pg216">[216]</span>
+is now at work upon a pamphlet, to be published
+the latter part of next month, describing scientifically
+the extraordinary discovery which, to
+the shame of the United States, was first accepted
+and recognised in England.</p>
+
+<p>Now, having no technical ability concerning
+the affair in question, and having no knowledge
+of either comparative anatomy or zoölogy,
+I am perhaps unfitted to tell this story. But
+the story is true; the episode occurred under
+my own eyes&mdash;here, within a few hours' sail of
+the Battery. And as I was one of the first persons
+to verify what has long been a theory
+among scientists, and, moreover, as the result
+of Professor Holroyd's discovery is to be placed
+on exhibition in Madison Square Garden on the
+twentieth of next month, I have decided to tell,
+as simply as I am able, exactly what occurred.</p>
+
+<p>I first wrote out the story on April 1, 1896.
+The North American Review, the Popular Science
+Monthly, the Scientific American, Nature,
+Forest and Stream, and the Fossiliferous Magazine
+in turn rejected it; some curtly informing
+me that fiction had no place in their columns.
+When I attempted to explain that it
+was not fiction, the editors of these periodicals
+either maintained a contemptuous silence, or
+bluntly notified me that my literary services
+and opinions were not desired. But finally,
+when several publishers offered to take the story
+as fiction, I cut short all negotiations and decided
+<span class="pb" id="Pg217">[217]</span>
+to publish it myself. Where I am known
+at all, it is my misfortune to be known as a
+writer of fiction. This makes it impossible for
+me to receive a hearing from a scientific audience.
+I regret it bitterly, because now, when it
+is too late, I am prepared to prove certain scientific
+matters of interest, and to produce the
+proofs. In this case, however, I am fortunate,
+for nobody can dispute the existence of a thing
+when the bodily proof is exhibited as evidence.</p>
+
+<p>This is the story; and if I write it as I write
+fiction, it is because I do not know how to write
+it otherwise.</p>
+
+<p>I was walking along the beach below Pine
+Inlet, on the south shore of Long Island. The
+railroad and telegraph station is at West Oyster
+Bay. Everybody who has travelled on the Long
+Island Railroad knows the station, but few,
+perhaps, know Pine Inlet. Duck shooters, of
+course, are familiar with it; but as there are no
+hotels there, and nothing to see except salt
+meadow, salt creek, and a strip of dune and
+sand, the summer-squatting public may probably
+be unaware of its existence. The local name
+for the place is Pine Inlet; the maps give its
+name as Sand Point, I believe, but anybody at
+West Oyster Bay can direct you to it. Captain
+McPeek, who keeps the West Oyster Bay House,
+drives duck shooters there in winter. It lies
+five miles southeast from West Oyster Bay.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg218">[218]</span>
+I had walked over that afternoon from Captain
+McPeek's. There was a reason for my going
+to Pine Inlet&mdash;it embarrasses me to explain
+it, but the truth is I meditated writing an ode
+to the ocean. It was out of the question to
+write it in West Oyster Bay, with the whistle of
+locomotives in my ears. I knew that Pine Inlet
+was one of the loneliest places on the Atlantic
+coast; it is out of sight of everything except
+leagues of gray ocean. Rarely one might make
+out fishing smacks drifting across the horizon.
+Summer squatters never visited it; sportsmen
+shunned it, except in winter. Therefore, as I
+was about to do a bit of poetry, I thought that
+Pine Inlet was the spot for the deed. So I went
+there.</p>
+
+<p>As I was strolling along the beach, biting
+my pencil reflectively, tremendously impressed
+by the solitude and the solemn thunder of the
+surf, a thought occurred to me: how unpleasant
+it would be if I suddenly stumbled on a
+summer boarder. As this joyless impossibility
+flitted across my mind, I rounded a bleak sand dune.</p>
+
+<p>A summer girl stood directly in my path.</p>
+
+<p>If I jumped, I think the young lady has
+pardoned me by this time. She ought to, because
+she also started, and said something in a
+very faint voice. What she said was "Oh!"</p>
+
+<p>She stared at me as though I had just
+crawled up out of the sea to bite her. I don't
+<span class="pb" id="Pg219">[219]</span>
+know what my own expression resembled, but
+I have been given to understand it was idiotic.</p>
+
+<p>Now I perceived, after a few moments, that
+the young lady was frightened, and I knew I
+ought to say something civil. So I said, "Are
+there any mosquitoes here?"</p>
+
+<p>"No," she replied, with a slight quiver in
+her voice; "I have only seen one, and it was
+biting somebody else."</p>
+
+<p>I looked foolish; the conversation seemed
+so futile, and the young lady appeared to be
+more nervous than before. I had an impulse
+to say, "Do not run; I have breakfasted," for
+she seemed to be meditating a plunge into the
+breakers. What I did say was: "I did not
+know anybody was here. I do not intend to
+intrude. I come from Captain McPeek's, and
+I am writing an ode to the ocean." After I
+had said this it seemed to ring in my ears like,
+"I come from Table Mountain, and my name is
+Truthful James."</p>
+
+<p>I glanced timidly at her.</p>
+
+<p>"She's thinking of the same thing," said I
+to myself. "What an ass I must appear!"</p>
+
+<p>However, the young lady seemed to be a
+trifle reassured. I noticed she drew a sigh of
+relief and looked at my shoes. She looked
+so long that it made me suspicious, and I also
+examined my shoes. They seemed to be fairly
+respectable.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg220">[220]</span>
+"I&mdash;I am sorry," she said, "but would you
+mind not walking on the beach?"</p>
+
+<p>This was sudden. I had intended to retire
+and leave the beach to her, but I did not fancy
+being driven away so abruptly.</p>
+
+<p>"I was about to withdraw, madam," said
+I, bowing stiffly; "I beg you will pardon any
+inconvenience&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Dear me!" she cried, "you don't understand.
+I do not&mdash;I would not think for a
+moment of asking you to leave Pine Inlet. I
+merely ventured to request you to walk on
+the dunes. I am so afraid that your footprints
+may obliterate the impressions that my father
+is studying."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!" said I, looking about me as though
+I had been caught in the middle of a flower-bed;
+"really I did not notice any impressions.
+Impressions of what&mdash;if I may be permitted?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know," she said, smiling a little
+at my awkward pose. "If you step this way in
+a straight line you can do no damage."</p>
+
+<p>I did as she bade me. I suppose my movements
+resembled the gait of a wet peacock.
+Possibly they recalled the delicate manœuvres
+of the kangaroo. Anyway, she laughed.</p>
+
+<p>This seriously annoyed me. I had been at
+a disadvantage; I walk well enough when let alone.</p>
+
+<p>"You can scarcely expect," said I, "that a
+man absorbed in his own ideas could notice impressions
+<span class="pb" id="Pg221">[221]</span>
+on the sand. I trust I have obliterated nothing."</p>
+
+<p>As I said this I looked back at the long line
+of footprints stretching away in prospective
+across the sand. They were my own. How
+large they looked! Was that what she was
+laughing at?</p>
+
+<p>"I wish to explain," she said gravely, looking
+at the point of her parasol. "I am very
+sorry to be obliged to warn you&mdash;to ask you to
+forego the pleasure of strolling on a beach that
+does not belong to me. Perhaps," she continued,
+in sudden alarm, "perhaps this beach belongs
+to you?"</p>
+
+<p>"The beach? Oh, no," I said.</p>
+
+<p>"But&mdash;but you were going to write poems about it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Only one&mdash;and that does not necessitate
+owning the beach. I have observed," said I
+frankly, "that the people who own nothing
+write many poems about it."</p>
+
+<p>She looked at me seriously.</p>
+
+<p>"I write many poems," I added.</p>
+
+<p>She laughed doubtfully.</p>
+
+<p>"Would you rather I went away?" I asked politely.</p>
+
+<p>"I? Why, no&mdash;I mean that you may do
+as you please&mdash;except please do not walk on the <em>beach</em>."</p>
+
+<p>"Then I do not alarm you by my presence?"
+I inquired. My clothes were a bit
+<span class="pb" id="Pg222">[222]</span>
+ancient. I wore them shooting, sometimes.
+"My family is respectable," I added; and I
+told her my name.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! Then you wrote 'Culled Cowslips'
+and 'Faded Fig-Leaves,' and you imitate Maeterlinck,
+and you&mdash;&mdash; Oh, I know lots of people
+that you know;" she cried with every symptom
+of relief; "and you know my brother."</p>
+
+<p>"I am the author," said I coldly, "of
+'Culled Cowslips,' but 'Faded Fig-Leaves' was
+an earlier work, which I no longer recognise,
+and I should be grateful to you if you would
+be kind enough to deny that I ever imitated
+Maeterlinck. Possibly," I added, "he imitates me."</p>
+
+<p>"Now, do you know," she said, "I was
+afraid of you at first? Papa is digging in the
+salt meadows nearly a mile away."</p>
+
+<p>It was hard to bear.</p>
+
+<p>"Can you not see," said I, "that I am wearing
+a shooting coat?"</p>
+
+<p>"I do see&mdash;now; but it is so&mdash;so old," she pleaded.</p>
+
+<p>"It is a shooting coat all the same," I said bitterly.</p>
+
+<p>She was very quiet, and I saw she was sorry.</p>
+
+<p>"Never mind," I said magnanimously,
+"you probably are not familiar with sporting
+goods. If I knew your name I should ask permission
+to present myself."</p>
+
+<p>"Why, I am Daisy Holroyd," she said.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg223">[223]</span>
+"What! Jack Holroyd's little sister?"</p>
+
+<p>"Little!" she cried.</p>
+
+<p>"I didn't mean that," said I. "You know that
+your brother and I were great friends in Paris&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I know," she said significantly.</p>
+
+<p>"Ahem! Of course," I said, "Jack and I
+were inseparable&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Except when shut in separate cells," said
+Miss Holroyd coldly.</p>
+
+<p>This unfeeling allusion to the unfortunate
+termination of a Latin-Quarter celebration hurt me.</p>
+
+<p>"The police," said I, "were too officious."</p>
+
+<p>"So Jack says," replied Miss Holroyd demurely.</p>
+
+<p>We had unconsciously moved on along the
+sand hills, side by side, as we spoke.</p>
+
+<p>"To think," I repeated, "that I should meet
+Jack's little&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Please," she said, "you are only three
+years my senior."</p>
+
+<p>She opened the sunshade and tipped it over
+one shoulder. It was white, and had spots and
+posies on it.</p>
+
+<p>"Jack sends us every new book you write,"
+she observed. "I do not approve of some
+things you write."</p>
+
+<p>"Modern school," I mumbled.</p>
+
+<p>"That is no excuse," she said severely;
+"Anthony Trollope didn't do it."</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg224">[224]</span>
+The foam spume from the breakers was
+drifting across the dunes, and the little tip-up
+snipe ran along the beach and teetered and
+whistled and spread their white-barred wings
+for a low, straight flight across the shingle,
+only to tip and skeep and sail on again. The
+salt sea wind whistled and curled through the
+crested waves, blowing in perfumed puffs across
+thickets of sweet bay and cedar. As we passed
+through the crackling juicy-stemmed marsh
+weed myriads of fiddler crabs raised their fore-claws
+in warning and backed away, rustling,
+through the reeds, aggressive, protesting.</p>
+
+<p>"Like millions of pigmy Ajaxes defying
+the lightning," I said.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Holroyd laughed.</p>
+
+<p>"Now I never imagined that authors were
+clever except in print," she said.</p>
+
+<p>She was a most extraordinary girl.</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose," she observed after a moment's
+silence&mdash;"I suppose I am taking you to my father."</p>
+
+<p>"Delighted!" I mumbled. "H'm! I had
+the honour of meeting Professor Holroyd in Paris."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes; he bailed you and Jack out," said
+Miss Holroyd serenely.</p>
+
+<p>The silence was too painful to last.</p>
+
+<p>"Captain McPeek is an interesting man,"
+I said. I spoke more loudly than I intended;
+I may have been nervous.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg225">[225]</span>
+"Yes," said Daisy Holroyd, "but he has a
+most singular hotel clerk."</p>
+
+<p>"You mean Mr. Frisby?"</p>
+
+<p>"I do."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," I admitted, "Mr. Frisby is queer.
+He was once a bill-poster."</p>
+
+<p>"I know it!" exclaimed Daisy Holroyd,
+with some heat. "He ruins landscapes whenever
+he has an opportunity. Do you know that
+he has a passion for bill-posting? He has; he
+posts bills for the pure pleasure of it, just as you
+play golf, or tennis, or billiards."</p>
+
+<p>"But he's a hotel clerk now," I said; "nobody
+employs him to post bills."</p>
+
+<p>"I know it! He does it all by himself for
+the pure pleasure of it. Papa has engaged him
+to come down here for two weeks, and I dread
+it," said the girl.</p>
+
+<p>What Professor Holroyd might want of Frisby
+I had not the faintest notion. I suppose
+Miss Holroyd noticed the bewilderment in my
+face, for she laughed, and nodded her head
+twice.</p>
+
+<p>"Not only Mr. Frisby, but Captain McPeek
+also," she said.</p>
+
+<p>"You don't mean to say that Captain
+McPeek is going to close his hotel!" I exclaimed.</p>
+
+<p>My trunk was there. It contained guarantees
+of my respectability.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, no; his wife will keep it open," replied
+<span class="pb" id="Pg226">[226]</span>
+the girl. "Look! you can see papa now.
+He's digging."</p>
+
+<p>"Where?" I blurted out.</p>
+
+<p>I remembered Professor Holroyd as a prim,
+spectacled gentleman, with close-cut, snowy
+beard and a clerical allure. The man I saw
+digging wore green goggles, a jersey, a battered
+sou'wester, and hip-boots of rubber. He was
+delving in the muck of the salt meadow, his
+face streaming with perspiration, his boots and
+jersey splashed with unpleasant-looking mud.
+He glanced up as we approached, shading his
+eyes with a sunburnt hand.</p>
+
+<p>"Papa, dear," said Miss Holroyd, "here
+is Jack's friend, whom you bailed out of Mazas."</p>
+
+<p>The introduction was startling. I turned
+crimson with mortification. The professor was
+very decent about it; he called me by name at
+once.</p>
+
+<p>When he said this he looked at his spade.
+It was clear that he considered me a nuisance
+and wished to go on with his digging.</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose," he said, "you are still writing?"</p>
+
+<p>"A little," I replied, trying not to speak
+sarcastically. My output had rivaled that of
+"The Duchess"&mdash;in quantity, I mean.</p>
+
+<p>"I seldom read&mdash;fiction," he said, looking
+restlessly at the hole in the ground.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Holroyd came to my rescue.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg227">[227]</span>
+"That was a charming story you wrote
+last," she said. "Papa should read it&mdash;you
+should, papa; it's all about a fossil."</p>
+
+<p>We both looked narrowly at Miss Holroyd.
+Her smile was guileless.</p>
+
+<p>"Fossils!" repeated the professor. "Do
+you care for fossils?"</p>
+
+<p>"Very much," said I.</p>
+
+<p>Now I am not perfectly sure what my object
+was in lying. I looked at Daisy Holroyd's
+dark-fringed eyes. They were very grave.</p>
+
+<p>"Fossils," said I, "are my hobby."</p>
+
+<p>I think Miss Holroyd winced a little at this.
+I did not care. I went on:</p>
+
+<p>"I have seldom had the opportunity to
+study the subject, but, as a boy, I collected
+flint arrow-heads&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Flint arrow-heads!" said the professor coldly.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes; they were the nearest things to fossils
+obtainable," I replied, marvelling at my own
+mendacity.</p>
+
+<p>The professor looked into the hole. I also
+looked. I could see nothing in it. "He's digging
+for fossils," thought I to myself.</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps," said the professor cautiously,
+"you might wish to aid me in a little research&mdash;that
+is to say, if you have an inclination for
+fossils." The double-entendre was not lost upon me.</p>
+
+<p>"I have read all your books so eagerly,"
+<span class="pb" id="Pg228">[228]</span>
+said I, "that to join you, to be of service to
+you in any research, however difficult and trying,
+would be an honour and a privilege that I
+never dared to hope for."</p>
+
+<p>"That," thought I to myself, "will do its
+own work."</p>
+
+<p>But the professor was still suspicious. How
+could he help it, when he remembered Jack's
+escapades, in which my name was always blended!
+Doubtless he was satisfied that my influence
+on Jack was evil. The contrary was the
+case, too.</p>
+
+<p>"Fossils," he said, worrying the edges of
+the excavation with his spade, "fossils are not
+things to be lightly considered."</p>
+
+<p>"No, indeed!" I protested.</p>
+
+<p>"Fossils are the most interesting as well as
+puzzling things in the world," said he.</p>
+
+<p>"They are!" I cried enthusiastically.</p>
+
+<p>"But I am not looking for fossils," observed
+the professor mildly.</p>
+
+<p>This was a facer. I looked at Daisy Holroyd.
+She bit her lip and fixed her eyes on
+the sea. Her eyes were wonderful eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"Did you think I was digging for fossils
+in a salt meadow?" queried the professor.
+"You can have read very little about the subject.
+I am digging for something quite different."</p>
+
+<p>I was silent. I knew that my face was a
+trifle flushed. I longed to say, "Well, what
+<span class="pb" id="Pg229">[229]</span>
+the devil are you digging for?" but I only
+stared into the hole as though hypnotized.</p>
+
+<p>"Captain McPeek and Frisby ought to be
+here," he said, looking first at Daisy and then
+across the meadows.</p>
+
+<p>I ached to ask him why he had subpœnaed
+Captain McPeek and Frisby.</p>
+
+<p>"They are coming," said Daisy, shading
+her eyes. "Do you see the speck on the meadows?"</p>
+
+<p>"It may be a mud hen," said the professor.</p>
+
+<p>"Miss Holroyd is right," I said. "A
+wagon and team and two men are coming from
+the north. There is a dog beside the wagon&mdash;it's
+that miserable yellow dog of Frisby's."</p>
+
+<p>"Good gracious!" cried the professor, "you
+don't mean to tell me that you see all that at
+such a distance?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why not?" I said.</p>
+
+<p>"I see nothing," he insisted.</p>
+
+<p>"You will see that I'm right, presently," I laughed.</p>
+
+<p>The professor removed his blue goggles and
+rubbed them, glancing obliquely at me.</p>
+
+<p>"Haven't you heard what extraordinary
+eyesight duck shooters have?" said his daughter,
+looking back at her father. "Jack says
+that they can tell exactly what kind of a duck
+is flying before most people could see anything
+at all in the sky."</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg230">[230]</span>
+"It's true," I said; "it comes to anybody,
+I fancy, who has had practice."</p>
+
+<p>The professor regarded me with a new interest.
+There was inspiration in his eyes. He
+turned toward the ocean. For a long time he
+stared at the tossing waves on the beach, then
+he looked far out to where the horizon met
+the sea.</p>
+
+<p>"Are there any ducks out there?" he asked
+at last.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said I, scanning the sea, "there are."</p>
+
+<p>He produced a pair of binoculars from his
+coat-tail pocket, adjusted them, and raised them
+to his eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"H'm! What sort of ducks?"</p>
+
+<p>I looked more carefully, holding both hands
+over my forehead.</p>
+
+<p>"Surf ducks&mdash;scoters and widgeon. There
+is one bufflehead among them&mdash;no, two; the
+rest are coots," I replied.</p>
+
+<p>"This," cried the professor, "is most astonishing.
+I have good eyes, but I can't see
+a blessed thing without these binoculars!"</p>
+
+<p>"It's not extraordinary," said I; "the surf
+ducks and coots any novice might recognise;
+the widgeon and buffleheads I should not have
+been able to name unless they had risen from
+the water. It is easy to tell any duck when it is
+flying, even though it looks no bigger than a
+black pin-point."</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg231">[231]</span>
+But the professor insisted that it was
+marvellous, and he said that I might render
+him invaluable service if I would consent
+to come and camp at Pine Inlet for a few weeks.</p>
+
+<p>I looked at his daughter, but she turned
+her back&mdash;not exactly in disdain either. Her
+back was beautifully moulded. Her gown fitted also.</p>
+
+<p>"Camp out here?" I repeated, pretending
+to be unpleasantly surprised.</p>
+
+<p>"I do not think he would care to," said
+Miss Holroyd without turning.</p>
+
+<p>I had not expected that.</p>
+
+<p>"Above all things," said I, in a clear, pleasant
+voice, "I like to camp out."</p>
+
+<p>She said nothing.</p>
+
+<p>"It is not exactly camping," said the professor.
+"Come, you shall see our conservatory.
+Daisy, come, dear! you must put on a heavier
+frock; it is getting toward sundown."</p>
+
+<p>At that moment, over a near dune, two
+horses' heads appeared, followed by two human
+heads, then a wagon, then a yellow dog.</p>
+
+<p>I turned triumphantly to the professor.</p>
+
+<p>"You are the very man I want," he muttered;
+"the very man&mdash;the very man."</p>
+
+<p>I looked at Daisy Holroyd. She returned
+my glance with a defiant little smile.</p>
+
+<p>"Waal," said Captain McPeek, driving up,
+"here we be! Git out, Frisby."</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg232">[232]</span>
+Frisby, fat, nervous, and sentimental,
+hopped out of the cart.</p>
+
+<p>"Come!" said the professor, impatiently
+moving across the dunes. I walked with Daisy
+Holroyd. McPeek and Frisby followed. The
+yellow dog walked by himself.</p>
+
+<h3>II.</h3>
+
+<p>The sun was dipping into the sea as we
+trudged across the meadows toward a high
+dome-shaped dune covered with cedars and
+thickets of sweet bay. I saw no sign of habitation
+among the sand hills. Far as the eye
+could reach, nothing broke the gray line of sea
+and sky save the squat dunes crowned with
+stunted cedars.</p>
+
+<p>Then, as we rounded the base of the dune,
+we almost walked into the door of a house.
+My amazement amused Miss Holroyd, and I
+noticed also a touch of malice in her pretty
+eyes. But she said nothing, following her
+father into the house, with the slightest possible
+gesture to me. Was it invitation, or was it menace?</p>
+
+<p>The house was merely a light wooden frame,
+covered with some waterproof stuff that looked
+like a mixture of rubber and tar. Over this&mdash;in
+fact, over the whole roof&mdash;was pitched an
+awning of heavy sail-cloth. I noticed that the
+house was anchored to the sand by chains, already
+<span class="pb" id="Pg233">[233]</span>
+rusted red. But this one-storied house
+was not the only building nestling in the south
+shelter of the big dune. A hundred feet away
+stood another structure&mdash;long, low, also built of
+wood. It had rows on rows of round portholes
+on every side. The ports were fitted with
+heavy glass, hinged to swing open if necessary.
+A single big double door occupied the front.</p>
+
+<p>Behind this long, low building was still
+another, a mere shed. Smoke rose from the
+sheet-iron chimney. There was somebody moving
+about inside the open door.</p>
+
+<p>As I stood gaping at this mushroom hamlet
+the professor appeared at the door and asked
+me to enter. I stepped in at once.</p>
+
+<p>The house was much larger than I had imagined.
+A straight hallway ran through the
+centre from east to west. On either side of
+this hallway were rooms, the doors swinging
+wide open. I counted three doors on each
+side; the three on the south appeared to be
+bedrooms.</p>
+
+<p>The professor ushered me into a room on
+the north side, where I found Captain McPeek
+and Frisby sitting at a table, upon which were
+drawings and sketches of articulated animals
+and fishes.</p>
+
+<p>"You see, McPeek," said the professor, "we
+only wanted one more man, and I think I've
+got him.&mdash;Haven't I?" turning eagerly to me.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg234">[234]</span>
+"Why, yes," I said, laughing; "this is delightful.
+Am I invited to stay here?"</p>
+
+<p>"Your bedroom is the third on the south
+side; everything is ready. McPeek, you can
+bring his trunk to-morrow, can't you?" demanded
+the professor.</p>
+
+<p>The red-faced captain nodded, and shifted a quid.</p>
+
+<p>"Then it's all settled," said the professor,
+and he drew a sigh of satisfaction. "You
+see," he said, turning to me, "I was at my wit's
+end to know whom to trust. I never thought
+of you. Jack's out in China, and I didn't dare
+trust anybody in my own profession. All you
+care about is writing verses and stories, isn't it?"</p>
+
+<p>"I like to shoot," I replied mildly.</p>
+
+<p>"Just the thing!" he cried, beaming at us
+all in turn. "Now I can see no reason why
+we should not progress rapidly. McPeek, you
+and Frisby must get those boxes up here before
+dark. Dinner will be ready before you have
+finished unloading. Dick, you will wish to go
+to your room first."</p>
+
+<p>My name isn't Dick, but he spoke so kindly,
+and beamed upon me in such a fatherly manner,
+that I let it go. I had occasion to correct him
+afterward, several times, but he always forgot
+the next minute. He calls me Dick to this day.</p>
+
+<p>It was dark when Professor Holroyd, his
+<span class="pb" id="Pg235">[235]</span>
+daughter, and I sat down to dinner. The room
+was the same in which I had noticed the drawings
+of beast and bird, but the round table had
+been extended into an oval, and neatly spread
+with dainty linen and silver.</p>
+
+<p>A fresh-cheeked Swedish girl appeared from
+a further room, bearing the soup. The professor
+ladled it out, still beaming.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, this is very delightful!&mdash;isn't it,
+Daisy?" he said.</p>
+
+<p>"Very," said Miss Holroyd, with the faintest
+tinge of irony.</p>
+
+<p>"Very," I repeated heartily; but I looked
+at my soup when I said it.</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose," said the professor, nodding
+mysteriously at his daughter, "that Dick knows
+nothing of what we're about down here?"</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose," said Miss Holroyd, "that he
+thinks we are digging for fossils."</p>
+
+<p>I looked at my plate. She might have
+spared me that.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, well," said her father, smiling to
+himself, "he shall know everything by morning.
+You'll be astonished, Dick, my boy."</p>
+
+<p>"His name isn't Dick," corrected Daisy.</p>
+
+<p>The professor said, "Isn't it?" in an absent-minded
+way, and relapsed into contemplation of
+my necktie.</p>
+
+<p>I asked Miss Holroyd a few questions about
+Jack, and was informed that he had given up
+law and entered the diplomatic service&mdash;as
+<span class="pb" id="Pg236">[236]</span>
+what, I did not dare ask, for I know what our
+diplomatic service is.</p>
+
+<p>"In China," said Daisy.</p>
+
+<p>"Choo Choo is the name of the city," added
+her father proudly; "it's the terminus of the
+new trans-Siberian railway."</p>
+
+<p>"It's on the Yellow River," said Daisy.</p>
+
+<p>"He's vice-consul," added the professor triumphantly.</p>
+
+<p>"He'll make a good one," I observed. I
+knew Jack. I pitied his consul.</p>
+
+<p>So we chatted on about my old playmate,
+until Freda, the red-cheeked maid, brought coffee,
+and the professor lighted a cigar, with a
+little bow to his daughter.</p>
+
+<p>"Of course, you don't smoke," she said to
+me, with a glimmer of malice in her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"He mustn't," interposed the professor
+hastily; "it will make his hand tremble."</p>
+
+<p>"No, it doesn't," said I, laughing; "but
+my hand will shake if I don't smoke. Are
+you going to employ me as a draughtsman?"</p>
+
+<p>"You'll know to-morrow," he chuckled,
+with a mysterious smile at his daughter.&mdash;"Daisy,
+give him my best cigars; put the box
+here on the table. We can't afford to have his
+hand tremble."</p>
+
+<p>Miss Holroyd rose, and crossed the hallway
+to her father's room, returning presently with
+a box of promising-looking cigars.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't think he knows what is good for
+<span class="pb" id="Pg237">[237]</span>
+him," she said. "He should smoke only one
+every day."</p>
+
+<p>It was hard to bear. I am not vindictive,
+but I decided to treasure up a few of Miss Holroyd's
+gentle taunts. My intimacy with her
+brother was certainly a disadvantage to me now.
+Jack had apparently been talking too much,
+and his sister appeared to be thoroughly acquainted
+with my past. It was a disadvantage.
+I remembered her vaguely as a girl with long
+braids, who used to come on Sundays with her
+father and take tea with us in our rooms. Then
+she went to Germany to school, and Jack and
+I employed our Sunday evenings otherwise. It
+is true that I regarded her weekly visits as a
+species of infliction, but I did not think I ever
+showed it.</p>
+
+<p>"It is strange," said I, "that you did not
+recognise me at once, Miss Holroyd. Have I
+changed so greatly in five years?"</p>
+
+<p>"You wore a pointed French beard in
+Paris," she said&mdash;"a very downy one. And
+you never stayed to tea but twice, and then
+you only spoke once."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!" said I blankly. "What did I say?"</p>
+
+<p>"You asked me if I liked plums," said
+Daisy, bursting into an irresistible ripple of
+laughter.</p>
+
+<p>I saw that I must have made the same sort
+of an ass of myself that most boys of eighteen do.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg238">[238]</span>
+It was too bad. I never thought about the
+future in those days. Who could have imagined
+that little Daisy Holroyd would have grown
+up into this bewildering young lady? It was
+really too bad. Presently the professor retired
+to his room, carrying with him an armful of
+drawings, and bidding us not to sit up late.
+When he closed his door Miss Holroyd turned to me.</p>
+
+<p>"Papa will work over those drawings until
+midnight," she said, with a despairing smile.</p>
+
+<p>"It isn't good for him," I said. "What
+are the drawings?"</p>
+
+<p>"You may know to-morrow," she answered,
+leaning forward on the table and shading her
+face with one hand. "Tell me about yourself
+and Jack in Paris."</p>
+
+<p>I looked at her suspiciously.</p>
+
+<p>"What! There isn't much to tell. We
+studied. Jack went to the law school, and I
+attended&mdash;er&mdash;oh, all sorts of schools."</p>
+
+<p>"Did you? Surely you gave yourself a
+little recreation occasionally?"</p>
+
+<p>"Occasionally," I nodded.</p>
+
+<p>"I am afraid you and Jack studied too hard."</p>
+
+<p>"That may be," said I, looking meek.</p>
+
+<p>"Especially about fossils."</p>
+
+<p>I couldn't stand that.</p>
+
+<p>"Miss Holroyd," I said, "I do care for
+fossils. You may think that I am a humbug,
+<span class="pb" id="Pg239">[239]</span>
+but I have a perfect mania for fossils&mdash;now."</p>
+
+<p>"Since when?"</p>
+
+<p>"About an hour ago," I said airily. Out of
+the corner of my eye I saw that she had flushed
+up. It pleased me.</p>
+
+<p>"You will soon tire of the experiment," she
+said with a dangerous smile.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I may," I replied indifferently.</p>
+
+<p>She drew back. The movement was scarcely
+perceptible, but I noticed it, and she knew
+I did.</p>
+
+<p>The atmosphere was vaguely hostile. One
+feels such mental conditions and changes instantly.
+I picked up a chessboard, opened it,
+set up the pieces with elaborate care, and began
+to move, first the white, then the black. Miss
+Holroyd watched me coldly at first, but after
+a dozen moves she became interested and leaned
+a shade nearer. I moved a black pawn forward.</p>
+
+<p>"Why do you do that?" said Daisy.</p>
+
+<p>"Because," said I, "the white queen threatens
+the pawn."</p>
+
+<p>"It was an aggressive move," she insisted.</p>
+
+<p>"Purely defensive," I said. "If her white
+highness will let the pawn alone, the pawn will
+let the queen alone."</p>
+
+<p>Miss Holroyd rested her chin on her wrist
+and gazed steadily at the board. She was flushing
+furiously, but she held her ground.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg240">[240]</span>
+"If the white queen doesn't block that
+pawn, the pawn may become dangerous," she
+said coldly.</p>
+
+<p>I laughed, and closed up the board with a snap.</p>
+
+<p>"True," I said, "it might even take the
+queen." After a moment's silence I asked,
+"What would you do in that case, Miss Holroyd?"</p>
+
+<p>"I should resign," she said serenely; then
+realizing what she had said, she lost her self-possession
+for a second, and cried: "No, indeed!
+I should fight to the bitter end! I
+mean&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"What?" I asked, lingering over my revenge.</p>
+
+<p>"I mean," she said slowly, "that your black
+pawn would never have the chance&mdash;never! I
+should take it immediately."</p>
+
+<p>"I believe you would," said I, smiling; "so
+we'll call the game yours, and&mdash;the pawn captured."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't want it," she exclaimed. "A
+pawn is worthless."</p>
+
+<p>"Except when it's in the king row."</p>
+
+<p>"Chess is most interesting," she observed
+sedately. She had completely recovered her
+self-control. Still I saw that she now had a
+certain respect for my defensive powers. It
+was very soothing to me.</p>
+
+<p>"You know," said I gravely, "that I am
+<span class="pb" id="Pg241">[241]</span>
+fonder of Jack than of anybody. That's the
+reason we never write each other, except to borrow
+things. I am afraid that when I was a
+young cub in France I was not an attractive
+personality."</p>
+
+<p>"On the contrary," said Daisy, smiling, "I
+thought you were very big and very perfect.
+I had illusions. I wept often when I went
+home and remembered that you never took the
+trouble to speak to me but once."</p>
+
+<p>"I was a cub," I said; "not selfish and
+brutal, but I didn't understand schoolgirls. I
+never had any sisters, and I didn't know what to
+say to very young girls. If I had imagined
+that you felt hurt&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I did&mdash;five years ago. Afterward I
+laughed at the whole thing."</p>
+
+<p>"Laughed?" I repeated, vaguely disappointed.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, of course. I was very easily hurt
+when I was a child. I think I have outgrown
+it."</p>
+
+<p>The soft curve of her sensitive mouth contradicted her.</p>
+
+<p>"Will you forgive me now?" I asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. I had forgotten the whole thing
+until I met you an hour or so ago."</p>
+
+<p>There was something that had a ring not
+entirely genuine in this speech. I noticed it,
+but forgot it the next moment.</p>
+
+<p>"Tiger cubs have stripes," said I. "Selfishness
+<span class="pb" id="Pg242">[242]</span>
+blossoms in the cradle, and prophecy is
+not difficult. I hope I am not more selfish
+than my brothers."</p>
+
+<p>"I hope not," she said, smiling.</p>
+
+<p>Presently she rose, touched her hair with
+the tip of one finger, and walked to the door.</p>
+
+<p>"Good-night," she said, courtesying very low.</p>
+
+<p>"Good-night," said I, opening the door for
+her to pass.</p>
+
+<h3>III.</h3>
+
+<p>The sea was a sheet of silver, tinged with
+pink. The tremendous arch of the sky was
+all shimmering and glimmering with the promise
+of the sun. Already the mist above, flecked
+with clustered clouds, flushed with rose colour
+and dull gold. I heard the low splash of the
+waves breaking and curling across the beach.
+A wandering breeze, fresh and fragrant, blew
+the curtains of my window. There was the
+scent of sweet bay in the room, and everywhere
+the subtile, nameless perfume of the sea.</p>
+
+<p>When at last I stood upon the shore, the
+air and sea were all aglimmer in a rosy light,
+deepening to crimson in the zenith. Along
+the beach I saw a little cove, shelving and all
+ashine, where shallow waves washed with a mellow
+sound. Fine as dusted gold the shingle
+glowed, and the thin film of water rose, receded,
+crept up again a little higher, and again flowed
+<span class="pb" id="Pg243">[243]</span>
+back, with the low hiss of snowy foam and
+gilded bubbles breaking.</p>
+
+<p>I stood a little while quiet, my eyes upon
+the water, the invitation of the ocean in my
+ears, vague and sweet as the murmur of a shell.
+Then I looked at my bathing suit and towels.</p>
+
+<p>"In we go!" said I aloud. A second later
+the prophecy was fulfilled.</p>
+
+<p>I swam far out to sea, and as I swam the
+waters all around me turned to gold. The sun
+had risen.</p>
+
+<p>There is a fragrance in the sea at dawn that
+none can name. Whitethorn abloom in May,
+sedges asway, and scented rushes rustling in
+an inland wind recall the sea to me&mdash;I can't say
+why.</p>
+
+<p>Far out at sea I raised myself, swung
+around, dived, and set out again for shore, striking
+strong strokes until the flecked foam flew.
+And when at last I shot through the breakers,
+I laughed aloud and sprang upon the beach,
+breathless and happy. Then from the ocean
+came another cry, clear, joyous, and a white
+arm rose in the air.</p>
+
+<p>She came drifting in with the waves like
+a white sea-sprite, laughing at me from her
+tangled hair, and I plunged into the breakers
+again to join her.</p>
+
+<p>Side by side we swam along the coast, just
+outside the breakers, until in the next cove we
+saw the flutter of her maid's cap strings.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg244">[244]</span>
+"I will beat you to breakfast!" she cried, as
+I rested, watching her glide up along the beach.</p>
+
+<p>"Done!" said I&mdash;"for a sea-shell!"</p>
+
+<p>"Done!" she called across the water.</p>
+
+<p>I made good speed along the shore, and I
+was not long in dressing, but when I entered
+the dining-room she was there, demure, smiling,
+exquisite in her cool, white frock.</p>
+
+<p>"The sea-shell is yours," said I. "I hope
+I can find one with a pearl in it."</p>
+
+<p>The professor hurried in before she could
+reply. He greeted me very cordially, but there
+was an abstracted air about him, and he called
+me Dick until I recognised that remonstrance
+was useless. He was not long over his coffee
+and rolls.</p>
+
+<p>"McPeek and Frisby will return with the
+last load, including your trunk, by early afternoon,"
+he said, rising and picking up his bundle
+of drawings. "I haven't time to explain to
+you what we are doing, Dick, but Daisy will
+take you about and instruct you. She will give
+you the rifle standing in my room&mdash;it's a good
+Winchester. I have sent for an 'Express' for
+you, big enough to knock over any elephant
+in India.&mdash;Daisy, take him through the sheds
+and tell him everything. Luncheon is at noon.&mdash;Do
+you usually take luncheon, Dick?"</p>
+
+<p>"When I am permitted," I smiled.</p>
+
+<p>"Well," said the professor doubtfully, "you
+mustn't come back here for it. Freda can take
+<span class="pb" id="Pg245">[245]</span>
+you what you want. Is your hand unsteady
+after eating?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, papa!" said Daisy. "Do you intend
+to starve him?"</p>
+
+<p>We all laughed.</p>
+
+<p>The professor tucked his drawings into a
+capacious pocket, pulled his sea boots up to his
+hips, seized a spade, and left, nodding to us
+as though he were thinking of something else.</p>
+
+<p>We went to the door and watched him across
+the salt meadows until a distant sand dune hid him.</p>
+
+<p>"Come," said Daisy Holroyd, "I am going
+to take you to the shop."</p>
+
+<p>She put on a broad-brimmed straw hat, a
+distractingly pretty combination of filmy cool
+stuffs, and led the way to the long low structure
+that I had noticed the evening before.</p>
+
+<p>The interior was lighted by the numberless
+little portholes, and I could see everything
+plainly. I acknowledge I was nonplussed by
+what I did see.</p>
+
+<p>In the centre of the shed, which must have
+been at least a hundred feet long, stood what
+I thought at first was the skeleton of an enormous
+whale. After a moment's silent contemplation
+of the thing I saw that it could not be
+a whale, for the frames of two gigantic bat-like
+wings rose from each shoulder. Also I noticed
+that the animal possessed legs&mdash;four of them&mdash;with
+most unpleasant-looking webbed claws
+<span class="pb" id="Pg246">[246]</span>
+fully eight feet long. The bony framework of
+the head, too, resembled something between a
+crocodile and a monstrous snapping turtle. The
+walls of the shanty were hung with drawings
+and blue prints. A man dressed in white linen
+was tinkering with the vertebræ of the lizardlike
+tail.</p>
+
+<p>"Where on earth did such a reptile come
+from?" I asked at length.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, it's not real!" said Daisy scornfully;
+"it's papier-maché."</p>
+
+<p>"I see," said I&mdash;"a stage prop."</p>
+
+<p>"A what?" asked Daisy, in hurt astonishment.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, a&mdash;a sort of Siegfried dragon&mdash;a
+what's-his-name&mdash;er, Pfafner, or Peffer,
+or&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"If my father heard you say such things
+he would dislike you," said Daisy. She looked
+grieved, and moved toward the door. I apologized&mdash;for
+what, I knew not&mdash;and we became
+reconciled. She ran into her father's room and
+brought me the rifle, a very good Winchester.
+She also gave me a cartridge belt, full.</p>
+
+<p>"Now," she smiled, "I shall take you to
+your observatory, and when we arrive you are
+to begin your duty at once."</p>
+
+<p>"And that duty?" I ventured, shouldering the rifle.</p>
+
+<p>"That duty is, to watch the ocean. I shall
+then explain the whole affair&mdash;but you mustn't
+<span class="pb" id="Pg247">[247]</span>
+look at me while I speak; you must watch the sea."</p>
+
+<p>"This," said I, "is hardship. I had rather
+go without the luncheon."</p>
+
+<p>I do not think she was offended at my
+speech; still she frowned for almost three seconds.</p>
+
+<p>We passed through acres of sweet bay and
+spear grass, sometimes skirting thickets of
+twisted cedars, sometimes walking in the full
+glare of the morning sun, sinking into shifting
+sand where sun-scorched shells crackled under
+our feet, and sun-browned seaweed glistened,
+bronzed and iridescent. Then, as we climbed
+a little hill, the sea wind freshened in our faces,
+and lo! the ocean lay below us, far-stretching
+as the eye could reach, glittering, magnificent.</p>
+
+<p>Daisy sat down flat on the sand. It takes
+a clever girl to do that and retain the respectful
+deference due her from men. It takes a graceful
+girl to accomplish it triumphantly when a
+man is looking.</p>
+
+<p>"You must sit beside me," she said&mdash;as
+though it would prove irksome to me.</p>
+
+<p>"Now," she continued, "you must watch
+the water while I am talking."</p>
+
+<p>I nodded.</p>
+
+<p>"Why don't you do it, then?" she asked.</p>
+
+<p>I succeeded in wrenching my head toward
+the ocean, although I felt sure it would swing
+gradually round again in spite of me.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg248">[248]</span>
+"To begin with," said Daisy Holroyd,
+"there's a thing in that ocean that would astonish
+you if you saw it. Turn your head!"</p>
+
+<p>"I am," I said meekly.</p>
+
+<p>"Did you hear what I said?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes&mdash;er&mdash;a thing in the ocean that's going
+to astonish me." Visions of mermaids rose
+before me.</p>
+
+<p>"The thing," said Daisy, "is a Thermosaurus!"</p>
+
+<p>I nodded vaguely, as though anticipating
+a delightful introduction to a nautical friend.</p>
+
+<p>"You don't seem astonished," she said reproachfully.</p>
+
+<p>"Why should I be?" I asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Please turn your eyes toward the water.
+Suppose a Thermosaurus should look out of the waves!"</p>
+
+<p>"Well," said I, "in that case the pleasure
+would be mutual."</p>
+
+<p>She frowned, and bit her upper lip.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you know what a Thermosaurus is?" she asked.</p>
+
+<p>"If I am to guess," said I, "I guess it's a
+jellyfish."</p>
+
+<p>"It's that big, ugly, horrible creature that
+I showed you in the shed!" cried Daisy impatiently.</p>
+
+<p>"Eh!" I stammered.</p>
+
+<p>"Not papier-maché either," she continued
+excitedly; "it's a real one."</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg249">[249]</span>
+This was pleasant news. I glanced instinctively
+at my rifle and then at the ocean.</p>
+
+<p>"Well," said I at last, "it strikes me that
+you and I resemble a pair of Andromedas waiting
+to be swallowed. This rifle won't stop a
+beast, a live beast, like that Nibelungen dragon
+of yours."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, it will," she said; "it's not an ordinary rifle."</p>
+
+<p>Then, for the first time, I noticed, just below
+the magazine, a cylindrical attachment that
+was strange to me.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, if you will watch the sea very carefully,
+and will promise not to look at me," said
+Daisy, "I will try to explain."</p>
+
+<p>She did not wait for me to promise, but
+went on eagerly, a sparkle of excitement in her
+blue eyes:</p>
+
+<p>"You know, of all the fossil remains of the
+great bat-like and lizard-like creatures that inhabited
+the earth ages and ages ago, the bones
+of the gigantic saurians are the most interesting.
+I think they used to splash about the
+water and fly over the land during the Carboniferous
+period; anyway, it doesn't matter.
+Of course, you have seen pictures of reconstructed
+creatures such as the Ichthyosaurus,
+the Plesiosaurus, the Anthracosaurus, and the
+Thermosaurus?"</p>
+
+<p>I nodded, trying to keep my eyes from hers.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg250">[250]</span>
+"And you know that the remains of the
+Thermosaurus were first discovered and reconstructed
+by papa?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said I. There was no use in saying no.</p>
+
+<p>"I am glad you do. Now, papa has proved
+that this creature lived entirely in the Gulf
+Stream, emerging for occasional flights across
+an ocean or two. Can you imagine how he proved it?"</p>
+
+<p>"No," said I, resolutely pointing my nose
+at the ocean.</p>
+
+<p>"He proved it by a minute examination
+of the microscopical shells found among the
+ribs of the Thermosaurus. These shells contained
+little creatures that live only in the
+warm waters of the Gulf Stream. They were
+the food of the Thermosaurus."</p>
+
+<p>"It was rather slender rations for a thing
+like that, wasn't it? Did he ever swallow bigger
+food&mdash;er&mdash;men?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes. Tons of fossil bones from prehistoric
+men are also found in the interior of
+the Thermosaurus."</p>
+
+<p>"Then," said I, "you, at least, had better
+go back to Captain McPeek's&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Please turn around; don't be so foolish.
+I didn't say there was a <em>live</em> Thermosaurus in
+the water, did I?"</p>
+
+<p>"Isn't there?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, no!"</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg251">[251]</span>
+My relief was genuine, but I thought of the
+rifle and looked suspiciously out to sea.</p>
+
+<p>"What's the Winchester for?" I asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Listen, and I will explain. Papa has found
+out&mdash;how, I do not exactly understand&mdash;that
+there is in the waters of the Gulf Stream the
+body of a Thermosaurus. The creature must
+have been alive within a year or so. The impenetrable
+scale armour that covers its body has,
+as far as papa knows, prevented its disintegration.
+We know that it is there still, or was
+there within a few months. Papa has reports
+and sworn depositions from steamer captains
+and seamen from a dozen different vessels, all
+corroborating each other in essential details.
+These stories, of course, get into the newspapers&mdash;sea-serpent
+stories&mdash;but papa knows that they
+confirm his theory that the huge body of this
+reptile is swinging along somewhere on the Gulf
+Stream."</p>
+
+<p>She opened her sunshade and held it over
+her. I noticed that she deigned to give me
+the benefit of about one eighth of it.</p>
+
+<p>"Your duty with that rifle is this: If we
+are fortunate enough to see the body of the
+Thermosaurus come floating by, you are to take
+good aim and fire&mdash;fire rapidly every bullet in
+the magazine; then reload and fire again, and
+reload and fire as long as you have any cartridges
+left."</p>
+
+<p>"A self-feeding Maxim is what I should
+<span class="pb" id="Pg252">[252]</span>
+have," I said with gentle sarcasm. "Well,
+and suppose I make a sieve of this big lizard?"</p>
+
+<p>"Do you see these rings in the sand?" she asked.</p>
+
+<p>Sure enough, somebody had driven heavy
+piles deep into the sand all around us, and to
+the tops of these piles were attached steel rings,
+half buried under the spear grass. We sat almost
+exactly in the centre of a circle of these rings.</p>
+
+<p>"The reason is this," said Daisy: "every
+bullet in your cartridges is steel-tipped and
+armour-piercing. To the base of each bullet
+is attached a thin wire of pallium. Pallium
+is that new metal, a thread of which, drawn
+out into finest wire, will hold a ton of iron
+suspended. Every bullet is fitted with minute
+coils of miles of this wire. When the bullet
+leaves the rifle it spins out this wire as a shot
+from a life-saver's mortar spins out and carries
+the life line to a wrecked ship. The end of
+each coil of wire is attached to that cylinder
+under the magazine of your rifle. As soon as
+the shell is automatically ejected this wire flies
+out also. A bit of scarlet tape is fixed to the
+end, so that it will be easy to pick up. There
+is also a snap clasp on the end, and this clasp
+fits those rings that you see in the sand. Now,
+when you begin firing, it is my duty to run
+and pick up the wire ends and attach them to
+the rings. Then, you see, we have the body
+<span class="pb" id="Pg253">[253]</span>
+of the Thermosaurus full of bullets, every bullet
+anchored to the shore by tiny wires, each of
+which could easily hold a ton's strain."</p>
+
+<p>I looked at her in amazement.</p>
+
+<p>"Then," she added calmly, "we have captured
+the Thermosaurus."</p>
+
+<p>"Your father," said I at length, "must
+have spent years of labour over this preparation."</p>
+
+<p>"It is the work of a lifetime," she said simply.</p>
+
+<p>My face, I suppose, showed my misgivings.</p>
+
+<p>"It must not fail," she added.</p>
+
+<p>"But&mdash;but we are nowhere near the Gulf
+Stream," I ventured.</p>
+
+<p>Her face brightened, and she frankly held
+the sunshade over us both.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, you don't know," she said, "what
+else papa has discovered. Would you believe
+that he has found a loop in the Gulf Stream&mdash;a
+genuine loop&mdash;that swings in here just outside
+of the breakers below? It is true! Everybody
+on Long Island knows that there is a
+warm current off the coast, but nobody imagined
+it was merely a sort of backwater from the
+Gulf Stream that formed a great circular mill-race
+around the cone of a subterranean volcano,
+and rejoined the Gulf Stream off Cape Albatross.
+But it is! That is why papa bought a
+yacht three years ago and sailed about for two
+<span class="pb" id="Pg254">[254]</span>
+years so mysteriously. Oh, I did want to go
+with him so much!"</p>
+
+<p>"This," said I, "is most astonishing."</p>
+
+<p>She leaned enthusiastically toward me, her
+lovely face aglow.</p>
+
+<p>"Isn't it?" she said; "and to think that
+you and papa and I are the only people in the
+whole world who know this!"</p>
+
+<p>To be included in such a triology was very
+delightful.</p>
+
+<p>"Papa is writing the whole thing&mdash;I mean
+about the currents. He also has in preparation
+sixteen volumes on the Thermosaurus. He said
+this morning that he was going to ask you to
+write the story first for some scientific magazine.
+He is certain that Professor Bruce Stoddard,
+of Columbia, will write the pamphlets
+necessary. This will give papa time to attend
+to the sixteen-volume work, which he expects to
+finish in three years."</p>
+
+<p>"Let us first," said I, laughing, "catch our
+Thermosaurus."</p>
+
+<p>"We must not fail," she said wistfully.</p>
+
+<p>"We shall not fail," I said, "for I promise
+to sit on this sand hill as long as I live&mdash;until
+a Thermosaurus appears&mdash;if that is your wish,
+Miss Holroyd."</p>
+
+<p>Our eyes met for an instant. She did not
+chide me, either, for not looking at the ocean.
+Her eyes were bluer, anyway.</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose," she said, bending her head
+<span class="pb" id="Pg255">[255]</span>
+and absently pouring sand between her fingers&mdash;"I
+suppose you think me a blue-stocking, or
+something odious?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not exactly," I said. There was an emphasis
+in my voice that made her colour. After
+a moment she laid the sunshade down, still open.</p>
+
+<p>"May I hold it?" I asked.</p>
+
+<p>She nodded almost imperceptibly.</p>
+
+<p>The ocean had turned a deep marine blue,
+verging on purple, that heralded a scorching
+afternoon. The wind died away; the odour of
+cedar and sweet bay hung heavy in the air.</p>
+
+<p>In the sand at our feet an iridescent flower
+beetle crawled, its metallic green and blue wings
+burning like a spark. Great gnats, with filmy,
+glittering wings, danced aimlessly above the
+young golden-rod; burnished crickets, inquisitive,
+timid, ran from under chips of driftwood,
+waved their antennæ at us, and ran back again.
+One by one the marbled tiger beetles tumbled
+at our feet, dazed from the exertion of an aërial
+flight, then scrambled and ran a little way, or
+darted into the wire grass, where great brilliant
+spiders eyed them askance from their gossamer
+hammocks.</p>
+
+<p>Far out at sea the white gulls floated and
+drifted on the water, or sailed up into the air
+to flap lazily for a moment and settle back
+among the waves. Strings of black surf ducks
+passed, their strong wings tipping the surface
+<span class="pb" id="Pg256">[256]</span>
+of the water; single wandering coots whirled
+from the breakers into lonely flight toward
+the horizon.</p>
+
+<p>We lay and watched the little ring-necks
+running along the water's edge, now backing
+away from the incoming tide, now boldly wading
+after the undertow. The harmony of silence,
+the deep perfume, the mystery of waiting
+for that something that all await&mdash;what
+is it? love? death? or only the miracle of
+another morrow?&mdash;troubled me with vague
+restfulness. As sunlight casts shadows, happiness,
+too, throws a shadow, and the shadow is sadness.</p>
+
+<p>And so the morning wore away until Freda
+came with a cool-looking hamper. Then delicious
+cold fowl and lettuce sandwiches and
+champagne cup set our tongues wagging as only
+very young tongues can wag. Daisy went back
+with Freda after luncheon, leaving me a case
+of cigars, with a bantering smile. I dozed, half
+awake, keeping a partly closed eye on the ocean,
+where a faint gray streak showed plainly amid
+the azure water all around. That was the Gulf
+Stream loop.</p>
+
+<p>About four o'clock Frisby appeared with a
+bamboo shelter tent, for which I was unaffectedly
+grateful.</p>
+
+<p>After he had erected it over me he stopped
+to chat a bit, but the conversation bored me, for
+he could talk of nothing but bill-posting.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg257">[257]</span>
+"You wouldn't ruin the landscape here,
+would you?" I asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Ruin it!" repeated Frisby nervously.
+"It's ruined now; there ain't a place to stick
+a bill."</p>
+
+<p>"The snipe stick bills&mdash;in the sand," I said flippantly.</p>
+
+<p>There was no humour about Frisby. "Do
+they?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p>I moved with a certain impatience.</p>
+
+<p>"Bills," said Frisby, "give spice an' variety
+to Nature. They break the monotony
+of the everlastin' green and what-you-may-call-its."</p>
+
+<p>I glared at him.</p>
+
+<p>"Bills," he continued, "are not easy to
+stick, lemme tell you, sir. Sign paintin's a
+soft snap when it comes to bill-stickin'. Now, I
+guess I've stuck more bills in New York State
+than ennybody."</p>
+
+<p>"Have you?" I said angrily.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, siree! I always pick out the purtiest
+spots&mdash;kinder filled chuck full of woods and
+brooks and things; then I h'ist my paste-pot
+onto a rock, and I slather that rock with gum,
+and whoop she goes!"</p>
+
+<p>"Whoop what goes?"</p>
+
+<p>"The bill. I paste her onto the rock, with
+one swipe of the brush for the edges and a
+back-handed swipe for the finish&mdash;except when
+a bill is folded in two halves."</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg258">[258]</span>
+"And what do you do then?" I asked, disgusted.</p>
+
+<p>"Swipe twice," said Frisby with enthusiasm.</p>
+
+<p>"And you don't think it injures the landscape?"</p>
+
+<p>"Injures it!" he exclaimed, convinced that
+I was attempting to joke.</p>
+
+<p>I looked wearily out to sea. He also looked
+at the water and sighed sentimentally.</p>
+
+<p>"Floatin' buoys with bills onto 'em is a
+idea of mine," he observed. "That damn ocean
+is monotonous, ain't it?"</p>
+
+<p>I don't know what I might have done to
+Frisby&mdash;the rifle was so convenient&mdash;if his mean
+yellow dog had not waddled up at this juncture.</p>
+
+<p>"Hi, Davy, sic 'em!" said Frisby, expectorating
+upon a clamshell and hurling it seaward.
+The cur watched the flight of the shell apathetically,
+then squatted in the sand and looked
+at his master.</p>
+
+<p>"Kinder lost his spirit," said Frisby, "ain't
+he? I once stuck a bill onto Davy, an' it come
+off, an' the paste sorter sickened him. He was
+hell on rats&mdash;once!"</p>
+
+<p>After a moment or two Frisby took himself
+off, whistling cheerfully to Davy, who followed
+him when he was ready. The rifle burned
+in my fingers.</p>
+
+<p>It was nearly six o'clock when the professor
+<span class="pb" id="Pg259">[259]</span>
+appeared, spade on shoulder, boots smeared with
+mud.</p>
+
+<p>"Well," he said, "nothing to report, Dick, my boy?"</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing, professor."</p>
+
+<p>He wiped his shining face with his handkerchief
+and stared at the water.</p>
+
+<p>"My calculations lead me to believe," he
+said, "that our prize may be due any day now.
+This theory I base upon the result of the report
+from the last sea captain I saw. I can not
+understand why some of these captains did not
+take the carcass in tow. They all say that they
+tried, but that the body sank before they could
+come within half a mile. The truth is, probably,
+that they did not stir a foot from their
+course to examine the thing."</p>
+
+<p>"Have you ever cruised about for it?" I ventured.</p>
+
+<p>"For two years," he said grimly. "It's no
+use; it's accident when a ship falls in with it.
+One captain reports it a thousand miles from
+where the last skipper spoke it, and always in
+the Gulf Stream. They think it is a different
+specimen every time, and the papers are teeming
+with sea-serpent fol-de-rol."</p>
+
+<p>"Are you sure," I asked, "that it will
+swing in to the coast on this Gulf Stream loop?"</p>
+
+<p>"I think I may say that it is certain to do so.
+I experimented with a dead right whale. You
+<span class="pb" id="Pg260">[260]</span>
+may have heard of its coming ashore here last
+summer."</p>
+
+<p>"I think I did," said I with a faint smile.
+The thing had poisoned the air for miles
+around.</p>
+
+<p>"But," I continued, "suppose it comes in the night?"</p>
+
+<p>He laughed.</p>
+
+<p>"There I am lucky. Every night this
+month, and every day, too, the current of the
+loop runs inland so far that even a porpoise
+would strand for at least twelve hours. Longer
+than that I have not experimented with, but
+I know that the shore trend of the loop runs
+across a long spur of the submerged volcanic
+mountain, and that anything heavier than a porpoise
+would scrape the bottom and be carried
+so slowly that at least twelve hours must elapse
+before the carcass could float again into deep
+water. There are chances of its stranding indefinitely,
+too, but I don't care to take those
+chances. That is why I have stationed you
+here, Dick, my boy."</p>
+
+<p>He glanced again at the water, smiling to himself.</p>
+
+<p>"There is another question I want to ask,"
+I said, "if you don't mind."</p>
+
+<p>"Of course not!" he said warmly.</p>
+
+<p>"What are you digging for?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, simply for exercise. The doctor
+told me I was killing myself with my sedentary
+<span class="pb" id="Pg261">[261]</span>
+habits, so I decided to dig. I don't know a
+better exercise. Do you?"</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose not," I murmured, rather red
+in the face. I wondered whether he'd mention
+fossils.</p>
+
+<p>"Did Daisy tell you why we are making
+our papier-maché Thermosaurus?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p>I shook my head.</p>
+
+<p>"We constructed that from measurements
+I took from the fossil remains of the Thermosaurus
+in the Metropolitan Museum. Professor
+Bruce Stoddard made the drawings. We set it
+up here, all ready to receive the skin of the
+carcass that I am expecting."</p>
+
+<p>We had started toward home, walking slowly
+across the darkening dunes, shoulder to shoulder.
+The sand was deep, and walking was not easy.</p>
+
+<p>"I wish," said I at last, "that I knew why
+Miss Holroyd asked me not to walk on the
+beach. It's much less fatiguing."</p>
+
+<p>"That," said the professor, "is a matter
+that I intend to discuss with you to-night." He
+spoke gravely, almost sadly. I felt that something
+of unparalleled importance was soon to
+be revealed. So I kept very quiet, watching
+the ocean out of the corners of my eyes.</p>
+
+<h3>IV.<span class="pb" id="Pg262">[262]</span></h3>
+
+<p>Dinner was ended. Daisy Holroyd lighted
+her father's pipe for him, and insisted on my
+smoking as much as I pleased. Then she sat
+down, and folded her hands like a good little
+girl, waiting for her father to make the revelation
+which I felt in my bones must be something
+out of the ordinary.</p>
+
+<p>The professor smoked for a while, gazing
+meditatively at his daughter; then, fixing his
+gray eyes on me, he said:</p>
+
+<p>"Have you ever heard of the kree&mdash;that
+Australian bird, half parrot, half hawk, that
+destroys so many sheep in New South Wales?"</p>
+
+<p>I nodded.</p>
+
+<p>"The kree kills a sheep by alighting on its
+back and tearing away the flesh with its hooked
+beak until a vital part is reached. You know
+that? Well, it has been discovered that the kree
+had prehistoric prototypes. These birds were
+enormous creatures, who preyed upon mammoths
+and mastodons, and even upon the great
+saurians. It has been conclusively proved that
+a few saurians have been killed by the ancestors
+of the kree, but the favourite food of these
+birds was undoubtedly the Thermosaurus. It
+is believed that the birds attacked the eyes of
+the Thermosaurus, and when, as was its habit,
+the mammoth creature turned on its back to
+claw them, they fell upon the thinner scales
+<span class="pb" id="Pg263">[263]</span>
+of its stomach armour and finally killed it.
+This, of course, is a theory, but we have almost
+absolute proofs of its correctness. Now, these
+two birds are known among scientists as the
+ekaf-bird and the ool-yllik. The names are
+Australian, in which country most of their remains
+have been unearthed. They lived during
+the Carboniferous period. Now it is not
+generally known, but the fact is, that in 1801
+Captain Ransom, of the British exploring vessel
+Gull, purchased from the natives of Tasmania
+the skin of an ekaf-bird that could not
+have been killed more than twenty-four hours
+previous to its sale. I saw this skin in the
+British Museum. It was labelled "unknown
+bird, probably extinct." It took me exactly
+a week to satisfy myself that it was actually the
+skin of an ekaf-bird. But that is not all, Dick,
+my boy," continued the professor excitedly.
+"In 1854, Admiral Stuart, of our own navy,
+saw the carcass of a strange gigantic bird floating
+along the southern coast of Australia.
+Sharks were after it, and, before a boat could
+be lowered, these miserable fish got it. But the
+good old admiral secured a few feathers and sent
+them to the Smithsonian. I saw them. They
+were not even labelled, but I knew that they
+were feathers from the ekaf-bird or its near
+relative, the ool-yllik."</p>
+
+<p>I had grown so interested that I had leaned
+far across the table. Daisy, too, bent forward.
+<span class="pb" id="Pg264">[264]</span>
+It was only when the professor paused for a
+moment that I noticed how close together our
+heads were&mdash;Daisy's and mine. I don't think
+she realized it. She did not move.</p>
+
+<p>"Now comes the important part of this long
+discourse," said the professor, smiling at our
+eagerness. "Ever since the carcass of our derelict
+Thermosaurus was first noticed, every captain
+who has seen it has also reported the presence
+of one or more gigantic birds in the neighbourhood.
+These birds, at a great distance,
+appeared to be hovering over the carcass, but
+on the approach of a vessel they disappeared.
+Even in midocean they were observed. When
+I heard about it I was puzzled. A month later
+I was satisfied that neither the ekaf-bird nor the
+ool-yllik was extinct. Last Monday I knew that
+I was right. I found forty-eight distinct impressions
+of the huge seven-toed claw of the
+ekaf-bird on the beach here at Pine Inlet. You
+may imagine my excitement. I succeeded in
+digging up enough wet sand around one of
+these impressions to preserve its form. I managed
+to get it into a soap box, and now it is
+there in my shop. The tide rose too rapidly
+for me to save the other footprints."</p>
+
+<p>I shuddered at the possibility of a clumsy
+misstep on my part obliterating the impression
+of an ool-yllik.</p>
+
+<p>"That is the reason that my daughter
+warned you off the beach," he said mildly.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg265">[265]</span>
+"Hanging would have been too good for the
+vandal who destroyed such priceless prizes!" I
+cried out in self-reproach.</p>
+
+<p>Daisy Holroyd turned a flushed face to mine,
+and impulsively laid her hand on my sleeve.</p>
+
+<p>"How could you know?" she said.</p>
+
+<p>"It's all right now," said her father, emphasizing
+each word with a gentle tap of his
+pipe-bowl on the table edge; "don't be hard on
+yourself, Dick, my boy. You'll do yeoman's
+service yet."</p>
+
+<p>It was nearly midnight, and still we chatted
+on about the Thermosaurus, the ekaf-bird, and
+the ool-yllik, eagerly discussing the probability
+of the great reptile's carcass being in the vicinity.
+That alone seemed to explain the presence
+of these prehistoric birds at Pine Inlet.</p>
+
+<p>"Do they ever attack human beings?" I asked.</p>
+
+<p>The professor looked startled.</p>
+
+<p>"Gracious!" he exclaimed, "I never
+thought of that. And Daisy running about
+out of doors! Dear me! it takes a scientist to
+be an unnatural parent!"</p>
+
+<p>His alarm was half real, half assumed; but
+all the same, he glanced gravely at us both,
+shaking his handsome head, absorbed in
+thought. Daisy herself looked a little doubtful.
+As for me, my sensations were distinctly queer.</p>
+
+<p>"It is true," said the professor, frowning
+<span class="pb" id="Pg266">[266]</span>
+at the wall, "that human remains have been
+found associated with the bones of the ekaf-bird&mdash;I
+don't know how intimately. It is a
+matter to be taken into most serious consideration."</p>
+
+<p>"The problem can be solved," said I, "in
+several ways. One is, to keep Miss Holroyd in
+the house&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I shall not stay in!" cried Daisy indignantly.</p>
+
+<p>We all laughed, and her father assured her
+that she should not be abused.</p>
+
+<p>"Even if I did stay in," she said, "one of
+these birds might alight on Master Dick."</p>
+
+<p>She looked saucily at me as she spoke, but
+turned crimson when her father observed
+quietly, "You don't seem to think of me, Daisy."</p>
+
+<p>"Of course I do," she said, getting up and
+putting both arms around her father's neck;
+"but Dick&mdash;as&mdash;as you call him&mdash;is so helpless
+and timid."</p>
+
+<p>My blissful smile froze on my lips.</p>
+
+<p>"Timid!" I repeated.</p>
+
+<p>She came back to the table, making me a
+mocking reverence.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you think I am to be laughed at with
+impunity?" she said.</p>
+
+<p>"What are your other plans, Dick, my
+boy?" asked the professor.&mdash;"Daisy, let him
+alone, you little tease!"</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg267">[267]</span>
+"One is, to haul a lot of cast-iron boilers
+along the dunes," I said. "If these birds come
+when the carcass floats in, and if they seem
+disposed to trouble us, we could crawl into the
+boilers and be safe."</p>
+
+<p>"Why, that is really brilliant!" cried Daisy.</p>
+
+<p>"Be quiet, my child! Dick, the plan is
+sound and sensible and perfectly practical. McPeek
+and Frisby shall go for a dozen loads of
+boilers to-morrow."</p>
+
+<p>"It will spoil the beauty of the landscape,"
+said Daisy, with a taunting nod to me.</p>
+
+<p>"And Frisby will probably attempt to cover
+them with bill-posters," I added, laughing.</p>
+
+<p>"That," said Daisy, "I shall prevent, even
+at the cost of my life." And she stood up,
+looking very determined.</p>
+
+<p>"Children, children," protested the professor,
+"go to bed&mdash;you bother me."</p>
+
+<p>Then I turned deliberately to Miss Holroyd.</p>
+
+<p>"Good-night, Daisy," I said.</p>
+
+<p>"Good-night, Dick," she said, very gently.</p>
+
+<h3>V.</h3>
+
+<p>The week passed quickly for me, leaving
+but few definite impressions. As I look back
+to it now I can see the long stretch of beach
+burning in the fierce sunlight, the endless
+<span class="pb" id="Pg268">[268]</span>
+meadows, with the glimmer of water in the distance,
+the dunes, the twisted cedars, the leagues
+of scintillating ocean, rocking, rocking, always
+rocking. In the starlit nights the curlew came
+in from the sand-bars by twos and threes; I
+could hear their faint call as I lay in bed thinking.
+All day long the little ring-necks whistled
+from the shore. The plover answered them
+from distant lonely inland pools. The great
+white gulls drifted like feathers upon the sea.</p>
+
+<p>One morning, toward the end of the week,
+I, strolling along the dunes, came upon Frisby.
+He was bill-posting. I caught him red-handed.</p>
+
+<p>"This," said I, "must stop. Do you understand,
+Mr. Frisby?"</p>
+
+<p>He stepped back from his work, laying his
+head on one side, considering first me, then
+the bill that he had pasted on one of our big
+boilers.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't like the colour?" he asked. "It
+goes well on them boilers."</p>
+
+<p>"Colour! No, I don't like the colour
+either. Can't you understand that there are
+some people in the world who object to seeing
+patent-medicine advertisements scattered over a
+landscape?"</p>
+
+<p>"Hey?" he said perplexed.</p>
+
+<p>"Will you kindly remove that advertisement?"
+I persisted.</p>
+
+<p>"Too late," said Frisby; "it's sot."</p>
+
+<p>I was too disgusted to speak, but my disgust
+<span class="pb" id="Pg269">[269]</span>
+turned to anger when I perceived that, as
+far as the eye could reach, our boilers, lying
+from three to four hundred feet apart, were
+ablaze with yellow and red posters, extolling
+the "Eureka Liver Pill Company."</p>
+
+<p>"It don't cost 'em nothin'," said Frisby
+cheerfully; "I done it fur the fun of it. Purty,
+ain't it?"</p>
+
+<p>"They are Professor Holroyd's boilers," I
+said, subduing a desire to beat Frisby with my
+telescope. "Wait until Miss Holroyd sees this
+work."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't she like yeller and red?" he demanded
+anxiously.</p>
+
+<p>"You'll find out," said I.</p>
+
+<p>Frisby gaped at his handiwork and then at
+his yellow dog. After a moment he mechanically
+spat on a clamshell and requested Davy
+to "sic" it.</p>
+
+<p>"Can't you comprehend that you have
+ruined our pleasure in the landscape?" I asked
+more mildly.</p>
+
+<p>"I've got some green bills," said Frisby;
+"I kin stick 'em over the yeller ones&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Confound it!" said I, "it isn't the colour!"</p>
+
+<p>"Then," observed Frisby, "you don't like
+them pills. I've got some bills of the 'Cropper
+Bicycle,' and a few of 'Bagley, the Gents'
+Tailor&mdash;&mdash;'"</p>
+
+<p>"Frisby," said I, "use them all&mdash;paste the
+<span class="pb" id="Pg270">[270]</span>
+whole collection over your dog and yourself&mdash;then
+walk off the cliff."</p>
+
+<p>He sullenly unfolded a green poster,
+swabbed the boiler with paste, laid the upper
+section of the bill upon it, and plastered the
+whole bill down with a thwack of his brush.
+As I walked away I heard him muttering.</p>
+
+<p>Next day Daisy was so horrified that I promised
+to give Frisby an ultimatum. I found
+him with Freda, gazing sentimentally at his
+work, and I sent him back to the shop in a
+hurry, telling Freda at the same time that she
+could spend her leisure in providing Mr. Frisby
+with sand, soap, and a scrubbing brush. Then
+I walked on to my post of observation.</p>
+
+<p>I watched until sunset. Daisy came with
+her father to hear my report, but there was
+nothing to tell, and we three walked slowly
+back to the house.</p>
+
+<p>In the evenings the professor worked on
+his volumes, the click of his type-writer sounding
+faintly behind his closed door. Daisy and
+I played chess sometimes; sometimes we played
+hearts. I don't remember that we ever finished
+a game of either&mdash;we talked too much.</p>
+
+<p>Our discussions covered every topic of interest:
+we argued upon politics; we skimmed
+over literature and music; we settled international
+differences; we spoke vaguely of human
+brotherhood. I say we slighted no subject of
+interest&mdash;I am wrong; we never spoke of love.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg271">[271]</span>
+Now, love is a matter of interest to ten
+people out of ten. Why it was that it did not
+appear to interest us is as interesting a question
+as love itself. We were young, alert, enthusiastic,
+inquiring. We eagerly absorbed
+theories concerning any curious phenomena in
+Nature, as intellectual cocktails to stimulate
+discussion. And yet we did not discuss love.
+I do not say that we avoided it. No; the subject
+was too completely ignored for even that.
+And yet we found it very difficult to pass an
+hour separated. The professor noticed this,
+and laughed at us. We were not even embarrassed.</p>
+
+<p>Sunday passed in pious contemplation of
+the ocean. Daisy read a little in her prayer-book,
+and the professor threw a cloth over his
+typewriter and strolled up and down the sands.
+He may have been lost in devout abstraction;
+he may have been looking for footprints. As
+for me, my mind was very serene, and I was
+more than happy. Daisy read to me a little
+for my soul's sake, and the professor came up
+and said something cheerful. He also examined
+the magazine of my Winchester.</p>
+
+<p>That night, too, Daisy took her guitar to
+the sands and sang one or two Armenian hymns.
+Unlike us, the Armenians do not take their
+pleasures sadly. One of their pleasures is evidently
+religion.</p>
+
+<p>The big moon came up over the dunes and
+<span class="pb" id="Pg272">[272]</span>
+stared at the sea until the surface of every wave
+trembled with radiance. A sudden stillness
+fell across the world; the wind died out; the
+foam ran noiselessly across the beach; the cricket's
+rune was stilled.</p>
+
+<p>I leaned back, dropping one hand upon
+the sand. It touched another hand, soft and cool.</p>
+
+<p>After a while the other hand moved slightly,
+and I found that my own had closed above it.
+Presently one finger stirred a little&mdash;only a
+little&mdash;for our fingers were interlocked.</p>
+
+<p>On the shore the foam-froth bubbled and
+winked and glimmered in the moonlight. A
+star fell from the zenith, showering the night
+with incandescent dust.</p>
+
+<p>If our fingers lay interlaced beside us, her
+eyes were calm and serene as always, wide open,
+fixed upon the depths of a dark sky. And
+when her father rose and spoke to us, she did
+not withdraw her hand.</p>
+
+<p>"Is it late?" she asked dreamily.</p>
+
+<p>"It is midnight, little daughter."</p>
+
+<p>I stood up, still holding her hand, and aided
+her to rise. And when, at the door, I said
+good-night, she turned and looked at me for
+a little while in silence, then passed into
+her room slowly, with head still turned toward
+me.</p>
+
+<p>All night long I dreamed of her; and when
+the east whitened, I sprang up, the thunder of
+<span class="pb" id="Pg273">[273]</span>
+the ocean in my ears, the strong sea wind blowing
+into the open window.</p>
+
+<p>"She is asleep," I thought, and I leaned
+from the window and peered out into the east.</p>
+
+<p>The sea called to me, tossing its thousand
+arms; the soaring gulls, dipping, rising, wheeling
+above the sand-bar, screamed and clamoured
+for a playmate. I slipped into my bathing suit,
+dropped from the window upon the soft sand,
+and in a moment had plunged head foremost
+into the surf, swimming beneath the waves
+toward the open sea.</p>
+
+<p>Under the tossing ocean the voice of the
+waters was in my ears&mdash;a low, sweet voice, intimate,
+mysterious. Through singing foam and
+broad, green, glassy depths, by whispering sandy
+channels atrail with seaweed, and on, on, out
+into the vague, cool sea, I sped, rising to the
+top, sinking, gliding. Then at last I flung
+myself out of water, hands raised, and the clamour
+of the gulls filled my ears.</p>
+
+<p>As I lay, breathing fast, drifting on the sea,
+far out beyond the gulls I saw a flash of white,
+and an arm was lifted, signalling me.</p>
+
+<p>"Daisy!" I called.</p>
+
+<p>A clear hail came across the water, distinct
+on the sea wind, and at the same instant we
+raised our hands and moved toward each other.</p>
+
+<p>How we laughed as we met in the sea! The
+<span class="pb" id="Pg274">[274]</span>
+white dawn came up out of the depths, the
+zenith turned to rose and ashes.</p>
+
+<p>And with the dawn came the wind&mdash;a great
+sea wind, fresh, aromatic, that hurled our voices
+back into our throats and lifted the sheeted
+spray above our heads. Every wave, crowned
+with mist, caught us in a cool embrace, cradled
+us, and slipped away, only to leave us to another
+wave, higher, stronger, crested with opalescent
+glory, breathing incense.</p>
+
+<p>We turned together up the coast, swimming
+lightly side by side, but our words were
+caught up by the winds and whirled into the sky.</p>
+
+<p>We looked up at the driving clouds; we
+looked out upon the pallid waste of waters; but
+it was into each other's eyes we looked, wondering,
+wistful, questioning the reason of sky
+and sea. And there in each other's eyes we
+read the mystery, and we knew that earth and
+sky and sea were created for us alone.</p>
+
+<p>Drifting on by distant sands and dunes, her
+white fingers touching mine, we spoke, keying
+our tones to the wind's vast harmony. And we
+spoke of love.</p>
+
+<p>Gray and wide as the limitless span of the
+sky and the sea, the winds gathered from the
+world's ends to bear us on; but they were not
+familiar winds; for now, along the coast, the
+breakers curled and showed a million fangs,
+and the ocean stirred to its depths, uneasy,
+<span class="pb" id="Pg275">[275]</span>
+ominous, and the menace of its murmur drew
+us closer as we moved.</p>
+
+<p>Where the dull thunder and the tossing
+spray warned us from sunken reefs, we heard
+the harsh challenges of gulls; where the pallid
+surf twisted in yellow coils of spume above the
+bar, the singing sands murmured of treachery
+and secrets of lost souls agasp in the throes of
+silent undertows.</p>
+
+<p>But there was a little stretch of beach glimmering
+through the mountains of water, and
+toward this we turned, side by side. Around
+us the water grew warmer; the breath of the
+following waves moistened our cheeks; the
+water itself grew gray and strange about us.</p>
+
+<p>"We have come too far," I said; but she
+only answered: "Faster, faster! I am afraid!"
+The water was almost hot now; its aromatic
+odour filled our lungs.</p>
+
+<p>"The Gulf loop!" I muttered. "Daisy,
+shall I help you?"</p>
+
+<p>"No. Swim&mdash;close by me! Oh-h! Dick&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Her startled cry was echoed by another&mdash;a
+shrill scream, unutterably horrible&mdash;and a great
+bird flapped from the beach, splashing and beating
+its pinions across the water with a thundering noise.</p>
+
+<p>Out across the waves it blundered, rising
+little by little from the water, and now, to my
+horror, I saw another monstrous bird swinging
+<span class="pb" id="Pg276">[276]</span>
+in the air above it, squealing as it turned
+on its vast wings. Before I could speak we
+touched the beach, and I half lifted her to the
+shore.</p>
+
+<p>"Quick!" I repeated. "We must not
+wait."</p>
+
+<p>Her eyes were dark with fear, but she rested
+a hand on my shoulder, and we crept up among
+the dune grasses and sank down by the point of
+sand where the rough shelter stood, surrounded
+by the iron-ringed piles.</p>
+
+<p>She lay there, breathing fast and deep,
+dripping with spray. I had no power of speech
+left, but when I rose wearily to my knees and
+looked out upon the water my blood ran cold.
+Above the ocean, on the breast of the roaring
+wind, three enormous birds sailed, turning and
+wheeling among each other; and below, drifting
+with the gray stream of the Gulf loop, a
+colossal bulk lay half submerged&mdash;a gigantic
+lizard, floating belly upward.</p>
+
+<p>Then Daisy crept kneeling to my side and
+touched me, trembling from head to foot.</p>
+
+<p>"I know," I muttered. "I must run back
+for the rifle."</p>
+
+<p>"And&mdash;and leave me?"</p>
+
+<p>I took her by the hand, and we dragged
+ourselves through the wire grass to the open
+end of a boiler lying in the sand.</p>
+
+<p>She crept in on her hands and knees, and
+called to me to follow.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg277">[277]</span>
+"You are safe now," I cried. "I must go
+back for the rifle."</p>
+
+<p>"The birds may&mdash;may attack you."</p>
+
+<p>"If they do I can get into one of the other
+boilers," I said. "Daisy, you must not venture
+out until I come back. You won't, will you?"</p>
+
+<p>"No-o," she whispered doubtfully.</p>
+
+<p>"Then&mdash;good-by."</p>
+
+<p>"Good-by," she answered, but her voice was
+very small and still.</p>
+
+<p>"Good-by," I said again. I was kneeling
+at the mouth of the big iron tunnel; it was
+dark inside and I could not see her, but, before
+I was conscious of it, her arms were around
+my neck and we had kissed each other.</p>
+
+<p>I don't remember how I went away. When
+I came to my proper senses I was swimming
+along the coast at full speed, and over my head
+wheeled one of the birds, screaming at every turn.</p>
+
+<p>The intoxication of that innocent embrace,
+the close impress of her arms around my neck,
+gave me a strength and recklessness that neither
+fear nor fatigue could subdue. The bird
+above me did not even frighten me; I watched
+it over my shoulder, swimming strongly, with
+the tide now aiding me, now stemming my
+course; but I saw the shore passing quickly
+and my strength increased, and I shouted when
+I came in sight of the house, and scrambled up
+<span class="pb" id="Pg278">[278]</span>
+on the sand, dripping and excited. There was
+nobody in sight, and I gave a last glance up
+into the air where the bird wheeled, still
+screeching, and hastened into the house. Freda
+stared at me in amazement as I seized the rifle
+and shouted for the professor.</p>
+
+<p>"He has just gone to town, with Captain
+McPeek in his wagon," stammered Freda.</p>
+
+<p>"What!" I cried. "Does he know where
+his daughter is?"</p>
+
+<p>"Miss Holroyd is asleep&mdash;not?" gasped Freda.</p>
+
+<p>"Where's Frisby?" I cried impatiently.</p>
+
+<p>"Yimmie?" quavered Freda.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, Jimmie; isn't there anybody here?
+Good heavens! where's that man in the shop?"</p>
+
+<p>"He also iss gone," said Freda, shedding
+tears, "to buy papier-maché. Yimmie, he iss
+gone to post bills."</p>
+
+<p>I waited to hear no more, but swung my
+rifle over my shoulder, and, hanging the cartridge
+belt across my chest, hurried out and up
+the beach. The bird was not in sight.</p>
+
+<p>I had been running for perhaps a minute
+when, far up on the dunes, I saw a yellow dog
+rush madly through a clump of sweet bay, and
+at the same moment a bird soared past, rose,
+and hung hovering just above the thicket. Suddenly
+the bird swooped; there was a shriek and
+a yelp from the cur, but the bird gripped it in
+one claw and beat its wings upon the sand, striving
+<span class="pb" id="Pg279">[279]</span>
+to rise. Then I saw Frisby&mdash;paste, bucket,
+and brush raised&mdash;fall upon the bird, yelling
+lustily. The fierce creature relaxed its talons,
+and the dog rushed on, squeaking with terror.
+The bird turned on Frisby and sent him sprawling
+on his face, a sticky mass of paste and sand.
+But this did not end the struggle. The bird,
+croaking wildly, flew at the prostrate billposter,
+and the sand whirled into a pillar above its
+terrible wings. Scarcely knowing what I was
+about, I raised my rifle and fired twice. A
+horrid scream echoed each shot, and the bird
+rose heavily in a shower of sand; but two bullets
+were embedded in that mass of foul
+feathers, and I saw the wires and scarlet tape
+uncoiling on the sand at my feet. In an instant
+I seized them and passed the ends around
+a cedar tree, hooking the clasps tight. Then
+I cast one swift glance upward, where the bird
+wheeled screeching, anchored like a kite to the
+pallium wires; and I hurried on across the
+dunes, the shells cutting my feet, and the bushes
+tearing my wet swimming suit, until I dripped
+with blood from shoulder to ankle. Out in
+the ocean the carcass of the Thermosaurus
+floated, claws outspread, belly glistening in the
+gray light, and over him circled two birds. As
+I reached the shelter I knelt and fired into the
+mass of scales, and at my first shot a horrible
+thing occurred: the lizardlike head writhed,
+the slitted yellow eyes sliding open from the
+<span class="pb" id="Pg280">[280]</span>
+film that covered them. A shudder passed
+across the undulating body, the great scaled
+belly heaved, and one leg feebly clawed at the
+air.</p>
+
+<p>The thing was still alive!</p>
+
+<p>Crushing back the horror that almost paralyzed
+my hands, I planted shot after shot into
+the quivering reptile, while it writhed and
+clawed, striving to turn over and dive; and at
+each shot the black blood spurted in long, slim
+jets across the water. And now Daisy was at
+my side, pale and determined, swiftly clasping
+each tape-marked wire to the iron rings in the
+circle around us. Twice I filled the magazine
+from my belt, and twice I poured streams of
+steel-tipped bullets into the scaled mass, twisting
+and shuddering on the sea. Suddenly the
+birds steered toward us. I felt the wind from
+their vast wings. I saw the feathers erect, vibrating.
+I saw the spread claws outstretched,
+and I struck furiously at them, crying to Daisy
+to run into the iron shelter. Backing, swinging
+my clubbed rifle, I retreated, but I tripped
+across one of the taut pallium wires, and in an
+instant the hideous birds were on me, and the
+bone in my forearm snapped like a pipestem at
+a blow from their wings. Twice I struggled
+to my knees, blinded with blood, confused, almost
+fainting; then I fell again, rolling into
+the mouth of the iron boiler.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb"/>
+
+<p><span class="pb" id="Pg281">[281]</span>
+When I struggled back to consciousness
+Daisy knelt silently beside me, while Captain
+McPeek and Professor Holroyd bound up my
+shattered arm, talking excitedly. The pain
+made me faint and dizzy. I tried to speak and
+could not. At last they got me to my feet and
+into the wagon, and Daisy came, too, and
+crouched beside me, wrapped in oilskins to her
+eyes. Fatigue, lack of food, and excitement
+had combined with wounds and broken bones
+to extinguish the last atom of strength in my
+body; but my mind was clear enough to understand
+that the trouble was over and the
+Thermosaurus safe.</p>
+
+<p>I heard McPeek say that one of the birds
+that I had anchored to a cedar tree had torn
+loose from the bullets and winged its way
+heavily out to sea. The professor answered:
+"Yes, the ekaf-bird; the others were ool-ylliks.
+I'd have given my right arm to have secured
+them." Then for a time I heard no more; but
+the jolting of the wagon over the dunes roused
+me to keenest pain, and I held out my right
+hand to Daisy. She clasped it in both of hers,
+and kissed it again and again.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb"/>
+
+<p>There is little more to add, I think. Professor
+Bruce Stoddard has edited this story
+carefully. His own scientific pamphlet will be
+published soon, to be followed by Professor Holroyd's
+sixteen volumes. In a few days the
+<span class="pb" id="Pg282">[282]</span>
+stuffed and mounted Thermosaurus will be
+placed on free public exhibition in the arena
+of Madison Square Garden, the only building
+in the city large enough to contain the body of
+this immense winged reptile.</p>
+
+<p>When my arm came out of splints, Daisy
+and I&mdash;&mdash; But really that has nothing to do
+with a detailed scientific description of the
+Thermosaurus, which, I think, I shall add as
+an appendix to the book. If you do not find
+it there it will be because Daisy and I have very
+little time to write about Thermosaurians.</p>
+
+<p>But what I really want to tell you about is
+the extraordinary adventures of Captain McPeek
+and Frisby&mdash;how they produced a specimen
+of Samia Cynthia that dwarfed a hundred
+of Attacus Atlas, and how the American line
+steamer St. Louis fouled the thing with her
+screw.</p>
+
+<p>The more I think of it the more determined
+I am to tell it to you. It will be difficult to
+prevent me. And that is not fiction either.</p>
+
+<hr /></div>
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2>ENVOI.<span class="pb" id="Pg283">[283]</span></h2>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="center"><big><i>ENVOI.</i></big><span class="pb" id="Pg285">[285]</span></p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poem italic"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="center spaced">I.</div>
+<div class="verse">When shadows pass across the grass</div>
+<div class="verse">And April breezes stir the sedge,</div>
+<div class="verse">Along the brimming river's edge</div>
+<div class="verse indent2">I trail my line for silver trout,</div>
+<div class="verse">And smoke, and dream of you, my lass,</div>
+<div class="verse indent2">And wonder why we two fell out,</div>
+<div class="verse indent2">And how the deuce it came about.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<div class="center spaced">II.</div>
+<div class="verse">When swallows sheer the meadow-mere</div>
+<div class="verse">And thickets thrill with thrushes' hymns,</div>
+<div class="verse">Along the mill-pond's reedy rims</div>
+<div class="verse indent2">I trail my line for shining dace;</div>
+<div class="verse">But how can finny fishes cheer</div>
+<div class="verse indent2">A fellow, if he find no grace</div>
+<div class="verse indent2">In your sweet eyes and your dear face?</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<div class="center spaced">III.</div>
+<div class="verse">Let thrushes wing their way and sing</div>
+<div class="verse">Where cresses freshen pebbled nooks;</div>
+<div class="verse">By silent rills and singing brooks</div>
+<div class="verse indent2">I pass my way alone, alas!</div>
+<div class="verse">With your dear name the woodlands ring&mdash;</div>
+<div class="verse indent2">Your name is murmured by the grass,</div>
+<div class="verse indent2">By earth, by air, all-where I pass.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<div class="center spaced">IV.<span class="pb" id="Pg286">[286]</span></div>
+<div class="verse">The painted bream may swim the stream&mdash;</div>
+<div class="verse indent2">I'll cast no line to-day, pardi!</div>
+<div class="verse">In vain the river-ripples gleam,</div>
+<div class="verse indent2">In vain the thrushes' minstrelsy.</div>
+<div class="verse">Vain is the wind that whispers, "Lo!</div>
+<div class="verse">Thy fish are waiting&mdash;Angler, go!"</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<div class="center spaced">V.</div>
+<div class="verse">Will you forgive if I forgive?</div>
+<div class="verse">Life is too sad, I think, to live</div>
+<div class="verse">Alone, and dream and smoke and fish;</div>
+<div class="verse">I'll say "Forgive" first&mdash;if you wish?</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<div class="center spaced">VI.</div>
+<div class="verse">For at that word, the Sorcery</div>
+<div class="verse">Of Love shall change the earth and sky</div>
+<div class="verse">To Paradise, with cherubim</div>
+<div class="verse">Instead of birds on every limb.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<div class="center spaced">VII.</div>
+<div class="verse">Rivers shall sing our rhapsody;</div>
+<div class="verse">The vaulted forest, tree by tree,</div>
+<div class="verse">High hung with tapestry, shall glow</div>
+<div class="verse">With golden pillars all a-row.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<div class="center spaced">VIII.</div>
+<div class="verse">And down the gilded forest aisle</div>
+<div class="verse">Shy throngs of violets shall smile</div>
+<div class="verse">And kiss your feet from tree to tree</div>
+<div class="verse">While blue-bells droop in courtesy.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<div class="center spaced">IX.</div>
+<div class="verse">And if the sun incarnadine</div>
+<div class="verse">The clouds&mdash;green leaves shall be your screen;</div>
+<span class="pb" id="Pg287">[287]</span>
+<div class="verse">And if the clouds with jealousy</div>
+<div class="verse">Should weep&mdash;we'll beg of some kind tree</div>
+<div class="verse">A moment's hospitality.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<div class="center spaced">X.</div>
+<div class="verse">Good cheer is here, if you incline;</div>
+<div class="verse">Moss-hidden springs shall bubble wine</div>
+<div class="verse">While squirrels chuckle, rank on rank,</div>
+<div class="verse">And strawberries from every bank</div>
+<div class="verse">Shall blush to see how deep we drank.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<div class="center spaced">XI.</div>
+<div class="verse">Winds of the West shall cool our eyes</div>
+<div class="verse">While every woodland creature tries</div>
+<div class="verse">His voice a little, so that he</div>
+<div class="verse">May know his notes more perfectly</div>
+<div class="verse">When crickets start the symphony.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<div class="center spaced">XII.</div>
+<div class="verse">Through hazel glade and scented dell</div>
+<div class="verse">Where brooklets ring a tinkling bell,</div>
+<div class="verse">The forest orchestra shall swell,</div>
+<div class="verse">Until the sun-soaked grasses ring</div>
+<div class="verse">With crickets strumming string on string.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<div class="center spaced">XIII.</div>
+ <div class="verse">Then, with your white hand daintily</div>
+<div class="verse">Scarce touching mine, we'll leave our tree</div>
+<div class="verse">And ramble slowly toward the West</div>
+<div class="verse">Where our high castle's flaming crest,</div>
+<div class="verse">Towering behind the setting sun,</div>
+<div class="verse">Flings out its banners, one by one,</div>
+<div class="verse">Signals of fire, that day is done.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<div class="center spaced">XIV.<span class="pb" id="Pg288">[288]</span></div>
+<div class="verse">Deep in that palace we shall find</div>
+<div class="verse">How blind we are, how blind! how blind!</div>
+<div class="verse">And how he'll laugh, who holds the key</div>
+<div class="verse">To the great portal's mystery!</div>
+<div class="verse">And how his joyous laugh will ring</div>
+<div class="verse">When you and I shall bid him fling</div>
+<div class="verse">The gates ajar for you and me!</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<div class="center spaced">XV.</div>
+<div class="verse">Let shadows flee athwart the lea</div>
+<div class="verse">When dark December strips the hedge</div>
+<div class="verse">Along the icy river's edge;</div>
+<div class="verse indent2">Yet, if you will forgive me, lass,</div>
+<div class="verse">The world shall bloom like spring to me,</div>
+<div class="verse indent2">Snow turn to dew upon the grass</div>
+<div class="verse indent2">And fagots blossom where you pass.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<div class="center spaced">XVI.</div>
+<div class="verse">Swallows shall sheer the frozen mere,</div>
+<div class="verse">Dead reeds along the mill-pond's rims</div>
+<div class="verse">Shall thrill with summer-thrushes' hymns,</div>
+<div class="verse indent2">While summer breezes blow apace,</div>
+<div class="verse">If you will but forgive me, dear,</div>
+<div class="verse indent2">And let me find a moment's grace,</div>
+<div class="verse indent2">In your sweet eyes and your dear face.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<div class="verse indent32">R. W. C.</div>
+</div></div></div>
+
+<p class="center spaced">THE END.</p>
+
+<hr /></div>
+
+<p class="center page-break" id="Corrections"><big>CORRECTIONS</big></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="corrections">
+<tr><td>page</td><td>original text</td><td>correction</td></tr>
+<tr><td><a href="#Cix">ix</a></td><td>[missing from contents]</td><td><span class="smcap">The Key to Grief</span> 185</td></tr>
+<tr><td><a href="#C013">13</a></td><td>Bannelec</td><td>Bannalec</td></tr>
+<tr><td><a href="#C023">23</a></td><td>Britons</td><td>Bretons</td></tr>
+<tr><td><a href="#C029">29</a></td><td>doxens</td><td>dozens</td></tr>
+<tr><td><a href="#C093">93</a></td><td>dated</td><td>darted</td></tr>
+<tr><td><a href="#C103">103</a><br /><a href="#C104">104</a><br /><a href="#C180">180</a><br />
+<a href="#C181a">181</a></td><td>beach</td><td>beech</td></tr>
+<tr><td><a href="#C135">135</a></td><td>Sacré</td><td>Sacrée</td></tr>
+<tr><td><a href="#C167">167</a></td><td>Jaques</td><td>Jacques</td></tr>
+<tr><td><a href="#C181">181</a></td><td>their</td><td>there</td></tr>
+</table>
+
+<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 46581 ***</div>
+</body>
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-Project Gutenberg's The Mystery of Choice, by Robert William Chambers

-

-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: The Mystery of Choice

-

-Author: Robert William Chambers

-

-Release Date: August 13, 2014 [EBook #46581]

-

-Language: English

-

-Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1

-

-*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MYSTERY OF CHOICE ***

-

-

-

-

-Produced by Robert Cicconetti and the Online Distributed

-Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was

-produced from images generously made available by The

-Internet Archive/American Libraries.)

-

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-

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-

-

-

-

-TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:

-

-Italics have been transcribed using _underscores_, small capitals as ALL

-CAPITALS. Inconsistencies in hyphenation and spelling have not been

-corrected. Punctuation has been silently corrected. A list of other

-corrections can be found at the end of the document.

-

-

-

-

-THE MYSTERY OF CHOICE

-

-

-BY ROBERT W. CHAMBERS

-

-AUTHOR OF THE KING IN YELLOW, THE RED REPUBLIC, A KING AND A FEW DUKES,

-THE MAKER OF MOONS, ETC.

-

-

-NEW YORK D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 1897

-

-

-

-

-COPYRIGHT, 1897,

-BY ROBERT W. CHAMBERS.

-

-

-

-

-_DEDICATION._

-

-

- _There is a maid, demure as she is wise,

-  With all of April in her winsome eyes,

-  And to my tales she listens pensively,

-  With slender fingers clasped about her knee,

-  Watching the sparrows on the balcony._

-

-   _Shy eyes that, lifted up to me,

-    Free all my heart of vanity;

-    Clear eyes, that speak all silently,

-    Sweet as the silence of a nunnery--

-    Read, for I write my rede for you alone,

-    Here where the city's mighty monotone

-    Deepens the silence to a symphony--

-    Silence of Saints, and Seers, and Sorcery._

-

- _Arms and the Man! A noble theme, I ween!

-  Alas! I can not sing of these, Eileen--

-  Only of maids and men and meadow-grass,

-  Of sea and fields and woodlands, where I pass;

-  Nothing but these I know, Eileen, alas!_

-

-   _Clear eyes that, lifted up to me,

-    Free all my soul from vanity;

-    Gray eyes, that speak all wistfully--

-    Nothing but these I know, alas!_

-

-                                       _R. W. C._

-

- _April, 1896._

-

-

-

-

-INTRODUCTION.

-

-

- _I._

-

- _Where two fair paths, deep flowered

-                        And leaf-embowered,

-  Creep East and West across a World concealed,

-  Which shall he take who journeys far afield?_

-

- _II._

-

- _Canst thou then say, "I go,"

-                        Or "I forego"?

-  What turns thee East or West, as thistles blow?

-  Is fair more fair than fair--and dost thou know?_

-

- _III._

-

- _Turn to the West, unblessed

-                        And uncaressed;

-  Turn to the East, and, seated at the Feast

-  Thou shalt find Life, or Death from Life released._

-

- _IV._

-

- _And thou who lovest best

-                        A maid dark-tressed,

-  And passest others by with careless eye,

-  Canst thou tell why thou choosest? Tell, then; why?_

-

-  _V._

-

- _So when thy kiss is given

-                        Or half-forgiven,

-  Why should she tremble, with her face flame-hot,

-  Or laugh and whisper, "Love, I tremble not"?_

-

- _VI._

-

- _Or when thy hand may catch

-                        A half-drawn latch,

-  What draws thee from the door, to turn and pass

-  Through streets unknown, dim, still, and choked with grass?_

-

- _VII._

-

- _What! Canst thou not foresee

-                        The Mystery?

-  Heed! For a Voice commands thy every deed!

-  And it hath sounded. And thou needs must heed!_

-

-                                       _R. W. C._

-

- _1896._

-

-

-

-

-CONTENTS.

-

-

-                               PAGE

-

-  THE PURPLE EMPEROR              1

-

-  POMPE FUNÈBRE                  39

-

-  THE MESSENGER                  47

-

-  THE WHITE SHADOW              109

-

-  PASSEUR                       175

-

-  THE KEY TO GRIEF              185

-

-  A MATTER OF INTEREST          213

-

-  ENVOI                         283

-

-

-

-

-THE PURPLE EMPEROR.

-

-

-

-

-THE PURPLE EMPEROR.

-

-  Un souvenir heureux est peut-être, sur terre,

-    Plus vrai que le bonheur.

-

-                                        A. DE MUSSET.

-

-

-I.

-

-The Purple Emperor watched me in silence. I cast again, spinning out

-six feet more of waterproof silk, and, as the line hissed through the

-air far across the pool, I saw my three flies fall on the water like

-drifting thistledown. The Purple Emperor sneered.

-

-"You see," he said, "I am right. There is not a trout in Brittany that

-will rise to a tailed fly."

-

-"They do in America," I replied.

-

-"Zut! for America!" observed the Purple Emperor.

-

-"And trout take a tailed fly in England," I insisted sharply.

-

-"Now do I care what things or people do in England?" demanded the

-Purple Emperor.

-

-"You don't care for anything except yourself and your wriggling

-caterpillars," I said, more annoyed than I had yet been.

-

-The Purple Emperor sniffed. His broad, hairless, sunburnt features bore

-that obstinate expression which always irritated me. Perhaps the manner

-in which he wore his hat intensified the irritation, for the flapping

-brim rested on both ears, and the two little velvet ribbons which

-hung from the silver buckle in front wiggled and fluttered with every

-trivial breeze. His cunning eyes and sharp-pointed nose were out of all

-keeping with his fat red face. When he met my eye, he chuckled.

-

-"I know more about insects than any man in Morbihan--or Finistère

-either, for that matter," he said.

-

-"The Red Admiral knows as much as you do," I retorted.

-

-"He doesn't," replied the Purple Emperor angrily.

-

-"And his collection of butterflies is twice as large as yours," I

-added, moving down the stream to a spot directly opposite him.

-

-"It is, is it?" sneered the Purple Emperor. "Well, let me tell you,

-Monsieur Darrel, in all his collection he hasn't a specimen, a single

-specimen, of that magnificent butterfly, Apatura Iris, commonly known

-as the 'Purple Emperor.'"

-

-"Everybody in Brittany knows that," I said, casting across the

-sparkling water; "but just because you happen to be the only man who

-ever captured a 'Purple Emperor' in Morbihan, it doesn't follow that

-you are an authority on sea-trout flies. Why do you say that a Breton

-sea-trout won't touch a tailed fly?"

-

-"It's so," he replied.

-

-"Why? There are plenty of May-flies about the stream."

-

-"Let 'em fly!" snarled the Purple Emperor, "you won't see a trout touch

-'em."

-

-My arm was aching, but I grasped my split bamboo more firmly, and,

-half turning, waded out into the stream and began to whip the ripples

-at the head of the pool. A great green dragon-fly came drifting by on

-the summer breeze and hung a moment above the pool, glittering like an

-emerald.

-

-"There's a chance! Where is your butterfly net?" I called across the

-stream.

-

-"What for? That dragon-fly? I've got dozens--Anax Junius, Drury,

-characteristic, anal angle of posterior wings, in male, round; thorax

-marked with----"

-

-"That will do," I said fiercely. "Can't I point out an insect in

-the air without this burst of erudition? Can you tell me, in simple

-everyday French, what this little fly is--this one, flitting over the

-eel grass here beside me? See, it has fallen on the water."

-

-"Huh!" sneered the Purple Emperor, "that's a Linnobia annulus."

-

-"What's that?" I demanded.

-

-Before he could answer there came a heavy splash in the pool, and the

-fly disappeared.

-

-"He! he! he!" tittered the Purple Emperor. "Didn't I tell you the fish

-knew their business? That was a sea-trout. I hope you don't get him."

-

-He gathered up his butterfly net, collecting box, chloroform bottle,

-and cyanide jar. Then he rose, swung the box over his shoulder, stuffed

-the poison bottles into the pockets of his silver-buttoned velvet

-coat, and lighted his pipe. This latter operation was a demoralizing

-spectacle, for the Purple Emperor, like all Breton peasants, smoked one

-of those microscopical Breton pipes which requires ten minutes to find,

-ten minutes to fill, ten minutes to light, and ten seconds to finish.

-With true Breton stolidity he went through this solemn rite, blew three

-puffs of smoke into the air, scratched his pointed nose reflectively,

-and waddled away, calling back an ironical "Au revoir, and bad luck to

-all Yankees!"

-

-I watched him out of sight, thinking sadly of the young girl whose life

-he made a hell upon earth--Lys Trevec, his niece. She never admitted

-it, but we all knew what the black-and-blue marks meant on her soft,

-round arm, and it made me sick to see the look of fear come into her

-eyes when the Purple Emperor waddled into the café of the Groix Inn.

-

-It was commonly said that he half-starved her. This she denied. Marie

-Joseph and 'Fine Lelocard had seen him strike her the day after the

-Pardon of the Birds because she had liberated three bullfinches which

-he had limed the day before. I asked Lys if this were true, and she

-refused to speak to me for the rest of the week. There was nothing to

-do about it. If the Purple Emperor had not been avaricious, I should

-never have seen Lys at all, but he could not resist the thirty francs

-a week which I offered him; and Lys posed for me all day long, happy

-as a linnet in a pink thorn hedge. Nevertheless, the Purple Emperor

-hated me, and constantly threatened to send Lys back to her dreary

-flax-spinning. He was suspicious, too, and when he had gulped down

-the single glass of cider which proves fatal to the sobriety of most

-Bretons, he would pound the long, discoloured oaken table and roar

-curses on me, on Yves Terrec, and on the Red Admiral. We were the

-three objects in the world which he most hated: me, because I was a

-foreigner, and didn't care a rap for him and his butterflies; and the

-Red Admiral, because he was a rival entomologist.

-

-He had other reasons for hating Terrec.

-

-The Red Admiral, a little wizened wretch, with a badly adjusted

-glass eye and a passion for brandy, took his name from a butterfly

-which predominated in his collection. This butterfly, commonly known

-to amateurs as the "Red Admiral," and to entomologists as Vanessa

-Atalanta, had been the occasion of scandal among the entomologists of

-France and Brittany. For the Red Admiral had taken one of these common

-insects, dyed it a brilliant yellow by the aid of chemicals, and palmed

-it off on a credulous collector as a South African species, absolutely

-unique. The fifty francs which he gained by this rascality were,

-however, absorbed in a suit for damages brought by the outraged amateur

-a month later; and when he had sat in the Quimperlé jail for a month,

-he reappeared in the little village of St. Gildas soured, thirsty, and

-burning for revenge. Of course we named him the Red Admiral, and he

-accepted the name with suppressed fury.

-

-The Purple Emperor, on the other hand, had gained his imperial title

-legitimately, for it was an undisputed fact that the only specimen of

-that beautiful butterfly, Apatura Iris, or the Purple Emperor, as it

-is called by amateurs--the only specimen that had ever been taken in

-Finistère or in Morbihan--was captured and brought home alive by Joseph

-Marie Gloanec, ever afterward to be known as the Purple Emperor.

-

-When the capture of this rare butterfly became known the Red Admiral

-nearly went crazy. Every day for a week he trotted over to the Groix

-Inn, where the Purple Emperor lived with his niece, and brought his

-microscope to bear on the rare newly captured butterfly, in hopes of

-detecting a fraud. But this specimen was genuine, and he leered through

-his microscope in vain.

-

-"No chemicals there, Admiral," grinned the Purple Emperor; and the Red

-Admiral chattered with rage.

-

-To the scientific world of Brittany and France the capture of an

-Apatura Iris in Morbihan was of great importance. The Museum of Quimper

-offered to purchase the butterfly, but the Purple Emperor, though a

-hoarder of gold, was a monomaniac on butterflies, and he jeered at the

-Curator of the Museum. From all parts of Brittany and France letters

-of inquiry and congratulation poured in upon him. The French Academy

-of Sciences awarded him a prize, and the Paris Entomological Society

-made him an honorary member. Being a Breton peasant, and a more than

-commonly pig-headed one at that, these honours did not disturb his

-equanimity; but when the little hamlet of St. Gildas elected him mayor,

-and, as is the custom in Brittany under such circumstances, he left his

-thatched house to take up an official life in the little Groix Inn, his

-head became completely turned. To be mayor in a village of nearly one

-hundred and fifty people! It was an empire! So he became unbearable,

-drinking himself viciously drunk every night of his life, maltreating

-his niece, Lys Trevec, like the barbarous old wretch that he was, and

-driving the Red Admiral nearly frantic with his eternal harping on the

-capture of Apatura Iris. Of course he refused to tell where he had

-caught the butterfly. The Red Admiral stalked his footsteps, but in vain.

-

-"He! he! he!" nagged the Purple Emperor, cuddling his chin over a glass

-of cider; "I saw you sneaking about the St. Gildas spinny yesterday

-morning. So you think you can find another Apatura Iris by running

-after me? It won't do, Admiral, it won't do, d'ye see?"

-

-The Red Admiral turned yellow with mortification and envy, but the next

-day he actually took to his bed, for the Purple Emperor had brought

-home not a butterfly but a live chrysalis, which, if successfully

-hatched, would become a perfect specimen of the invaluable Apatura

-Iris. This was the last straw. The Red Admiral shut himself up in

-his little stone cottage, and for weeks now he had been invisible to

-everybody except 'Fine Lelocard who carried him a loaf of bread and a

-mullet or langouste every morning.

-

-The withdrawal of the Red Admiral from the society of St. Gildas

-excited first the derision and finally the suspicion of the Purple

-Emperor. What deviltry could he be hatching? Was he experimenting with

-chemicals again, or was he engaged in some deeper plot, the object

-of which was to discredit the Purple Emperor? Roux, the postman,

-who carried the mail on foot once a day from Bannalec, a distance of

-fifteen miles each way, had brought several suspicious letters, bearing

-English stamps, to the Red Admiral, and the next day the Admiral had

-been observed at his window grinning up into the sky and rubbing his

-hands together. A night or two after this apparition the postman left

-two packages at the Groix Inn for a moment while he ran across the way

-to drink a glass of cider with me. The Purple Emperor, who was roaming

-about the café, snooping into everything that did not concern him, came

-upon the packages and examined the postmarks and addresses. One of the

-packages was square and heavy, and felt like a book. The other was also

-square, but very light, and felt like a pasteboard box. They were both

-addressed to the Red Admiral, and they bore English stamps.

-

-When Roux, the postman, came back, the Purple Emperor tried to pump

-him, but the poor little postman knew nothing about the contents of the

-packages, and after he had taken them around the corner to the cottage

-of the Red Admiral the Purple Emperor ordered a glass of cider, and

-deliberately fuddled himself until Lys came in and tearfully supported

-him to his room. Here he became so abusive and brutal that Lys called

-to me, and I went and settled the trouble without wasting any words.

-This also the Purple Emperor remembered, and waited his chance to get

-even with me.

-

-That had happened a week ago, and until to-day he had not deigned to

-speak to me.

-

-Lys had posed for me all the week, and to-day being Saturday, and I

-lazy, we had decided to take a little relaxation, she to visit and

-gossip with her little black-eyed friend Yvette in the neighbouring

-hamlet of St. Julien, and I to try the appetites of the Breton trout

-with the contents of my American fly book.

-

-I had thrashed the stream very conscientiously for three hours, but not

-a trout had risen to my cast, and I was piqued. I had begun to believe

-that there were no trout in the St. Gildas stream, and would probably

-have given up had I not seen the sea trout snap the little fly which

-the Purple Emperor had named so scientifically. That set me thinking.

-Probably the Purple Emperor was right, for he certainly was an expert

-in everything that crawled and wriggled in Brittany. So I matched,

-from my American fly book, the fly that the sea trout had snapped up,

-and withdrawing the cast of three, knotted a new leader to the silk

-and slipped a fly on the loop. It was a queer fly. It was one of those

-unnameable experiments which fascinate anglers in sporting stores and

-which generally prove utterly useless. Moreover, it was a tailed fly,

-but of course I easily remedied that with a stroke of my penknife.

-Then I was all ready, and I stepped out into the hurrying rapids and

-cast straight as an arrow to the spot where the sea trout had risen.

-Lightly as a plume the fly settled on the bosom of the pool; then came

-a startling splash, a gleam of silver, and the line tightened from the

-vibrating rod-tip to the shrieking reel. Almost instantly I checked the

-fish, and as he floundered for a moment, making the water boil along

-his glittering sides, I sprang to the bank again, for I saw that the

-fish was a heavy one and I should probably be in for a long run down

-the stream. The five-ounce rod swept in a splendid circle, quivering

-under the strain. "Oh, for a gaff-hook!" I cried aloud, for I was now

-firmly convinced that I had a salmon to deal with, and no sea trout at

-all.

-

-Then as I stood, bringing every ounce to bear on the sulking fish, a

-lithe, slender girl came hurriedly along the opposite bank calling out

-to me by name.

-

-"Why, Lys!" I said, glancing up for a second, "I thought you were at

-St. Julien with Yvette."

-

-"Yvette has gone to Bannalec. I went home and found an awful fight

-going on at the Groix Inn, and I was so frightened that I came to tell

-you."

-

-The fish dashed off at that moment, carrying all the line my reel held,

-and I was compelled to follow him at a jump. Lys, active and graceful

-as a young deer, in spite of her Pont-Aven sabots, followed along the

-opposite bank until the fish settled in a deep pool, shook the line

-savagely once or twice, and then relapsed into the sulks.

-

-"Fight at the Groix Inn?" I called across the water. "What fight?"

-

-"Not exactly fight," quavered Lys, "but the Red Admiral has come out

-of his house at last, and he and my uncle are drinking together and

-disputing about butterflies. I never saw my uncle so angry, and the Red

-Admiral is sneering and grinning. Oh, it is almost wicked to see such

-a face!"

-

-"But Lys," I said, scarcely able to repress a smile, "your uncle and

-the Red Admiral are always quarrelling and drinking."

-

-"I know--oh, dear me!--but this is different, Monsieur Darrel. The Red

-Admiral has grown old and fierce since he shut himself up three weeks

-ago, and--oh, dear! I never saw such a look in my uncle's eyes before.

-He seemed insane with fury. His eyes--I can't speak of it--and then

-Terrec came in."

-

-"Oh," I said more gravely, "that was unfortunate. What did the Red

-Admiral say to his son?"

-

-Lys sat down on a rock among the ferns, and gave me a mutinous glance

-from her blue eyes.

-

-Yves Terrec, loafer, poacher, and son of Louis Jean Terrec, otherwise

-the Red Admiral, had been kicked out by his father, and had also been

-forbidden the village by the Purple Emperor, in his majestic capacity

-of mayor. Twice the young ruffian had returned: once to rifle the

-bedroom of the Purple Emperor--an unsuccessful enterprise--and another

-time to rob his own father. He succeeded in the latter attempt, but was

-never caught, although he was frequently seen roving about the forests

-and moors with his gun. He openly menaced the Purple Emperor; vowed

-that he would marry Lys in spite of all the gendarmes in Quimperlé;

-and these same gendarmes he led many a long chase through brier-filled

-swamps and over miles of yellow gorse.

-

-What he did to the Purple Emperor--what he intended to do--disquieted

-me but little; but I worried over his threat concerning Lys. During

-the last three months this had bothered me a great deal; for when Lys

-came to St. Gildas from the convent the first thing she captured was my

-heart. For a long time I had refused to believe that any tie of blood

-linked this dainty blue-eyed creature with the Purple Emperor. Although

-she dressed in the velvet-laced bodice and blue petticoat of Finistère,

-and wore the bewitching white coiffe of St. Gildas, it seemed like a

-pretty masquerade. To me she was as sweet and as gently bred as many a

-maiden of the noble Faubourg who danced with her cousins at a Louis XV

-fête champêtre. So when Lys said that Yves Terrec had returned openly

-to St. Gildas, I felt that I had better be there also.

-

-"What did Terrec say, Lys?" I asked, watching the line vibrating above

-the placid pool.

-

-The wild rose colour crept into her cheeks. "Oh," she answered, with a

-little toss of her chin, "you know what he always says."

-

-"That he will carry you away?"

-

-"Yes."

-

-"In spite of the Purple Emperor, the Red Admiral, and the gendarmes?"

-

-"Yes."

-

-"And what do you say, Lys?"

-

-"I? Oh, nothing."

-

-"Then let me say it for you."

-

-Lys looked at her delicate pointed sabots, the sabots from Pont-Aven,

-made to order. They fitted her little foot. They were her only luxury.

-

-"Will you let me answer for you, Lys?" I asked.

-

-"You, Monsieur Darrel?"

-

-"Yes. Will you let me give him his answer?"

-

-"Mon Dieu, why should you concern yourself, Monsieur Darrel?"

-

-The fish lay very quiet, but the rod in my hand trembled.

-

-"Because I love you, Lys."

-

-The wild rose colour in her cheeks deepened; she gave a gentle gasp,

-then hid her curly head in her hands.

-

-"I love you, Lys."

-

-"Do you know what you say?" she stammered.

-

-"Yes, I love you."

-

-She raised her sweet face and looked at me across the pool.

-

-"I love you," she said, while the tears stood like stars in her eyes.

-"Shall I come over the brook to you?"

-

-

-II.

-

-That night Yves Terrec left the village of St. Gildas vowing vengeance

-against his father, who refused him shelter.

-

-I can see him now, standing in the road, his bare legs rising like

-pillars of bronze from his straw-stuffed sabots, his short velvet

-jacket torn and soiled by exposure and dissipation, and his eyes,

-fierce, roving, bloodshot--while the Red Admiral squeaked curses on

-him, and hobbled away into his little stone cottage.

-

-"I will not forget you!" cried Yves Terrec, and stretched out his hand

-toward his father with a terrible gesture. Then he whipped his gun to

-his cheek and took a short step forward, but I caught him by the throat

-before he could fire, and a second later we were rolling in the dust

-of the Bannalec road. I had to hit him a heavy blow behind the ear

-before he would let go, and then, rising and shaking myself, I dashed

-his muzzle-loading fowling piece to bits against a wall, and threw his

-knife into the river. The Purple Emperor was looking on with a queer

-light in his eyes. It was plain that he was sorry Terrec had not choked

-me to death.

-

-"He would have killed his father," I said, as I passed him, going

-toward the Groix Inn.

-

-"That's his business," snarled the Purple Emperor. There was a deadly

-light in his eyes. For a moment I thought he was going to attack me;

-but he was merely viciously drunk, so I shoved him out of my way and

-went to bed, tired and disgusted.

-

-The worst of it was I couldn't sleep, for I feared that the Purple

-Emperor might begin to abuse Lys. I lay restlessly tossing among the

-sheets until I could stay there no longer. I did not dress entirely;

-I merely slipped on a pair of chaussons and sabots, a pair of

-knickerbockers, a jersey, and a cap. Then, loosely tying a handkerchief

-about my throat, I went down the worm-eaten stairs and out into the

-moonlit road. There was a candle flaring in the Purple Emperor's

-window, but I could not see him.

-

-"He's probably dead drunk," I thought, and looked up at the window

-where, three years before, I had first seen Lys.

-

-"Asleep, thank Heaven!" I muttered, and wandered out along the road.

-Passing the small cottage of the Red Admiral, I saw that it was dark,

-but the door was open. I stepped inside the hedge to shut it, thinking,

-in case Yves Terrec should be roving about, his father would lose

-whatever he had left.

-

-Then, after fastening the door with a stone, I wandered on through the

-dazzling Breton moonlight. A nightingale was singing in a willow swamp

-below, and from the edge of the mere, among the tall swamp grasses,

-myriads of frogs chanted a bass chorus.

-

-When I returned, the eastern sky was beginning to lighten, and across

-the meadows on the cliffs, outlined against the paling horizon, I saw

-a seaweed gatherer going to his work among the curling breakers on the

-coast. His long rake was balanced on his shoulder, and the sea wind

-carried his song across the meadows to me:

-

-    St. Gildas!

-    St. Gildas!

-    Pray for us,

-    Shelter us,

-  Us who toil in the sea.

-

-Passing the shrine at the entrance of the village, I took off my cap

-and knelt in prayer to Our Lady of Faöuet; and if I neglected myself

-in that prayer, surely I believed Our Lady of Faöuet would be kinder to

-Lys. It is said that the shrine casts white shadows. I looked, but saw

-only the moonlight. Then very peacefully I went to bed again, and was

-only awakened by the clank of sabres and the trample of horses in the

-road below my window.

-

-"Good gracious!" I thought, "it must be eleven o'clock, for there are

-the gendarmes from Quimperlé."

-

-I looked at my watch; it was only half-past eight, and as the gendarmes

-made their rounds every Thursday at eleven, I wondered what had brought

-them out so early to St. Gildas.

-

-"Of course," I grumbled, rubbing my eyes, "they are after Terrec," and

-I jumped into my limited bath.

-

-Before I was completely dressed I heard a timid knock, and opening my

-door, razor in hand, stood astonished and silent. Lys, her blue eyes

-wide with terror, leaned on the threshold.

-

-"My darling!" I cried, "what on earth is the matter?" But she

-only clung to me, panting like a wounded sea gull. At last, when I

-drew her into the room and raised her face to mine, she spoke in a

-heart-breaking voice:

-

-"Oh, Dick! they are going to arrest you, but I will die before I

-believe one word of what they say. No, don't ask me," and she began to

-sob desperately.

-

-When I found that something really serious was the matter, I flung

-on my coat and cap, and, slipping one arm about her waist, went down

-the stairs and out into the road. Four gendarmes sat on their horses

-in front of the café door; beyond them, the entire population of St.

-Gildas gaped, ten deep.

-

-"Hello, Durand!" I said to the brigadier, "what the devil is this I

-hear about arresting me?"

-

-"It's true, mon ami," replied Durand with sepulchral sympathy. I looked

-him over from the tip of his spurred boots to his sulphur-yellow sabre

-belt, then upward, button by button, to his disconcerted face.

-

-"What for?" I said scornfully. "Don't try any cheap sleuth work on me!

-Speak up, man, what's the trouble?"

-

-The Purple Emperor, who sat in the doorway staring at me, started to

-speak, but thought better of it and got up and went into the house. The

-gendarmes rolled their eyes mysteriously and looked wise.

-

-"Come, Durand," I said impatiently, "what's the charge?"

-

-"Murder," he said in a faint voice.

-

-"What!" I cried incredulously. "Nonsense! Do I look like a murderer?

-Get off your horse, you stupid, and tell me who's murdered."

-

-Durand got down, looking very silly, and came up to me, offering his

-hand with a propitiatory grin.

-

-"It was the Purple Emperor who denounced you! See, they found your

-handkerchief at his door----"

-

-"Whose door, for Heaven's sake?" I cried.

-

-"Why, the Red Admiral's!"

-

-"The Red Admiral's? What has he done?"

-

-"Nothing--he's only been murdered."

-

-I could scarcely believe my senses, although they took me over to the

-little stone cottage and pointed out the blood-spattered room. But

-the horror of the thing was that the corpse of the murdered man had

-disappeared, and there only remained a nauseating lake of blood on

-the stone floor, in the centre of which lay a human hand. There was

-no doubt as to whom the hand belonged, for everybody who had ever seen

-the Red Admiral knew that the shrivelled bit of flesh which lay in the

-thickening blood was the hand of the Red Admiral. To me it looked like

-the severed claw of some gigantic bird.

-

-"Well," I said, "there's been murder committed. Why don't you do

-something?"

-

-"What?" asked Durand.

-

-"I don't know. Send for the Commissaire."

-

-"He's at Quimperlé. I telegraphed."

-

-"Then send for a doctor, and find out how long this blood has been

-coagulating."

-

-"The chemist from Quimperlé is here; he's a doctor."

-

-"What does he say?"

-

-"He says that he doesn't know."

-

-"And who are you going to arrest?" I inquired, turning away from the

-spectacle on the floor.

-

-"I don't know," said the brigadier solemnly; "you are denounced by the

-Purple Emperor, because he found your handkerchief at the door when he

-went out this morning."

-

-"Just like a pig-headed Breton!" I exclaimed, thoroughly angry. "Did he

-not mention Yves Terrec?"

-

-"No."

-

-"Of course not," I said. "He overlooked the fact that Terrec tried to

-shoot his father last night, and that I took away his gun. All that

-counts for nothing when he finds my handkerchief at the murdered man's

-door."

-

-"Come into the café," said Durand, much disturbed, "we can talk it

-over, there. Of course, Monsieur Darrel, I have never had the faintest

-idea that you were the murderer!"

-

-The four gendarmes and I walked across the road to the Groix Inn and

-entered the café. It was crowded with Bretons, smoking, drinking,

-and jabbering in half a dozen dialects, all equally unsatisfactory to

-a civilized ear; and I pushed through the crowd to where little Max

-Fortin, the chemist of Quimperlé, stood smoking a vile cigar.

-

-"This is a bad business," he said, shaking hands and offering me the

-mate to his cigar, which I politely declined.

-

-"Now, Monsieur Fortin," I said, "it appears that the Purple Emperor

-found my handkerchief near the murdered man's door this morning, and

-so he concludes"--here I glared at the Purple Emperor--"that I am the

-assassin. I will now ask him a question," and turning on him suddenly,

-I shouted, "What were you doing at the Red Admiral's door?"

-

-The Purple Emperor started and turned pale, and I pointed at him

-triumphantly.

-

-"See what a sudden question will do. Look how embarrassed he is,

-and yet I do not charge him with murder; and I tell you, gentlemen,

-that man there knows as well as I do who was the murderer of the Red

-Admiral!"

-

-"I don't!" bawled the Purple Emperor.

-

-"You do," I said. "It was Yves Terrec."

-

-"I don't believe it," he said obstinately, dropping his voice.

-

-"Of course not, being pig-headed."

-

-"I am not pig-headed," he roared again, "but I am mayor of St. Gildas,

-and I do not believe that Yves Terrec killed his father."

-

-"You saw him try to kill him last night?"

-

-The mayor grunted.

-

-"And you saw what I did."

-

-He grunted again.

-

-"And," I went on, "you heard Yves Terrec threaten to kill his father.

-You heard him curse the Red Admiral and swear to kill him. Now the

-father is murdered and his body is gone."

-

-"And your handkerchief?" sneered the Purple Emperor.

-

-"I dropped it, of course."

-

-"And the seaweed gatherer who saw you last night lurking about the Red

-Admiral's cottage," grinned the Purple Emperor.

-

-I was startled at the man's malice.

-

-"That will do," I said. "It is perfectly true that I was walking on the

-Bannalec road last night, and that I stopped to close the Red Admiral's

-door, which was ajar, although his light was not burning. After that

-I went up the road to the Dinez Woods, and then walked over by St.

-Julien, whence I saw the seaweed gatherer on the cliffs. He was near

-enough for me to hear what he sang. What of that?"

-

-"What did you do then?"

-

-"Then I stopped at the shrine and said a prayer, and then I went to

-bed and slept until Brigadier Durand's gendarmes awoke me with their

-clatter."

-

-"Now, Monsieur Darrel," said the Purple Emperor, lifting a fat finger

-and shooting a wicked glance at me, "Now, Monsieur Darrel, which did

-you wear last night on your midnight stroll--sabots or shoes?"

-

-I thought a moment. "Shoes--no, sabots. I just slipped on my chaussons

-and went out in my sabots."

-

-"Which was it, shoes or sabots?" snarled the Purple Emperor.

-

-"Sabots, you fool."

-

-"Are these your sabots?" he asked, lifting up a wooden shoe with my

-initials cut on the instep.

-

-"Yes," I replied.

-

-"Then how did this blood come on the other one?" he shouted, and

-held up a sabot, the mate to the first, on which a drop of blood had

-spattered.

-

-"I haven't the least idea," I said calmly; but my heart was beating

-very fast and I was furiously angry.

-

-"You blockhead!" I said, controlling my rage, "I'll make you pay for

-this when they catch Yves Terrec and convict him. Brigadier Durand, do

-your duty if you think I am under suspicion. Arrest me, but grant me

-one favour. Put me in the Red Admiral's cottage, and I'll see whether

-I can't find some clew that you have overlooked. Of course, I won't

-disturb anything until the Commissaire arrives. Bah! You all make me

-very ill."

-

-"He's hardened," observed the Purple Emperor, wagging his head.

-

-"What motive had I to kill the Red Admiral?" I asked them all

-scornfully. And they all cried:

-

-"None! Yves Terrec is the man!"

-

-Passing out of the door I swung around and shook my finger at the

-Purple Emperor.

-

-"Oh, I'll make you dance for this, my friend," I said; and I followed

-Brigadier Durand across the street to the cottage of the murdered man.

-

-

-III.

-

-They took me at my word and placed a gendarme with a bared sabre at the

-gateway by the hedge.

-

-"Give me your parole," said poor Durand, "and I will let you go

-where you wish." But I refused, and began prowling about the cottage

-looking for clews. I found lots of things that some people would have

-considered most important, such as ashes from the Red Admiral's pipe,

-footprints in a dusty vegetable bin, bottles smelling of Pouldu cider,

-and dust--oh, lots of dust!--but I was not an expert, only a stupid,

-everyday amateur; so I defaced the footprints with my thick shooting

-boots, and I declined to examine the pipe ashes through a microscope,

-although the Red Admiral's microscope stood on the table close at hand.

-

-At last I found what I had been looking for, some long wisps of straw,

-curiously depressed and flattened in the middle, and I was certain

-I had found the evidence that would settle Yves Terrec for the rest

-of his life. It was plain as the nose on your face. The straws were

-sabot straws, flattened where the foot had pressed them, and sticking

-straight out where they projected beyond the sabot. Now nobody in

-St. Gildas used straw in sabots except a fisherman who lived near St.

-Julien, and the straw in his sabots was ordinary yellow wheat straw!

-This straw, or rather these straws, were from the stalks of the red

-wheat which only grows inland, and which, everybody in St. Gildas

-knew, Yves Terrec wore in his sabots. I was perfectly satisfied; and

-when, three hours later, a hoarse shouting from the Bannalec Road

-brought me to the window, I was not surprised to see Yves Terrec,

-bloody, dishevelled, hatless, with his strong arms bound behind him,

-walking with bent head between two mounted gendarmes. The crowd around

-him swelled every minute, crying: "Parricide! parricide! Death to the

-murderer!" As he passed my window I saw great clots of mud on his dusty

-sabots, from the heels of which projected wisps of red wheat straw.

-Then I walked back into the Red Admiral's study, determined to find

-what the microscope would show on the wheat straws. I examined each

-one very carefully, and then, my eyes aching, I rested my chin on my

-hand and leaned back in the chair. I had not been as fortunate as some

-detectives, for there was no evidence that the straws had ever been

-used in a sabot at all. Furthermore, directly across the hallway stood

-a carved Breton chest, and now I noticed for the first time that, from

-beneath the closed lid, dozens of similar red wheat straws projected,

-bent exactly as mine were bent by the weight of the lid.

-

-I yawned in disgust. It was apparent that I was not cut out for a

-detective, and I bitterly pondered over the difference between clews in

-real life and clews in a detective story. After a while I rose, walked

-over to the chest and opened the lid. The interior was wadded with

-the red wheat straws, and on this wadding lay two curious glass jars,

-two or three small vials, several empty bottles labelled chloroform, a

-collecting jar of cyanide of potassium, and a book. In a farther corner

-of the chest were some letters bearing English stamps, and also the

-torn coverings of two parcels, all from England, and all directed to

-the Red Admiral under his proper name of "Sieur Louis Jean Terrec, St.

-Gildas, par Moëlan, Finistère."

-

-All these traps I carried over to the desk, shut the lid of the chest,

-and sat down to read the letters. They were written in commercial

-French, evidently by an Englishman.

-

-Freely translated, the contents of the first letter were as follows:

-

-                                        "LONDON, _June 12, 1894_.

-

-     "DEAR MONSIEUR (_sic_): Your kind favour of the 19th inst.

-     received and contents noted. The latest work on the

-     Lepidoptera of England is Blowzer's How to catch British

-     Butterflies, with notes and tables, and an introduction by

-     Sir Thomas Sniffer. The price of this work (in one volume,

-     calf) is £5 or 125 francs of French money. A post-office

-     order will receive our prompt attention. We beg to remain,

-

-                               "Yours, etc.,

-                                      "FRADLEY & TOOMER,

-                               "470 Regent Square, London, S. W."

-

-The next letter was even less interesting. It merely stated that the

-money had been received and the book would be forwarded. The third

-engaged my attention, and I shall quote it, the translation being a

-free one:

-

-     "DEAR SIR: Your letter of the 1st of July was duly received,

-     and we at once referred it to Mr. Fradley himself. Mr. Fradley

-     being much interested in your question, sent your letter to

-     Professor Schweineri, of the Berlin Entomological Society,

-     whose note Blowzer refers to on page 630, in his How to catch

-     British Butterflies. We have just received an answer from

-     Professor Schweineri, which we translate into French--(see

-     inclosed slip). Professor Schweineri begs to present to you

-     two jars of cythyl, prepared under his own supervision. We

-     forward the same to you. Trusting that you will find

-     everything satisfactory, we remain,

-

-                                        "Yours sincerely,

-                                              "FRADLEY & TOOMER."

-

-The inclosed slip read as follows:

-

-     "Messrs. FRADLEY & TOOMER,

-

-     "GENTLEMEN: Cythaline, a complex hydrocarbon, was first used

-     by Professor Schnoot, of Antwerp, a year ago. I discovered

-     an analogous formula about the same time and named it cythyl.

-     I have used it with great success everywhere. It is as

-     certain as a magnet. I beg to present you three small jars,

-     and would be pleased to have you forward two of them to your

-     correspondent in St. Gildas with my compliments. Blowzer's

-     quotation of me, on page 630 of his glorious work, How to

-     catch British Butterflies, is correct.

-

-                               "Yours, etc.,

-                                      "HEINRICH SCHWEINERI,

-                                        P.H.D., D.D., D.S., M.S."

-

-When I had finished this letter I folded it up and put it into my

-pocket with the others. Then I opened Blowzer's valuable work, How to

-catch British Butterflies, and turned to page 630.

-

-Now, although the Red Admiral could only have acquired the book very

-recently, and although all the other pages were perfectly clean, this

-particular page was thumbed black, and heavy pencil marks inclosed a

-paragraph at the bottom of the page. This is the paragraph:

-

-     "Professor Schweineri says: 'Of the two old methods used by

-     collectors for the capture of the swift-winged, high-flying

-     Apatura Iris, or Purple Emperor, the first, which was using a

-     long-handled net, proved successful once in a thousand times;

-     and the second, the placing of bait upon the ground, such as

-     decayed meat, dead cats, rats, etc., was not only disagreeable,

-     even for an enthusiastic collector, but also very uncertain.

-     Once in five hundred times would the splendid butterfly leave

-     the tops of his favourite oak trees to circle about the fetid

-     bait offered. I have found cythyl a perfectly sure bait to

-     draw this beautiful butterfly to the ground, where it can be

-     easily captured. An ounce of cythyl placed in a yellow saucer

-     under an oak tree, will draw to it every Apatura Iris within

-     a radius of twenty miles. So, if any collector who possesses

-     a little cythyl, even though it be in a sealed bottle in his

-     pocket--if such a collector does not find a single Apatura

-     Iris fluttering close about him within an hour, let him be

-     satisfied that the Apatura Iris does not inhabit his country.'"

-

-When I had finished reading this note I sat for a long while thinking

-hard. Then I examined the two jars. They were labelled "_Cythyl_." One

-was full, the other _nearly full_. "The rest must be on the corpse

-of the Red Admiral," I thought, "no matter if it is in a corked

-bottle----"

-

-I took all the things back to the chest, laid them carefully on the

-straw, and closed the lid. The gendarme sentinel at the gate saluted me

-respectfully as I crossed over to the Groix Inn. The Inn was surrounded

-by an excited crowd, and the hallway was choked with gendarmes and

-peasants. On every side they greeted me cordially, announcing that the

-real murderer was caught; but I pushed by them without a word and ran

-upstairs to find Lys. She opened her door when I knocked and threw both

-arms about my neck. I took her to my breast and kissed her. After a

-moment I asked her if she would obey me no matter what I commanded, and

-she said she would, with a proud humility that touched me.

-

-"Then go at once to Yvette in St. Julien," I said. "Ask her to harness

-the dog-cart and drive you to the convent in Quimperlé. Wait for me

-there. Will you do this without questioning me, my darling?"

-

-She raised her face to mine. "Kiss me," she said innocently; the next

-moment she had vanished.

-

-I walked deliberately into the Purple Emperor's room and peered into

-the gauze-covered box which had held the chrysalis of Apatura Iris. It

-was as I expected. The chrysalis was empty and transparent, and a great

-crack ran down the middle of its back, but, on the netting inside the

-box, a magnificent butterfly slowly waved its burnished purple wings;

-for the chrysalis had given up its silent tenant, the butterfly symbol

-of immortality. Then a great fear fell upon me. I know now that it was

-the fear of the Black Priest, but neither then nor for years after did

-I know that the Black Priest had ever lived on earth. As I bent over

-the box I heard a confused murmur outside the house which ended in

-a furious shout of "Parricide!" and I heard the gendarmes ride away

-behind a wagon which rattled sharply on the flinty highway. I went

-to the window. In the wagon sat Yves Terrec, bound and wild-eyed, two

-gendarmes at either side of him, and all around the wagon rode mounted

-gendarmes whose bared sabres scarcely kept the crowd away.

-

-"Parricide!" they howled. "Let him die!"

-

-I stepped back and opened the gauze-covered box. Very gently but firmly

-I took the splendid butterfly by its closed fore wings and lifted it

-unharmed between my thumb and forefinger. Then, holding it concealed

-behind my back, I went down into the café.

-

-Of all the crowd that had filled it, shouting for the death of Yves

-Terrec, only three persons remained seated in front of the huge empty

-fireplace. They were the Brigadier Durand, Max Fortin, the chemist

-of Quimperlé, and the Purple Emperor. The latter looked abashed when

-I entered, but I paid no attention to him and walked straight to the

-chemist.

-

-"Monsieur Fortin," I said, "do you know much about hydrocarbons?"

-

-"They are my specialty," he said astonished.

-

-"Have you ever heard of such a thing as cythyl?"

-

-"Schweineri's cythyl? Oh, yes! We use it in perfumery."

-

-"Good!" I said. "Has it an odour?"

-

-"No--and, yes. One is always aware of its presence, but really nobody

-can affirm it has an odour. It is curious," he continued, looking at

-me, "it is very curious you should have asked me that, for all day I

-have been imagining I detected the presence of cythyl."

-

-"Do you imagine so now?" I asked.

-

-"Yes, more than ever."

-

-I sprang to the front door and tossed out the butterfly. The splendid

-creature beat the air for a moment, flitted uncertainly hither

-and thither, and then, to my astonishment, sailed majestically

-back into the café and alighted on the hearthstone. For a moment

-I was nonplussed, but when my eyes rested on the Purple Emperor I

-comprehended in a flash.

-

-"Lift that hearthstone!" I cried to the Brigadier Durand; "pry it up

-with your scabbard!"

-

-The Purple Emperor suddenly fell forward in his chair, his face ghastly

-white, his jaw loose with terror.

-

-"What is cythyl?" I shouted, seizing him by the arm; but he plunged

-heavily from his chair, face downward on the floor, and at the same

-moment a cry from the chemist made me turn. There stood the Brigadier

-Durand, one hand supporting the hearthstone, one hand raised in horror.

-There stood Max Fortin, the chemist, rigid with excitement, and below,

-in the hollow bed where the hearthstone had rested, lay a crushed mass

-of bleeding human flesh, from the midst of which stared a cheap glass

-eye. I seized the Purple Emperor and dragged him to his feet.

-

-"Look!" I cried; "look at your old friend, the Red Admiral!" but he

-only smiled in a vacant way, and rolled his head muttering; "Bait for

-butterflies! Cythyl! Oh, no, no, no! You can't do it, Admiral, d'ye

-see. I alone own the Purple Emperor! I alone am the Purple Emperor!"

-

-And the same carriage that bore me to Quimperlé to claim my bride,

-carried him to Quimper, gagged and bound, a foaming, howling lunatic.

-

-       *       *       *       *       *

-

-This, then, is the story of the Purple Emperor. I might tell you a

-pleasanter story if I chose; but concerning the fish that I had hold

-of, whether it was a salmon, a grilse, or a sea trout, I may not say,

-because I have promised Lys, and she has promised me, that no power on

-earth shall wring from our lips the mortifying confession that the fish

-escaped.

-

-

-

-

-POMPE FUNÈBRE.

-

-

-            A wind-swept sky,

-  The waste of moorland stretching to the west;

-  The sea, low moaning in a strange unrest--

-            A seagull's cry.

-

-            Washed by the tide,

-  The rocks lie sullen in the waning light;

-  The foam breaks in long strips of hungry white,

-            Dissatisfied.

-

-                                        BATEMAN.

-

-

-

-

-POMPE FUNÈBRE.

-

-  In the days when the keepers of the house shall tremble.

-

-

-When I first saw the sexton he was standing motionless behind a stone.

-Presently he moved on again, pausing at times, and turning right and

-left with that nervous, jerky motion that always chills me.

-

-His path lay across the blighted moss and withered leaves scattered

-in moist layers along the bank of the little brown stream, and I,

-wondering what his errand might be, followed, passing silently over the

-rotting forest mould. Once or twice he heard me, for I saw him stop

-short, a blot of black and orange in the sombre woods; but he always

-started on again, hurrying at times as though the dead might grow

-impatient.

-

-For the sexton that I followed through the November forest was one

-of those small creatures that God has sent to bury little things that

-die alone in the world. Undertaker, sexton, mute, and gravedigger in

-one, this thing, robed in black and orange, buries all things that die

-unheeded by the world. And so they call it--this little beetle in black

-and orange--the "sexton."

-

-How he hurried! I looked up into the gray sky where ashen branches,

-interlaced, swayed in unfelt winds, and I heard the dry leaves rattle

-in the tree tops, and the thud of acorns on the mould. A sombre bird

-peered at me from a heap of brush, then ran pattering over the leaves.

-

-The sexton had reached a bit of broken ground, and was scuffling over

-sticks and gulleys toward a brown tuft of withered grass above. I dared

-not help him; besides, I could not bring myself to touch him, he was so

-horribly absorbed in his errand.

-

-I halted for a moment. The eagerness of this live creature to find his

-dead and handle it; the odour of death and decay in this little forest

-world, where I had waited for spring when Lys moved among the flowering

-gorse, singing like a throstle in the wind--all this troubled me, and

-I lagged behind.

-

-The sexton scrambled over the dead grass, raising his seared eyes at

-every wave of wind. The wind brought sadness with it, the scent of

-lifeless trees, the vague rustle of gorse buds, yellow and dry as paper

-flowers.

-

-Along the stream, rotting water plants, scorched and frost-blighted,

-lay massed above the mud. I saw their pallid stems swaying like worms

-in the listless current.

-

-The sexton had reached a mouldering stump, and now he seemed undecided.

-I sat down on a fallen tree, moist and bleached, that crumbled under

-my touch, leaving a stale odour in the air. Overhead a crow rose

-heavily and flapped out into the moorland; the wind rattled the stark

-blackthorns; a single drop of rain touched my cheek. I looked into the

-stream for some sign of life; there was nothing, except a shapeless

-creature that might have been a blindworm, lying belly upward on the

-mud bottom. I touched it with a stick. It was stiff and dead.

-

-The wind among the sham paperlike gorse buds filled the woods with a

-silken rustle. I put out my hand and touched a yellow blossom; it felt

-like an immortelle on a funeral pillow.

-

-The sexton had moved on again; something, perhaps a musty spider's web,

-had stuck to one leg, and he dragged it as he laboured on through the

-wood. Some little field mouse torn by weasel or kestrel, some crushed

-mole, some tiny dead pile of fur or feather, lay not far off, stricken

-by God or man or brother creature. And the sexton knew it--how, God

-knows! But he knew it, and hurried on to his tryst with the dead.

-

-His path now lay along the edge of a tidal inlet from the Groix River.

-I looked down at the gray water through the leafless branches, and I

-saw a small snake, head raised, swim from a submerged clot of weeds

-into the shadow of a rock. There was a curlew, too, somewhere in the

-black swamp, whose dreary, persistent call cursed the silence.

-

-I wondered when the sexton would fly; for he could fly if he chose; it

-is only when the dead are near, very near, that he creeps. The soiled

-mess of cobweb still stuck to him, and his progress was impeded by

-it. Once I saw a small brown and white spider, striped like a zebra,

-running swiftly in his tracks, but the sexton turned and raised his

-two clubbed forelegs in a horrid imploring attitude that still had

-something of menace under it. The spider backed away and sidled under

-a stone.

-

-When anything that is dying--sick and close to death--falls upon the

-face of the earth, something moves in the blue above, floating like

-a moat; then another, then others. These specks that grow out of the

-fathomless azure vault are jewelled flies. They come to wait for Death.

-

-The sexton also arranges rendezvous with Death, but never waits; Death

-must arrive the first.

-

-When the heavy clover is ablaze with painted wings, when bees hum and

-blunder among the white-thorn, or pass by like swift singing bullets,

-the sexton snaps open his black and orange wings and hums across the

-clover with the bees. Death in a scented garden, the tokens of the

-plague on a fair young breast, the gray flag of fear in the face of

-one who reels into the arms of Destruction, the sexton scrambling in

-the lap of spring, folding his sleek wings, unfolding them to ape the

-buzz of bees, passing over sweet clover tops to the putrid flesh that

-summons him--these things must be and will be to the end.

-

-The sexton was running now--running fast, trailing the cobweb over

-twigs and mud. The edge of the wood was near, for I could see the

-winter wheat, like green scenery in a theatre, stretching for miles

-across the cliffs, crude as painted grass. And as I crept through

-the brittle forest fringe, I saw a figure lying face downward in the

-wheat--a girl's slender form, limp, motionless.

-

-The sexton darted under her breast.

-

-Then I threw myself down beside her, crying, "Lys! Lys!" And as I

-cried, the icy rain burst out across the moors, and the trees dashed

-their stark limbs together till the whole spectral forest tossed and

-danced, and the wind roared among the cliffs.

-

-And through the Dance of Death Lys trembled in my arms, and sobbed and

-clung to me, murmuring that the Purple Emperor was dead; but the wind

-tore the words from her white lips, and flung them out across the sea,

-where the winter lightning lashed the stark heights of Groix.

-

-Then the fear of death was stilled in my soul, and I raised her from

-the ground, holding her close.

-

-And I saw the sexton, just beyond us, hurry across the ground and seek

-shelter under a little dead skylark, stiff-winged, muddy, lying alone

-in the rain.

-

-       *       *       *       *       *

-

-In the storm, above us, a bird hovered singing through the rain. It

-passed us twice, still singing, and as it passed again we saw the

-shadow it cast upon the world was whiter than snow.

-

-

-

-

-THE MESSENGER.

-

-

-  Little gray messenger,

-  Robed like painted Death,

-  Your robe is dust.

-  Whom do you seek

-  Among lilies and closed buds

-      At dusk?

-

-  Among lilies and closed buds

-      At dusk,

-  Whom do you seek,

-  Little gray messenger,

-  Robed in the awful panoply

-  Of painted Death?

-

-                                        R. W. C.

-

-

-

-

-THE MESSENGER.

-

-                All-wise,

-  Hast thou seen all there is to see with thy two eyes?

-    Dost thou know all there is to know, and so,

-                Omniscient,

-  Darest thou still to say thy brother lies?

-

-                                        R. W. C.

-

-"The bullet entered here," said Max Fortin, and he placed his middle

-finger over a smooth hole exactly in the centre of the forehead.

-

-I sat down upon a mound of dry seaweed and unslung my fowling piece.

-

-The little chemist cautiously felt the edges of the shot-hole, first

-with his middle finger, then with his thumb.

-

-"Let me see the skull again," said I.

-

-Max Fortin picked it up from the sod.

-

-"It's like all the others," he observed. I nodded, without offering to

-take it from him. After a moment he thoughtfully replaced it upon the

-grass at my feet.

-

-"It's like all the others," he repeated, wiping his glasses on his

-handkerchief. "I thought you might care to see one of the skulls, so

-I brought this over from the gravel pit. The men from Bannalec are

-digging yet. They ought to stop."

-

-"How many skulls are there altogether?" I inquired.

-

-"They found thirty-eight skulls; there are thirty-nine noted in the

-list. They lie piled up in the gravel pit on the edge of Le Bihan's

-wheat field. The men are at work yet. Le Bihan is going to stop them."

-

-"Let's go over," said I; and I picked up my gun and started across the

-cliffs, Fortin on one side, Môme on the other.

-

-"Who has the list?" I asked, lighting my pipe. "You say there is a

-list?"

-

-"The list was found rolled up in a brass cylinder," said the little

-chemist. He added: "You should not smoke here. You know that if a

-single spark drifted into the wheat----"

-

-"Ah, but I have a cover to my pipe," said I, smiling.

-

-Fortin watched me as I closed the pepper-box arrangement over the

-glowing bowl of the pipe. Then he continued:

-

-"The list was made out on thick yellow paper; the brass tube has

-preserved it. It is as fresh to-day as it was in 1760. You shall see

-it."

-

-"Is that the date?"

-

-"The list is dated 'April, 1760.' The Brigadier Durand has it. It is

-not written in French."

-

-"Not written in French!" I exclaimed.

-

-"No," replied Fortin solemnly, "it is written in Breton."

-

-"But," I protested, "the Breton language was never written or printed

-in 1760."

-

-"Except by priests," said the chemist.

-

-"I have heard of but one priest who ever wrote the Breton language," I

-began.

-

-Fortin stole a glance at my face.

-

-"You mean--the Black Priest?" he asked.

-

-I nodded.

-

-Fortin opened his mouth to speak again, hesitated, and finally shut his

-teeth obstinately over the wheat stem that he was chewing.

-

-"And the Black Priest?" I suggested encouragingly. But I knew it was

-useless; for it is easier to move the stars from their courses than

-to make an obstinate Breton talk. We walked on for a minute or two in

-silence.

-

-"Where is the Brigadier Durand?" I asked, motioning Môme to come out of

-the wheat, which he was trampling as though it were heather. As I spoke

-we came in sight of the farther edge of the wheat field and the dark,

-wet mass of cliffs beyond.

-

-"Durand is down there--you can see him; he stands just behind the Mayor

-of St. Gildas."

-

-"I see," said I; and we struck straight down, following a sun-baked

-cattle path across the heather.

-

-When we reached the edge of the wheat field, Le Bihan, the Mayor of St.

-Gildas, called to me, and I tucked my gun under my arm and skirted the

-wheat to where he stood.

-

-"Thirty-eight skulls," he said in his thin, high-pitched voice; "there

-is but one more, and I am opposed to further search. I suppose Fortin

-told you?"

-

-I shook hands with him, and returned the salute of the Brigadier Durand.

-

-"I am opposed to further search," repeated Le Bihan, nervously picking

-at the mass of silver buttons which covered the front of his velvet and

-broadcloth jacket like a breastplate of scale armour.

-

-Durand pursed up his lips, twisted his tremendous mustache, and hooked

-his thumbs in his sabre belt.

-

-"As for me," he said, "I am in favour of further search."

-

-"Further search for what--for the thirty-ninth skull?" I asked.

-

-Le Bihan nodded. Durand frowned at the sunlit sea, rocking like a bowl

-of molten gold from the cliffs to the horizon. I followed his eyes. On

-the dark glistening cliffs, silhouetted against the glare of the sea,

-sat a cormorant, black, motionless, its horrible head raised toward

-heaven.

-

-"Where is that list, Durand?" I asked.

-

-The gendarme rummaged in his despatch pouch and produced a brass

-cylinder about a foot long. Very gravely he unscrewed the head and

-dumped out a scroll of thick yellow paper closely covered with writing

-on both sides. At a nod from Le Bihan he handed me the scroll. But I

-could make nothing of the coarse writing, now faded to a dull brown.

-

-"Come, come, Le Bihan," I said impatiently, "translate it, won't you?

-You and Max Fortin make a lot of mystery out of nothing, it seems."

-

-Le Bihan went to the edge of the pit where the three Bannalec men were

-digging, gave an order or two in Breton, and turned to me.

-

-As I came to the edge of the pit the Bannalec men were removing

-a square piece of sail-cloth from what appeared to be a pile of

-cobblestones.

-

-"Look!" said Le Bihan shrilly. I looked. The pile below was a heap of

-skulls. After a moment I clambered down the gravel sides of the pit and

-walked over to the men of Bannalec. They saluted me gravely, leaning on

-their picks and shovels, and wiping their sweating faces with sunburned

-hands.

-

-"How many?" said I in Breton.

-

-"Thirty-eight," they replied.

-

-I glanced around. Beyond the heap of skulls lay two piles of human

-bones. Beside these was a mound of broken, rusted bits of iron and

-steel. Looking closer, I saw that this mound was composed of rusty

-bayonets, sabre blades, scythe blades, with here and there a tarnished

-buckle attached to a bit of leather hard as iron.

-

-I picked up a couple of buttons and a belt plate. The buttons bore the

-royal arms of England; the belt plate was emblazoned with the English

-arms, and also with the number "27."

-

-"I have heard my grandfather speak of the terrible English regiment,

-the 27th Foot, which landed and stormed the fort up there," said one of

-the Bannalec men.

-

-"Oh!" said I; "then these are the bones of English soldiers?"

-

-"Yes," said the men of Bannalec.

-

-Le Bihan was calling to me from the edge of the pit above, and I handed

-the belt plate and buttons to the men and climbed the side of the

-excavation.

-

-"Well," said I, trying to prevent Môme from leaping up and licking my

-face as I emerged from the pit, "I suppose you know what these bones

-are. What are you going to do with them?"

-

-"There was a man," said Le Bihan angrily, "an Englishman, who passed

-here in a dog-cart on his way to Quimper about an hour ago, and what do

-you suppose he wished to do?"

-

-"Buy the relics?" I asked, smiling.

-

-"Exactly--the pig!" piped the mayor of St. Gildas. "Jean Marie Tregunc,

-who found the bones, was standing there where Max Fortin stands, and do

-you know what he answered? He spat upon the ground, and said: 'Pig of

-an Englishman, do you take me for a desecrator of graves?'"

-

-I knew Tregunc, a sober, blue-eyed Breton, who lived from one year's

-end to the other without being able to afford a single bit of meat for

-a meal.

-

-"How much did the Englishman offer Tregunc?" I asked.

-

-"Two hundred francs for the skulls alone."

-

-I thought of the relic hunters and the relic buyers on the battlefields

-of our civil war.

-

-"Seventeen hundred and sixty is long ago," I said.

-

-"Respect for the dead can never die," said Fortin.

-

-"And the English soldiers came here to kill your fathers and burn your

-homes," I continued.

-

-"They were murderers and thieves, but--they are dead," said Tregunc,

-coming up from the beach below, his long sea rake balanced on his

-dripping jersey.

-

-"How much do you earn every year, Jean Marie?" I asked, turning to

-shake hands with him.

-

-"Two hundred and twenty francs, monsieur."

-

-"Forty-five dollars a year," I said. "Bah! you are worth more, Jean.

-Will you take care of my garden for me? My wife wished me to ask you.

-I think it would be worth one hundred francs a month to you and to me.

-Come on, Le Bihan--come along, Fortin--and you, Durand. I want somebody

-to translate that list into French for me."

-

-Tregunc stood gazing at me, his blue eyes dilated.

-

-"You may begin at once," I said, smiling, "if the salary suits you?"

-

-"It suits," said Tregunc, fumbling for his pipe in a silly way that

-annoyed Le Bihan.

-

-"Then go and begin your work," cried the mayor impatiently; and

-Tregunc started across the moors toward St. Gildas, taking off his

-velvet-ribboned cap to me and gripping his sea rake very hard.

-

-"You offer him more than my salary," said the mayor, after a moment's

-contemplation of his silver buttons.

-

-"Pooh!" said I, "what do you do for your salary except play dominoes

-with Max Fortin at the Groix Inn?"

-

-Le Bihan turned red, but Durand rattled his sabre and winked at Max

-Fortin, and I slipped my arm through the arm of the sulky magistrate,

-laughing.

-

-"There's a shady spot under the cliff," I said; "come on, Le Bihan, and

-read me what is in the scroll."

-

-In a few moments we reached the shadow of the cliff, and I threw myself

-upon the turf, chin on hand, to listen.

-

-The gendarme, Durand, also sat down, twisting his mustache into

-needlelike points. Fortin leaned against the cliff, polishing his

-glasses and examining us with vague, near-sighted eyes; and Le Bihan,

-the mayor, planted himself in our midst, rolling up the scroll and

-tucking it under his arm.

-

-"First of all," he began in a shrill voice, "I am going to light my

-pipe, and while lighting it I shall tell you what I have heard about

-the attack on the fort yonder. My father told me; his father told him."

-

-He jerked his head in the direction of the ruined fort, a small, square

-stone structure on the sea cliff, now nothing but crumbling walls. Then

-he slowly produced a tobacco pouch, a bit of flint and tinder, and a

-long-stemmed pipe fitted with a microscopical bowl of baked clay. To

-fill such a pipe requires ten minutes' close attention. To smoke it to

-a finish takes but four puffs. It is very Breton, this Breton pipe. It

-is the crystallization of everything Breton.

-

-"Go on," said I, lighting a cigarette.

-

-"The fort," said the mayor, "was built by Louis XIV, and was dismantled

-twice by the English. Louis XV restored it in 1739. In 1760 it was

-carried by assault by the English. They came across from the island

-of Groix--three shiploads--and they stormed the fort and sacked St.

-Julien yonder, and they started to burn St. Gildas--you can see the

-marks of their bullets on my house yet; but the men of Bannalec and the

-men of Lorient fell upon them with pike and scythe and blunderbuss,

-and those who did not run away lie there below in the gravel pit

-now--thirty-eight of them."

-

-"And the thirty-ninth skull?" I asked, finishing my cigarette.

-

-The mayor had succeeded in filling his pipe, and now he began to put

-his tobacco pouch away.

-

-"The thirty-ninth skull," he mumbled, holding the pipestem between his

-defective teeth--"the thirty-ninth skull is no business of mine. I have

-told the Bannalec men to cease digging."

-

-"But what is--whose is the missing skull?" I persisted curiously.

-

-The mayor was busy trying to strike a spark to his tinder. Presently he

-set it aglow, applied it to his pipe, took the prescribed four puffs,

-knocked the ashes out of the bowl, and gravely replaced the pipe in his

-pocket.

-

-"The missing skull?" he asked.

-

-"Yes," said I impatiently.

-

-The mayor slowly unrolled the scroll and began to read, translating

-from the Breton into French. And this is what he read:

-

-                                     "ON THE CLIFFS OF ST. GILDAS,

-

-                                            "_April 13, 1760_.

-

-     "On this day, by order of the Count of Soisic, general in

-     chief of the Breton forces now lying in Kerselec Forest, the

-     bodies of thirty-eight English soldiers of the 27th, 50th,

-     and 72d regiments of Foot were buried in this spot, together

-     with their arms and equipments."

-

-The mayor paused and glanced at me reflectively.

-

-"Go on, Le Bihan," I said.

-

-"With them," continued the mayor, turning the scroll and reading on the

-other side, "was buried the body of that vile traitor who betrayed the

-fort to the English. The manner of his death was as follows: By order

-of the most noble Count of Soisic, the traitor was first branded upon

-the forehead with the brand of an arrowhead. The iron burned through

-the flesh, and was pressed heavily so that the brand should even burn

-into the bone of the skull. The traitor was then led out and bidden to

-kneel. He admitted having guided the English from the island of Groix.

-Although a priest and a Frenchman, he had violated his priestly office

-to aid him in discovering the password to the fort. This password he

-extorted during confession from a young Breton girl who was in the

-habit of rowing across from the island of Groix to visit her husband

-in the fort. When the fort fell, this young girl, crazed by the death

-of her husband, sought the Count of Soisic and told how the priest had

-forced her to confess to him all she knew about the fort. The priest

-was arrested at St. Gildas as he was about to cross the river to

-Lorient. When arrested he cursed the girl, Marie Trevec----"

-

-"What!" I exclaimed, "Marie Trevec!"

-

-"Marie Trevec," repeated Le Bihan; "the priest cursed Marie Trevec, and

-all her family and descendants. He was shot as he knelt, having a mask

-of leather over his face, because the Bretons who composed the squad of

-execution refused to fire at a priest unless his face was concealed.

-The priest was l'Abbé Sorgue, commonly known as the Black Priest on

-account of his dark face and swarthy eyebrows. He was buried with a

-stake through his heart."

-

-Le Bihan paused, hesitated, looked at me, and handed the manuscript

-back to Durand. The gendarme took it and slipped it into the brass

-cylinder.

-

-"So," said I, "the thirty-ninth skull is the skull of the Black Priest."

-

-"Yes," said Fortin. "I hope they won't find it."

-

-"I have forbidden them to proceed," said the mayor querulously. "You

-heard me, Max Fortin."

-

-I rose and picked up my gun. Môme came and pushed his head into my hand.

-

-"That's a fine dog," observed Durand, also rising.

-

-"Why don't you wish to find his skull?" I asked Le Bihan. "It would be

-curious to see whether the arrow brand really burned into the bone."

-

-"There is something in that scroll that I didn't read to you," said the

-mayor grimly. "Do you wish to know what it is?"

-

-"Of course," I replied in surprise.

-

-"Give me the scroll again, Durand," he said; then he read from

-the bottom: "I, l'Abbé Sorgue, forced to write the above by my

-executioners, have written it in my own blood; and with it I leave my

-curse. My curse on St. Gildas, on Marie Trevec, and on her descendants.

-I will come back to St. Gildas when my remains are disturbed. Woe to

-that Englishman whom my branded skull shall touch!"

-

-"What rot!" I said. "Do you believe it was really written in his own

-blood?"

-

-"I am going to test it," said Fortin, "at the request of Monsieur le

-Maire. I am not anxious for the job, however."

-

-"See," said Le Bihan, holding out the scroll to me, "it is signed,

-'l'Abbé Sorgue.'"

-

-I glanced curiously over the paper.

-

-"It must be the Black Priest," I said. "He was the only man who wrote

-in the Breton language. This is a wonderfully interesting discovery,

-for now, at last, the mystery of the Black Priest's disappearance is

-cleared up. You will, of course, send this scroll to Paris, Le Bihan?"

-

-"No," said the mayor obstinately, "it shall be buried in the pit below

-where the rest of the Black Priest lies."

-

-I looked at him and recognised that argument would be useless. But

-still I said, "It will be a loss to history, Monsieur Le Bihan."

-

-"All the worse for history, then," said the enlightened Mayor of St.

-Gildas.

-

-We had sauntered back to the gravel pit while speaking. The men of

-Bannalec were carrying the bones of the English soldiers toward the

-St. Gildas cemetery, on the cliffs to the east, where already a knot of

-white-coiffed women stood in attitudes of prayer; and I saw the sombre

-robe of a priest among the crosses of the little graveyard.

-

-"They were thieves and assassins; they are dead now," muttered Max

-Fortin.

-

-"Respect the dead," repeated the Mayor of St. Gildas, looking after the

-Bannalec men.

-

-"It was written in that scroll that Marie Trevec, of Groix Island, was

-cursed by the priest--she and her descendants," I said, touching Le

-Bihan on the arm. "There was a Marie Trevec who married an Yves Trevec

-of St. Gildas----"

-

-"It is the same," said Le Bihan, looking at me obliquely.

-

-"Oh!" said I; "then they were ancestors of my wife."

-

-"Do you fear the curse?" asked Le Bihan.

-

-"What?" I laughed.

-

-"There was the case of the Purple Emperor," said Max Fortin timidly.

-

-Startled for a moment, I faced him, then shrugged my shoulders and

-kicked at a smooth bit of rock which lay near the edge of the pit,

-almost embedded in gravel.

-

-"Do you suppose the Purple Emperor drank himself crazy because he was

-descended from Marie Trevec?" I asked contemptuously.

-

-"Of course not," said Max Fortin hastily.

-

-"Of course not," piped the mayor. "I only---- Hello! what's that you're

-kicking?"

-

-"What?" said I, glancing down, at the same time involuntarily giving

-another kick. The smooth bit of rock dislodged itself and rolled out of

-the loosened gravel at my feet.

-

-"The thirty-ninth skull!" I exclaimed. "By jingo, its the noddle of the

-Black Priest! See! there is the arrowhead branded on the front!"

-

-The mayor stepped back. Max Fortin also retreated. There was a pause,

-during which I looked at them, and they looked anywhere but at me.

-

-"I don't like it," said the mayor at last, in a husky, high voice. "I

-don't like it! The scroll says he will come back to St. Gildas when his

-remains are disturbed. I--I don't like it, Monsieur Darrel----"

-

-"Bosh!" said I; "the poor wicked devil is where he can't get out. For

-Heaven's sake, Le Bihan, what is this stuff you are talking in the year

-of grace 1896?"

-

-The mayor gave me a look.

-

-"And he says 'Englishman.' You are an Englishman, Monsieur Darrel," he

-announced.

-

-"You know better. You know I'm an American."

-

-"It's all the same," said the Mayor of St. Gildas, obstinately.

-

-"No, it isn't!" I answered, much exasperated, and deliberately pushed

-the skull till it rolled into the bottom of the gravel pit below.

-

-"Cover it up," said I; "bury the scroll with it too, if you insist, but

-I think you ought to send it to Paris. Don't look so gloomy, Fortin,

-unless you believe in were-wolves and ghosts. Hey! what the--what

-the devil's the matter with you, anyway? What are you staring at, Le

-Bihan?"

-

-"Come, come," muttered the mayor in a low, tremulous voice, "it's time

-we got out of this. Did you see? Did you see, Fortin?"

-

-"I saw," whispered Max Fortin, pallid with fright.

-

-The two men were almost running across the sunny pasture now, and I

-hastened after them, demanding to know what was the matter.

-

-"Matter!" chattered the mayor, gasping with exasperation and terror.

-"The skull is rolling uphill again!" and he burst into a terrified

-gallop. Max Fortin followed close behind.

-

-I watched them stampeding across the pasture, then turned toward the

-gravel pit, mystified, incredulous. The skull was lying on the edge

-of the pit, exactly where it had been before I pushed it over the

-edge. For a second I stared at it; a singular chilly feeling crept up

-my spinal column, and I turned and walked away, sweat starting from

-the root of every hair on my head. Before I had gone twenty paces the

-absurdity of the whole thing struck me. I halted, hot with shame and

-annoyance, and retraced my steps.

-

-There lay the skull.

-

-"I rolled a stone down instead of the skull," I muttered to myself.

-Then with the butt of my gun I pushed the skull over the edge of the

-pit and watched it roll to the bottom; and as it struck the bottom

-of the pit, Môme, my dog, suddenly whipped his tail between his legs,

-whimpered, and made off across the moor.

-

-"Môme!" I shouted, angry and astonished; but the dog only fled the

-faster, and I ceased calling from sheer surprise.

-

-"What the mischief is the matter with that dog!" I thought. He had

-never before played me such a trick.

-

-Mechanically I glanced into the pit, but I could not see the skull. I

-looked down. The skull lay at my feet again, touching them.

-

-"Good heavens!" I stammered, and struck at it blindly with my gunstock.

-The ghastly thing flew into the air, whirling over and over, and rolled

-again down the sides of the pit to the bottom. Breathlessly I stared at

-it, then, confused and scarcely comprehending, I stepped back from the

-pit, still facing it, one, ten, twenty paces, my eyes almost starting

-from my head, as though I expected to see the thing roll up from the

-bottom of the pit under my very gaze. At last I turned my back to the

-pit and strode out across the gorse-covered moorland toward my home. As

-I reached the road that winds from St. Gildas to St. Julien I gave one

-hasty glance at the pit over my shoulder. The sun shone hot on the sod

-about the excavation. There was something white and bare and round on

-the turf at the edge of the pit. It might have been a stone; there were

-plenty of them lying about.

-

-

-II.

-

-When I entered my garden I saw Môme sprawling on the stone doorstep. He

-eyed me sideways and flopped his tail.

-

-"Are you not mortified, you idiot dog?" I said, looking about the upper

-windows for Lys.

-

-Môme rolled over on his back and raised one deprecating forepaw, as

-though to ward off calamity.

-

-"Don't act as though I was in the habit of beating you to death," I

-said, disgusted. I had never in my life raised whip to the brute. "But

-you are a fool dog," I continued. "No, you needn't come to be babied

-and wept over; Lys can do that, if she insists, but I am ashamed of

-you, and you can go to the devil."

-

-Môme slunk off into the house, and I followed, mounting directly to my

-wife's boudoir. It was empty.

-

-"Where has she gone?" I said, looking hard at Môme, who had followed

-me. "Oh! I see you don't know. Don't pretend you do. Come off that

-lounge! Do you think Lys wants tan-coloured hairs all over her lounge?"

-

-I rang the bell for Catherine and 'Fine, but they didn't know where

-"madame" had gone; so I went into my room, bathed, exchanged my

-somewhat grimy shooting clothes for a suit of warm, soft knickerbockers,

-and, after lingering some extra moments over my toilet--for I was

-particular, now that I had married Lys--I went down to the garden and

-took a chair out under the fig-trees.

-

-"Where can she be?" I wondered. Môme came sneaking out to be comforted,

-and I forgave him for Lys's sake, whereupon he frisked.

-

-"You bounding cur," said I, "now what on earth started you off across

-the moor? If you do it again I'll push you along with a charge of dust

-shot."

-

-As yet I had scarcely dared think about the ghastly hallucination of

-which I had been a victim, but now I faced it squarely, flushing a

-little with mortification at the thought of my hasty retreat from the

-gravel pit.

-

-"To think," I said aloud, "that those old woman's tales of Max Fortin

-and Le Bihan should have actually made me see what didn't exist at all!

-I lost my nerve like a schoolboy in a dark bedroom." For I knew now

-that I had mistaken a round stone for a skull each time, and had pushed

-a couple of big pebbles into the pit instead of the skull itself.

-

-"By jingo!" said I, "I'm nervous; my liver must be in a devil of a

-condition if I see such things when I'm awake! Lys will know what to

-give me."

-

-I felt mortified and irritated and sulky, and thought disgustedly of Le

-Bihan and Max Fortin.

-

-But after a while I ceased speculating, dismissed the mayor, the

-chemist, and the skull from my mind, and smoked pensively, watching the

-sun low dipping in the western ocean. As the twilight fell for a moment

-over ocean and moorland, a wistful, restless happiness filled my heart,

-the happiness that all men know--all men who have loved.

-

-Slowly the purple mist crept out over the sea; the cliffs darkened; the

-forest was shrouded.

-

-Suddenly the sky above burned with the afterglow, and the world was

-alight again.

-

-Cloud after cloud caught the rose dye; the cliffs were tinted with

-it; moor and pasture, heather and forest burned and pulsated with the

-gentle flush. I saw the gulls turning and tossing above the sand bar,

-their snowy wings tipped with pink; I saw the sea swallows sheering

-the surface of the still river, stained to its placid depths with warm

-reflections of the clouds. The twitter of drowsy hedge birds broke out

-in the stillness; a salmon rolled its shining side above tide-water.

-

-The interminable monotone of the ocean intensified the silence. I

-sat motionless, holding my breath as one who listens to the first low

-rumour of an organ. All at once the pure whistle of a nightingale cut

-the silence, and the first moonbeam silvered the wastes of mist-hung

-waters.

-

-I raised my head.

-

-Lys stood before me in the garden.

-

-When we had kissed each other, we linked arms and moved up and down

-the gravel walks, watching the moonbeams sparkle on the sand bar as

-the tide ebbed and ebbed. The broad beds of white pinks about us were

-atremble with hovering white moths; the October roses hung all abloom,

-perfuming the salt wind.

-

-"Sweetheart," I said, "where is Yvonne? Has she promised to spend

-Christmas with us?"

-

-"Yes, Dick; she drove me down from Plougat this afternoon. She sent her

-love to you. I am not jealous. What did you shoot?"

-

-"A hare and four partridges. They are in the gun room. I told Catherine

-not to touch them until you had seen them."

-

-Now I suppose I knew that Lys could not be particularly enthusiastic

-over game or guns; but she pretended she was, and always scornfully

-denied that it was for my sake and not for the pure love of sport. So

-she dragged me off to inspect the rather meagre game bag, and she paid

-me pretty compliments and gave a little cry of delight and pity as I

-lifted the enormous hare out of the sack by his ears.

-

-"He'll eat no more of our lettuce," I said, attempting to justify the

-assassination.

-

-"Unhappy little bunny--and what a beauty! O Dick, you are a splendid

-shot, are you not?"

-

-I evaded the question and hauled out a partridge.

-

-"Poor little dead things!" said Lys in a whisper; "it seems a

-pity--doesn't it, Dick? But then you are so clever----"

-

-"We'll have them broiled," I said guardedly; "tell Catherine."

-

-Catherine came in to take away the game, and presently 'Fine Lelocard,

-Lys's maid, announced dinner, and Lys tripped away to her boudoir.

-

-I stood an instant contemplating her blissfully, thinking, "My boy,

-you're the happiest fellow in the world--you're in love with your

-wife!"

-

-I walked into the dining room, beamed at the plates, walked out again;

-met Tregunc in the hallway, beamed on him; glanced into the kitchen,

-beamed at Catherine, and went up stairs, still beaming.

-

-Before I could knock at Lys's door it opened, and Lys came hastily out.

-When she saw me she gave a little cry of relief, and nestled close to

-my breast.

-

-"There is something peering in at my window," she said.

-

-"What!" I cried angrily.

-

-"A man, I think, disguised as a priest, and he has a mask on. He must

-have climbed up by the bay tree."

-

-I was down the stairs and out of doors in no time. The moonlit garden

-was absolutely deserted. Tregunc came up, and together we searched the

-hedge and shrubbery around the house and out to the road.

-

-"Jean Marie," said I at length, "loose my bulldog--he knows you--and

-take your supper on the porch where you can watch. My wife says the

-fellow is disguised as a priest, and wears a mask."

-

-Tregunc showed his white teeth in a smile. "He will not care to venture

-in here again, I think, Monsieur Darrel."

-

-I went back and found Lys seated quietly at the table.

-

-"The soup is ready, dear," she said. "Don't worry; it was only some

-foolish lout from Bannalec. No one in St. Gildas or St. Julien would do

-such a thing."

-

-I was too much exasperated to reply at first, but Lys treated it as a

-stupid joke, and after a while I began to look at it in that light.

-

-Lys told me about Yvonne, and reminded me of my promise to have Herbert

-Stuart down to meet her.

-

-"You wicked diplomat!" I protested. "Herbert is in Paris, and hard at

-work for the Salon."

-

-"Don't you think he might spare a week to flirt with the prettiest girl

-in Finistère?" inquired Lys innocently.

-

-"Prettiest girl! Not much!" I said.

-

-"Who is, then?" urged Lys.

-

-I laughed a trifle sheepishly.

-

-"I suppose you mean me, Dick," said Lys, colouring up.

-

-"Now I bore you, don't I?"

-

-"Bore me? Ah, no, Dick."

-

-After coffee and cigarettes were served I spoke about Tregunc, and Lys

-approved.

-

-"Poor Jean! he will be glad, won't he? What a dear fellow you are!"

-

-"Nonsense," said I; "we need a gardener; you said so yourself, Lys."

-

-But Lys leaned over and kissed me, and then bent down and hugged Môme,

-who whistled through his nose in sentimental appreciation.

-

-"I am a very happy woman," said Lys.

-

-"Môme was a very bad dog to-day," I observed.

-

-"Poor Môme!" said Lys, smiling.

-

-When dinner was over and Môme lay snoring before the blaze--for the

-October nights are often chilly in Finistère--Lys curled up in the

-chimney corner with her embroidery, and gave me a swift glance from

-under her drooping lashes.

-

-"You look like a schoolgirl, Lys," I said teasingly. "I don't believe

-you are sixteen yet."

-

-She pushed back her heavy burnished hair thoughtfully. Her wrist was as

-white as surf foam.

-

-"Have we been married four years? I don't believe it," I said.

-

-She gave me another swift glance and touched the embroidery on her

-knee, smiling faintly.

-

-"I see," said I, also smiling at the embroidered garment. "Do you think

-it will fit?"

-

-"Fit?" repeated Lys. Then she laughed.

-

-"And," I persisted, "are you perfectly sure that you--er--we shall need

-it?"

-

-"Perfectly," said Lys. A delicate colour touched her cheeks and neck.

-She held up the little garment, all fluffy with misty lace and wrought

-with quaint embroidery.

-

-"It is very gorgeous," said I; "don't use your eyes too much, dearest.

-May I smoke a pipe?"

-

-"Of course," she said, selecting a skein of pale blue silk.

-

-For a while I sat and smoked in silence, watching her slender fingers

-among the tinted silks and thread of gold.

-

-Presently she spoke: "What did you say your crest is, Dick?"

-

-"My crest? Oh, something or other rampant on a something or other----"

-

-"Dick!"

-

-"Dearest?"

-

-"Don't be flippant."

-

-"But I really forget. It's an ordinary crest; everybody in New York has

-them. No family should be without 'em."

-

-"You are disagreeable, Dick. Send Josephine upstairs for my album."

-

-"Are you going to put that crest on the--the--whatever it is?"

-

-"I am; and my own crest, too."

-

-I thought of the Purple Emperor and wondered a little.

-

-"You didn't know I had one, did you?" she smiled.

-

-"What is it?" I replied evasively.

-

-"You shall see. Ring for Josephine."

-

-I rang, and, when 'Fine appeared, Lys gave her some orders in a low

-voice, and Josephine trotted away, bobbing her white-coiffed head with

-a "Bien, madame!"

-

-After a few minutes she returned, bearing a tattered, musty volume,

-from which the gold and blue had mostly disappeared.

-

-I took the book in my hands and examined the ancient emblazoned covers.

-

-"Lilies!" I exclaimed.

-

-"Fleur-de-lis," said my wife demurely.

-

-"Oh!" said I, astonished, and opened the book.

-

-"You have never before seen this book?" asked Lys, with a touch of

-malice in her eyes.

-

-"You know I haven't. Hello! what's this? Oho! So there should be a

-_de_ before Trevec? Lys de Trevec? Then why in the world did the Purple

-Emperor----"

-

-"Dick!" cried Lys.

-

-"All right," said I. "Shall I read about the Sieur de Trevec who

-rode to Saladin's tent alone to seek for medicine for St. Louis? or

-shall I read about--what is it? Oh, here it is, all down in black and

-white--about the Marquis de Trevec who drowned himself before Alva's

-eyes rather than surrender the banner of the fleur-de-lis to Spain?

-It's all written here. But, dear, how about that soldier named Trevec

-who was killed in the old fort on the cliff yonder?"

-

-"He dropped the _de_, and the Trevecs since then have been

-Republicans," said Lys--"all except me."

-

-"That's quite right," said I; "it is time that we Republicans should

-agree upon some feudal system. My dear, I drink to the king!" and I

-raised my wine-glass and looked at Lys.

-

-"To the king," said Lys, flushing. She smoothed out the tiny garment

-on her knees; she touched the glass with her lips; her eyes were very

-sweet. I drained the glass to the king.

-

-After a silence I said: "I will tell the king stories. His Majesty

-shall be amused."

-

-"His Majesty," repeated Lys softly.

-

-"Or hers," I laughed. "Who knows?"

-

-"Who knows?" murmured Lys, with a gentle sigh.

-

-"I know some stories about Jack the Giant-Killer," I announced. "Do

-you, Lys?"

-

-"I? No, not about a giant-killer, but I know all about the were-wolf,

-and Jeanne-la-Flamme, and the Man in Purple Tatters, and--O dear me! I

-know lots more."

-

-"You are very wise," said I. "I shall teach his Majesty English."

-

-"And I Breton," cried Lys jealously.

-

-"I shall bring playthings to the king," said I--"big green lizards from

-the gorse, little gray mullets to swim in glass globes, baby rabbits

-from the forest of Kerselec----"

-

-"And I," said Lys, "will bring the first primrose, the first branch of

-aubepine, the first jonquil, to the king--my king."

-

-"Our king," said I; and there was peace in Finistère.

-

-I lay back, idly turning the leaves of the curious old volume.

-

-"I am looking," said I, "for the crest."

-

-"The crest, dear? It is a priest's head with an arrow-shaped mark on

-the forehead, on a field----"

-

-I sat up and stared at my wife.

-

-"Dick, whatever is the matter?" she smiled. "The story is there in that

-book. Do you care to read it? No? Shall I tell it to you? Well, then:

-It happened in the third crusade. There was a monk whom men called the

-Black Priest. He turned apostate, and sold himself to the enemies of

-Christ. A Sieur de Trevec burst into the Saracen camp, at the head of

-only one hundred lances, and carried the Black Priest away out of the

-very midst of their army."

-

-"So that is how you come by the crest," I said quietly; but I thought

-of the branded skull in the gravel pit, and wondered.

-

-"Yes," said Lys. "The Sieur de Trevec cut the Black Priest's head off,

-but first he branded him with an arrow mark on the forehead. The book

-says it was a pious action, and the Sieur de Trevec got great merit by

-it. But I think it was cruel, the branding," she sighed.

-

-"Did you ever hear of any other Black Priest?"

-

-"Yes. There was one in the last century, here in St. Gildas. He cast a

-white shadow in the sun. He wrote in the Breton language. Chronicles,

-too, I believe. I never saw them. His name was the same as that of

-the old chronicler, and of the other priest, Jacques Sorgue. Some said

-he was a lineal descendant of the traitor. Of course the first Black

-Priest was bad enough for anything. But if he did have a child, it need

-not have been the ancestor of the last Jacques Sorgue. They say this

-one was a holy man. They say he was so good he was not allowed to die,

-but was caught up to heaven one day," added Lys, with believing eyes.

-

-I smiled.

-

-"But he disappeared," persisted Lys.

-

-"I'm afraid his journey was in another direction," I said jestingly,

-and thoughtlessly told her the story of the morning. I had utterly

-forgotten the masked man at her window, but before I finished I

-remembered him fast enough, and realized what I had done as I saw her

-face whiten.

-

-"Lys," I urged tenderly, "that was only some clumsy clown's trick. You

-said so yourself. You are not superstitious, my dear?"

-

-Her eyes were on mine. She slowly drew the little gold cross from her

-bosom and kissed it. But her lips trembled as they pressed the symbol

-of faith.

-

-

-III.

-

-About nine o'clock the next morning I walked into the Groix Inn and sat

-down at the long discoloured oaken table, nodding good-day to Marianne

-Bruyère, who in turn bobbed her white coiffe at me.

-

-"My clever Bannalec maid," said I, "what is good for a stirrup-cup at

-the Groix Inn?"

-

-"Schist?" she inquired in Breton.

-

-"With a dash of red wine, then," I replied.

-

-She brought the delicious Quimperlé cider, and I poured a little

-Bordeaux into it. Marianne watched me with laughing black eyes.

-

-"What makes your cheeks so red, Marianne?" I asked. "Has Jean Marie

-been here?"

-

-"We are to be married, Monsieur Darrel," she laughed.

-

-"Ah! Since when has Jean Marie Tregunc lost his head?"

-

-"His head? Oh, Monsieur Darrel--his heart, you mean!"

-

-"So I do," said I. "Jean Marie is a practical fellow."

-

-"It is all due to your kindness----" began the girl, but I raised my

-hand and held up the glass.

-

-"It's due to himself. To your happiness, Marianne;" and I took a hearty

-draught of the schist. "Now," said I, "tell me where I can find Le

-Bihan and Max Fortin."

-

-"Monsieur Le Bihan and Monsieur Fortin are above in the broad room. I

-believe they are examining the Red Admiral's effects."

-

-"To send them to Paris? Oh, I know. May I go up, Marianne?"

-

-"And God go with you," smiled the girl.

-

-When I knocked at the door of the broad room above little Max Fortin

-opened it. Dust covered his spectacles and nose; his hat, with the tiny

-velvet ribbons fluttering, was all awry.

-

-"Come in, Monsieur Darrel," he said; "the mayor and I are packing up

-the effects of the Purple Emperor and of the poor Red Admiral."

-

-"The collections?" I asked, entering the room. "You must be very

-careful in packing those butterfly cases; the slightest jar might break

-wings and antennæ, you know."

-

-Le Bihan shook hands with me and pointed to the great pile of boxes.

-

-"They're all cork lined," he said, "but Fortin and I are putting felt

-around each box. The Entomological Society of Paris pays the freight."

-

-The combined collections of the Red Admiral and the Purple Emperor made

-a magnificent display.

-

-I lifted and inspected case after case set with gorgeous butterflies

-and moths, each specimen carefully labelled with the name in Latin.

-There were cases filled with crimson tiger moths all aflame with

-colour; cases devoted to the common yellow butterflies; symphonies in

-orange and pale yellow; cases of soft gray and dun-coloured sphinx

-moths; and cases of garish nettle-bred butterflies of the numerous

-family of _Vanessa_.

-

-All alone in a great case by itself was pinned the purple emperor, the

-Apatura Iris, that fatal specimen that had given the Purple Emperor his

-name and quietus.

-

-I remembered the butterfly, and stood looking at it with bent eyebrows.

-

-Le Bihan glanced up from the floor where he was nailing down the lid of

-a box full of cases.

-

-"It is settled, then," said he, "that madame, your wife, gives the

-Purple Emperor's entire collection to the city of Paris?"

-

-I nodded.

-

-"Without accepting anything for it?"

-

-"It is a gift," I said.

-

-"Including the purple emperor there in the case? That butterfly is

-worth a great deal of money," persisted Le Bihan.

-

-"You don't suppose that we would wish to sell that specimen, do you?"

-I answered a trifle sharply.

-

-"If I were you I should destroy it," said the mayor in his high-pitched

-voice.

-

-"That would be nonsense," said I--"like your burying the brass cylinder

-and scroll yesterday."

-

-"It was not nonsense," said Le Bihan doggedly, "and I should prefer not

-to discuss the subject of the scroll."

-

-I looked at Max Fortin, who immediately avoided my eyes.

-

-"You are a pair of superstitious old women," said I, digging my hands

-into my pockets; "you swallow every nursery tale that is invented."

-

-"What of it?" said Le Bihan sulkily; "there's more truth than lies in

-most of 'em."

-

-"Oh!" I sneered, "does the Mayor of St. Gildas and St. Julien believe

-in the Loup-garou?"

-

-"No, not in the Loup-garou."

-

-"In what, then--Jeanne-la-Flamme?"

-

-"That," said Le Bihan with conviction, "is history."

-

-"The devil it is!" said I; "and perhaps, monsieur the mayor, your faith

-in giants is unimpaired?"

-

-"There were giants--everybody knows it," growled Max Fortin.

-

-"And you a chemist!" I observed scornfully.

-

-"Listen, Monsieur Darrel," squeaked Le Bihan; "you know yourself that

-the Purple Emperor was a scientific man. Now suppose I should tell

-you that he always refused to include in his collection a Death's

-Messenger?"

-

-"A what?" I exclaimed.

-

-"You know what I mean--that moth that flies by night; some call it the

-Death's Head, but in St. Gildas we call it 'Death's Messenger.'"

-

-"Oh!" said I, "you mean that big sphinx moth that is commonly known as

-the 'death's-head moth.' Why the mischief should the people here call

-it death's messenger?"

-

-"For hundreds of years it has been known as death's messenger in

-St. Gildas," said Max Fortin. "Even Froissart speaks of it in his

-commentaries on Jacques Sorgue's Chronicles. The book is in your

-library."

-

-"Sorgue? And who was Jacques Sorgue? I never read his book."

-

-"Jacques Sorgue was the son of some unfrocked priest--I forget. It was

-during the crusades."

-

-"Good Heavens!" I burst out, "I've been hearing of nothing but crusades

-and priests and death and sorcery ever since I kicked that skull into

-the gravel pit, and I am tired of it, I tell you frankly. One would

-think we lived in the dark ages. Do you know what year of our Lord it

-is, Le Bihan?"

-

-"Eighteen hundred and ninety-six," replied the mayor.

-

-"And yet you two hulking men are afraid of a death's-head moth."

-

-"I don't care to have one fly into the window," said Max Fortin; "it

-means evil to the house and the people in it."

-

-"God alone knows why he marked one of his creatures with a yellow

-death's head on the back," observed Le Bihan piously, "but I take it

-that he meant it as a warning; and I propose to profit by it," he added

-triumphantly.

-

-"See here, Le Bihan," I said; "by a stretch of imagination one can make

-out a skull on the thorax of a certain big sphinx moth. What of it?"

-

-"It is a bad thing to touch," said the mayor, wagging his head.

-

-"It squeaks when handled," added Max Fortin.

-

-"Some creatures squeak all the time," I observed, looking hard at Le

-Bihan.

-

-"Pigs," added the mayor.

-

-"Yes, and asses," I replied. "Listen, Le Bihan: do you mean to tell me

-that you saw that skull roll uphill yesterday?"

-

-The mayor shut his mouth tightly and picked up his hammer.

-

-"Don't be obstinate," I said; "I asked you a question."

-

-"And I refuse to answer," snapped Le Bihan. "Fortin saw what I saw; let

-him talk about it."

-

-I looked searchingly at the little chemist.

-

-"I don't say that I saw it actually roll up out of the pit, all by

-itself," said Fortin with a shiver, "but--but then, how did it come up

-out of the pit, if it didn't roll up all by itself?"

-

-"It didn't come up at all; that was a yellow cobblestone that you

-mistook for the skull again," I replied. "You were nervous, Max."

-

-"A--a very curious cobblestone, Monsieur Darrel," said Fortin.

-

-"I also was a victim to the same hallucination," I continued, "and I

-regret to say that I took the trouble to roll two innocent cobblestones

-into the gravel pit, imagining each time that it was the skull I was

-rolling."

-

-"It was," observed Le Bihan with a morose shrug.

-

-"It just shows," said I, ignoring the mayor's remark, "how easy it is

-to fix up a train of coincidences so that the result seems to savour

-of the supernatural. Now, last night my wife imagined that she saw a

-priest in a mask peer in at her window----"

-

-Fortin and Le Bihan scrambled hastily from their knees, dropping hammer

-and nails.

-

-"W-h-a-t--what's that?" demanded the mayor.

-

-I repeated what I had said. Max Fortin turned livid.

-

-"My God!" muttered Le Bihan, "the Black Priest is in St. Gildas!"

-

-"D-don't you--you know the old prophecy?" stammered Fortin; "Froissart

-quotes it from Jacques Sorgue:

-

-  'When the Black Priest rises from the dead,

-  St. Gildas folk shall shriek in bed;

-  When the Black Priest rises from his grave,

-  May the good God St. Gildas save!'"

-

-"Aristide Le Bihan," I said angrily, "and you, Max Fortin, I've got

-enough of this nonsense! Some foolish lout from Bannalec has been in

-St. Gildas playing tricks to frighten old fools like you. If you have

-nothing better to talk about than nursery legends I'll wait until you

-come to your senses. Good-morning." And I walked out, more disturbed

-than I cared to acknowledge to myself.

-

-The day had become misty and overcast. Heavy, wet clouds hung in the

-east. I heard the surf thundering against the cliffs, and the gray

-gulls squealed as they tossed and turned high in the sky. The tide

-was creeping across the river sands, higher, higher, and I saw the

-seaweed floating on the beach, and the _lançons_ springing from the

-foam, silvery thread-like flashes in the gloom. Curlew were flying up

-the river in twos and threes; the timid sea swallows skimmed across the

-moors toward some quiet, lonely pool, safe from the coming tempest. In

-every hedge field birds were gathering, huddling together, twittering

-restlessly.

-

-When I reached the cliffs I sat down, resting my chin on my clenched

-hands. Already a vast curtain of rain, sweeping across the ocean miles

-away, hid the island of Groix. To the east, behind the white semaphore

-on the hills, black clouds crowded up over the horizon. After a little

-the thunder boomed, dull, distant, and slender skeins of lightning

-unravelled across the crest of the coming storm. Under the cliff at my

-feet the surf rushed foaming over the shore, and the _lançons_ jumped

-and skipped and quivered until they seemed to be but the reflections of

-the meshed lightning.

-

-I turned to the east. It was raining over Groix, it was raining at

-Sainte Barbe, it was raining now at the semaphore. High in the storm

-whirl a few gulls pitched; a nearer cloud trailed veils of rain in its

-wake; the sky was spattered with lightning; the thunder boomed.

-

-As I rose to go, a cold raindrop fell upon the back of my hand, and

-another, and yet another on my face. I gave a last glance at the sea,

-where the waves were bursting into strange white shapes that seemed to

-fling out menacing arms toward me. Then something moved on the cliff,

-something black as the black rock it clutched--a filthy cormorant,

-craning its hideous head at the sky.

-

-Slowly I plodded homeward across the sombre moorland, where the

-gorse stems glimmered with a dull metallic green, and the heather,

-no longer violet and purple, hung drenched and dun-coloured among

-the dreary rocks. The wet turf creaked under my heavy boots, the

-black-thorn scraped and grated against knee and elbow. Over all lay

-a strange light, pallid, ghastly, where the sea spray whirled across

-the landscape and drove into my face until it grew numb with the cold.

-In broad bands, rank after rank, billow on billow, the rain burst out

-across the endless moors, and yet there was no wind to drive it at such

-a pace.

-

-Lys stood at the door as I turned into the garden, motioning me to

-hasten; and then for the first time I became conscious that I was

-soaked to the skin.

-

-"How ever in the world did you come to stay out when such a storm

-threatened?" she said. "Oh, you are dripping! Go quickly and change; I

-have laid your warm underwear on the bed, Dick."

-

-I kissed my wife, and went upstairs to change my dripping clothes for

-something more comfortable.

-

-When I returned to the morning room there was a driftwood fire on the

-hearth, and Lys sat in the chimney corner embroidering.

-

-"Catherine tells me that the fishing fleet from Lorient is out. Do you

-think they are in danger, dear?" asked Lys, raising her blue eyes to

-mine as I entered.

-

-"There is no wind, and there will be no sea," said I, looking out of

-the window. Far across the moor I could see the black cliffs looming in

-the mist.

-

-"How it rains!" murmured Lys; "come to the fire, Dick."

-

-I threw myself on the fur rug, my hands in my pockets, my head on Lys's

-knees.

-

-"Tell me a story," I said. "I feel like a boy of ten."

-

-Lys raised a finger to her scarlet lips. I always waited for her to do

-that.

-

-"Will you be very still, then?" she said.

-

-"Still as death."

-

-"Death," echoed a voice, very softly.

-

-"Did you speak, Lys?" I asked, turning so that I could see her face.

-

-"No; did you, Dick?"

-

-"Who said 'death'?" I asked, startled.

-

-"Death," echoed a voice, softly.

-

-I sprang up and looked about. Lys rose too, her needles and embroidery

-falling to the floor. She seemed about to faint, leaning heavily on me,

-and I led her to the window and opened it a little way to give her air.

-As I did so the chain lightning split the zenith, the thunder crashed,

-and a sheet of rain swept into the room, driving with it something that

-fluttered--something that flapped, and squeaked, and beat upon the rug

-with soft, moist wings.

-

-We bent over it together, Lys clinging to me, and we saw that it was a

-death's-head moth drenched with rain.

-

-The dark day passed slowly as we sat beside the fire, hand in hand,

-her head against my breast, speaking of sorrow and mystery and death.

-For Lys believed that there were things on earth that none might

-understand, things that must be nameless forever and ever, until God

-rolls up the scroll of life and all is ended. We spoke of hope and fear

-and faith, and the mystery of the saints; we spoke of the beginning and

-the end, of the shadow of sin, of omens, and of love. The moth still

-lay on the floor, quivering its sombre wings in the warmth of the fire,

-the skull and ribs clearly etched upon its neck and body.

-

-"If it is a messenger of death to this house," I said, "why should we

-fear, Lys?"

-

-"Death should be welcome to those who love God," murmured Lys, and she

-drew the cross from her breast and kissed it.

-

-"The moth might die if I threw it out into the storm," I said after a

-silence.

-

-"Let it remain," sighed Lys.

-

-Late that night my wife lay sleeping, and I sat beside her bed and read

-in the Chronicle of Jacques Sorgue. I shaded the candle, but Lys grew

-restless, and finally I took the book down into the morning room, where

-the ashes of the fire rustled and whitened on the hearth.

-

-The death's-head moth lay on the rug before the fire where I had left

-it. At first I thought it was dead, but, when I looked closer I saw

-a lambent fire in its amber eyes. The straight white shadow it cast

-across the floor wavered as the candle flickered.

-

-The pages of the Chronicle of Jacques Sorgue were damp and sticky; the

-illuminated gold and blue initials left flakes of azure and gilt where

-my hand brushed them.

-

-"It is not paper at all; it is thin parchment," I said to myself;

-and I held the discoloured page close to the candle flame and read,

-translating laboriously:

-

-"I, Jacques Sorgue, saw all these things. And I saw the Black Mass

-celebrated in the chapel of St. Gildas-on-the-Cliff. And it was said by

-the Abbé Sorgue, my kinsman: for which deadly sin the apostate priest

-was seized by the most noble Marquis of Plougastel and by him condemned

-to be burned with hot irons, until his seared soul quit its body and

-fly to its master the devil. But when the Black Priest lay in the crypt

-of Plougastel, his master Satan came at night and set him free, and

-carried him across land and sea to Mahmoud, which is Soldan or Saladin.

-And I, Jacques Sorgue, travelling afterward by sea, beheld with my own

-eyes my kinsman, the Black Priest of St. Gildas, borne along in the

-air upon a vast black wing, which was the wing of his master Satan. And

-this was seen also by two men of the crew."

-

-I turned the page. The wings of the moth on the floor began to quiver.

-I read on and on, my eyes blurring under the shifting candle flame.

-I read of battles and of saints, and I learned how the great Soldan

-made his pact with Satan, and then I came to the Sieur de Trevec, and

-read how he seized the Black Priest in the midst of Saladin's tents

-and carried him away and cut off his head, first branding him on the

-forehead. "And before he suffered," said the Chronicle, "he cursed the

-Sieur de Trevec and his descendants, and he said he would surely return

-to St. Gildas. 'For the violence you do to me, I will do violence to

-you. For the evil I suffer at your hands, I will work evil on you and

-your descendants. Woe to your children, Sieur de Trevec!'" There was

-a whirr, a beating of strong wings, and my candle flashed up as in a

-sudden breeze. A humming filled the room; the great moth darted hither

-and thither, beating, buzzing, on ceiling and wall. I flung down my

-book and stepped forward. Now it lay fluttering upon the window sill,

-and for a moment I had it under my hand, but the thing squeaked and

-I shrank back. Then suddenly it darted across the candle flame; the

-light flared and went out, and at the same moment a shadow moved in

-the darkness outside. I raised my eyes to the window. A masked face was

-peering in at me.

-

-Quick as thought I whipped out my revolver and fired every cartridge,

-but the face advanced beyond the window, the glass melting away before

-it like mist, and through the smoke of my revolver I saw something

-creep swiftly into the room. Then I tried to cry out, but the thing was

-at my throat, and I fell backward among the ashes of the hearth.

-

-       *       *       *       *       *

-

-When my eyes unclosed I was lying on the hearth, my head among the cold

-ashes. Slowly I got on my knees, rose painfully, and groped my way

-to a chair. On the floor lay my revolver, shining in the pale light

-of early morning. My mind clearing by degrees, I looked, shuddering,

-at the window. The glass was unbroken. I stooped stiffly, picked up

-my revolver and opened the cylinder. Every cartridge had been fired.

-Mechanically I closed the cylinder and placed the revolver in my

-pocket. The book, the Chronicles of Jacques Sorgue, lay on the table

-beside me, and as I started to close it I glanced at the page. It was

-all splashed with rain, and the lettering had run, so that the page was

-merely a confused blur of gold and red and black. As I stumbled toward

-the door I cast a fearful glance over my shoulder. The death's-head

-moth crawled shivering on the rug.

-

-

-IV.

-

-The sun was about three hours high. I must have slept, for I was

-aroused by the sudden gallop of horses under our window. People were

-shouting and calling in the road. I sprang up and opened the sash.

-Le Bihan was there, an image of helplessness, and Max Fortin stood

-beside him, polishing his glasses. Some gendarmes had just arrived

-from Quimperlé, and I could hear them around the corner of the house,

-stamping, and rattling their sabres and carbines, as they led their

-horses into my stable.

-

-Lys sat up, murmuring half-sleepy, half-anxious questions.

-

-"I don't know," I answered. "I am going out to see what it means."

-

-"It is like the day they came to arrest you," Lys said, giving me a

-troubled look. But I kissed her, and laughed at her until she smiled

-too. Then I flung on coat and cap and hurried down the stairs.

-

-The first person I saw standing in the road was the Brigadier Durand.

-

-"Hello!" said I, "have you come to arrest me again? What the devil is

-all this fuss about, anyway?"

-

-"We were telegraphed for an hour ago," said Durand briskly, "and for a

-sufficient reason, I think. Look there, Monsieur Darrel!"

-

-He pointed to the ground almost under my feet.

-

-"Good heavens!" I cried, "where did that puddle of blood come from?"

-

-"That's what I want to know, Monsieur Darrel. Max Fortin found it at

-daybreak. See, it's splashed all over the grass, too. A trail of it

-leads into your garden, across the flower beds to your very window, the

-one that opens from the morning room. There is another trail leading

-from this spot across the road to the cliffs, then to the gravel pit,

-and thence across the moor to the forest of Kerselec. We are going to

-mount in a minute and search the bosquets. Will you join us? Bon Dieu!

-but the fellow bled like an ox. Max Fortin says it's human blood, or I

-should not have believed it."

-

-The little chemist of Quimperlé came up at that moment, rubbing his

-glasses with a coloured handkerchief.

-

-"Yes, it is human blood," he said, "but one thing puzzles me: the

-corpuscles are yellow. I never saw any human blood before with yellow

-corpuscles. But your English Doctor Thompson asserts that he has----"

-

-"Well, it's human blood, anyway--isn't it?" insisted Durand,

-impatiently.

-

-"Ye-es," admitted Max Fortin.

-

-"Then it's my business to trail it," said the big gendarme, and he

-called his men and gave the order to mount.

-

-"Did you hear anything last night?" asked Durand of me.

-

-"I heard the rain. I wonder the rain did not wash away these traces."

-

-"They must have come after the rain ceased. See this thick splash, how

-it lies over and weighs down the wet grass blades. Pah!"

-

-It was a heavy, evil-looking clot, and I stepped back from it, my

-throat closing in disgust.

-

-"My theory," said the brigadier, "is this: Some of those Biribi

-fishermen, probably the Icelanders, got an extra glass of cognac into

-their hides and quarrelled on the road. Some of them were slashed, and

-staggered to your house. But there is only one trail, and yet--and yet,

-how could all that blood come from only one person? Well, the wounded

-man, let us say, staggered first to your house and then back here, and

-he wandered off, drunk and dying, God knows where. That's my theory."

-

-"A very good one," said I calmly. "And you are going to trail him?"

-

-"Yes."

-

-"When?"

-

-"At once. Will you come?"

-

-"Not now. I'll gallop over by-and-bye. You are going to the edge of the

-Kerselec forest?"

-

-"Yes; you will hear us calling. Are you coming, Max Fortin? And you, Le

-Bihan? Good; take the dog-cart."

-

-The big gendarme tramped around the corner to the stable and presently

-returned mounted on a strong gray horse; his sabre shone on his saddle;

-his pale yellow and white facings were spotless. The little crowd of

-white-coiffed women with their children fell back, as Durand touched

-spurs and clattered away followed by his two troopers. Soon after Le

-Bihan and Max Fortin also departed in the mayor's dingy dog-cart.

-

-"Are you coming?" piped Le Bihan shrilly.

-

-"In a quarter of an hour," I replied, and went back to the house.

-

-When I opened the door of the morning room the death's-head moth was

-beating its strong wings against the window. For a second I hesitated,

-then walked over and opened the sash. The creature fluttered out,

-whirred over the flower beds a moment, then darted across the moorland

-toward the sea. I called the servants together and questioned them.

-Josephine, Catherine, Jean Marie Tregunc, not one of them had heard

-the slightest disturbance during the night. Then I told Jean Marie to

-saddle my horse, and while I was speaking Lys came down.

-

-"Dearest," I began, going to her.

-

-"You must tell me everything you know, Dick," she interrupted, looking

-me earnestly in the face.

-

-"But there is nothing to tell--only a drunken brawl, and some one

-wounded."

-

-"And you are going to ride--where, Dick?"

-

-"Well, over to the edge of Kerselec forest. Durand and the mayor, and

-Max Fortin, have gone on, following a--a trail."

-

-"What trail?"

-

-"Some blood."

-

-"Where did they find it?"

-

-"Out in the road there." Lys crossed herself.

-

-"Does it come near our house?"

-

-"Yes."

-

-"How near?"

-

-"It comes up to the morning-room window," said I, giving in.

-

-Her hand on my arm grew heavy. "I dreamed last night----"

-

-"So did I----" but I thought of the empty cartridges in my revolver,

-and stopped.

-

-"I dreamed that you were in great danger, and I could not move hand or

-foot to save you; but you had your revolver, and I called out to you to

-fire----"

-

-"I did fire!" I cried excitedly.

-

-"You--you fired?"

-

-I took her in my arms. "My darling," I said, "something strange has

-happened--something that I can not understand as yet. But, of course,

-there is an explanation. Last night I thought I fired at the Black

-Priest."

-

-"Ah!" gasped Lys.

-

-"Is that what you dreamed?"

-

-"Yes, yes, that was it! I begged you to fire----"

-

-"And I did."

-

-Her heart was beating against my breast. I held her close in silence.

-

-"Dick," she said at length, "perhaps you killed the--the thing."

-

-"If it was human I did not miss," I answered grimly. "And it was

-human," I went on, pulling myself together, ashamed of having so nearly

-gone to pieces. "Of course it was human! The whole affair is plain

-enough. Not a drunken brawl, as Durand thinks; it was a drunken lout's

-practical joke, for which he has suffered. I suppose I must have filled

-him pretty full of bullets, and he has crawled away to die in Kerselec

-forest. It's a terrible affair; I'm sorry I fired so hastily; but that

-idiot Le Bihan and Max Fortin have been working on my nerves till I am

-as hysterical as a schoolgirl," I ended angrily.

-

-"You fired--but the window glass was not shattered," said Lys in a low

-voice.

-

-"Well, the window was open, then. And as for the--the rest--I've got

-nervous indigestion, and a doctor will settle the Black Priest for me,

-Lys."

-

-I glanced out of the window at Tregunc waiting with my horse at the

-gate.

-

-"Dearest, I think I had better go to join Durand and the others."

-

-"I will go too."

-

-"Oh, no!"

-

-"Yes, Dick."

-

-"Don't, Lys."

-

-"I shall suffer every moment you are away."

-

-"The ride is too fatiguing, and we can't tell what unpleasant sight

-you may come upon. Lys, you don't really think there is anything

-supernatural in this affair?"

-

-"Dick," she answered gently, "I am a Bretonne." With both arms around

-my neck, my wife said, "Death is the gift of God. I do not fear it when

-we are together. But alone--oh, my husband, I should fear a God who

-could take you away from me!"

-

-We kissed each other soberly, simply, like two children. Then Lys

-hurried away to change her gown, and I paced up and down the garden

-waiting for her.

-

-She came, drawing on her slender gauntlets. I swung her into the

-saddle, gave a hasty order to Jean Marie, and mounted.

-

-Now, to quail under thoughts of terror on a morning like this, with Lys

-in the saddle beside me, no matter what had happened or might happen,

-was impossible. Moreover, Môme came sneaking after us. I asked Tregunc

-to catch him, for I was afraid he might be brained by our horses' hoofs

-if he followed, but the wily puppy dodged and bolted after Lys, who

-was trotting along the high-road. "Never mind," I thought; "if he's hit

-he'll live, for he has no brains to lose."

-

-Lys was waiting for me in the road beside the Shrine of Our Lady of St.

-Gildas when I joined her. She crossed herself, I doffed my cap, then we

-shook out our bridles and galloped toward the forest of Kerselec.

-

-We said very little as we rode. I always loved to watch Lys in the

-saddle. Her exquisite figure and lovely face were the incarnation of

-youth and grace; her curling hair glistened like threaded gold.

-

-Out of the corner of my eye I saw the spoiled puppy Môme come bounding

-cheerfully alongside, oblivious of our horses' heels. Our road swung

-close to the cliffs. A filthy cormorant rose from the black rocks and

-flapped heavily across our path. Lys's horse reared, but she pulled him

-down, and pointed at the bird with her riding crop.

-

-"I see," said I; "it seems to be going our way. Curious to see a

-cormorant in a forest, isn't it?"

-

-"It is a bad sign," said Lys. "You know the Morbihan proverb: 'When

-the cormorant turns from the sea, Death laughs in the forest, and wise

-woodsmen build boats.'"

-

-"I wish," said I sincerely, "that there were fewer proverbs in

-Brittany."

-

-We were in sight of the forest now; across the gorse I could see

-the sparkle of gendarmes' trappings, and the glitter of Le Bihan's

-silver-buttoned jacket. The hedge was low and we took it without

-difficulty, and trotted across the moor to where Le Bihan and Durand

-stood gesticulating.

-

-They bowed ceremoniously to Lys as we rode up.

-

-"The trail is horrible--it is a river," said the mayor in his squeaky

-voice. "Monsieur Darrel, I think perhaps madame would scarcely care to

-come any nearer."

-

-Lys drew bridle and looked at me.

-

-"It is horrible!" said Durand, walking up beside me; "it looks as

-though a bleeding regiment had passed this way. The trail winds and

-winds about there in the thickets; we lose it at times, but we always

-find it again. I can't understand how one man--no, nor twenty--could

-bleed like that!"

-

-A halloo, answered by another, sounded from the depths of the forest.

-

-"It's my men; they are following the trail," muttered the brigadier.

-"God alone knows what is at the end!"

-

-"Shall we gallop back, Lys?" I asked.

-

-"No; let us ride along the western edge of the woods and dismount. The

-sun is so hot now, and I should like to rest for a moment," she said.

-

-"The western forest is clear of anything disagreeable," said Durand.

-

-"Very well," I answered; "call me, Le Bihan, if you find anything."

-

-Lys wheeled her mare, and I followed across the springy heather, Môme

-trotting cheerfully in the rear.

-

-We entered the sunny woods about a quarter of a kilometre from where

-we left Durand. I took Lys from her horse, flung both bridles over a

-limb, and, giving my wife my arm, aided her to a flat mossy rock which

-overhung a shallow brook gurgling among the beech trees. Lys sat down

-and drew off her gauntlets. Môme pushed his head into her lap, received

-an undeserved caress, and came doubtfully toward me. I was weak enough

-to condone his offence, but I made him lie down at my feet, greatly to

-his disgust.

-

-I rested my head on Lys's knees, looking up at the sky through the

-crossed branches of the trees.

-

-"I suppose I have killed him," I said. "It shocks me terribly, Lys."

-

-"You could not have known, dear. He may have been a robber,

-and--if--not---- Did--have you ever fired your revolver since that day

-four years ago, when the Red Admiral's son tried to kill you? But I

-know you have not."

-

-"No," said I, wondering. "It's a fact, I have not. Why?"

-

-"And don't you remember that I asked you to let me load it for you the

-day when Yves went off, swearing to kill you and his father?"

-

-"Yes, I do remember. Well?"

-

-"Well, I--I took the cartridges first to St. Gildas chapel and dipped

-them in holy water. You must not laugh, Dick," said Lys gently, laying

-her cool hands on my lips.

-

-"Laugh, my darling!"

-

-Overhead the October sky was pale amethyst, and the sunlight burned

-like orange flame through the yellow leaves of beech and oak. Gnats

-and midges danced and wavered overhead; a spider dropped from a twig

-halfway to the ground and hung suspended on the end of his gossamer

-thread.

-

-"Are you sleepy, dear?" asked Lys, bending over me.

-

-"I am--a little; I scarcely slept two hours last night," I answered.

-

-"You may sleep, if you wish," said Lys, and touched my eyes caressingly.

-

-"Is my head heavy on your knees?"

-

-"No, Dick."

-

-I was already in a half doze; still I heard the brook babbling under

-the beeches and the humming of forest flies overhead. Presently even

-these were stilled.

-

-The next thing I knew I was sitting bolt upright, my ears ringing with

-a scream, and I saw Lys cowering beside me, covering her white face

-with both hands.

-

-As I sprang to my feet she cried again and clung to my knees. I saw my

-dog rush growling into a thicket, then I heard him whimper, and he came

-backing out, whining, ears flat, tail down. I stooped and disengaged

-Lys's hand.

-

-"Don't go, Dick!" she cried. "O God, it's the Black Priest!"

-

-In a moment I had leaped across the brook and pushed my way into the

-thicket. It was empty. I stared about me; I scanned every tree trunk,

-every bush. Suddenly I saw him. He was seated on a fallen log, his head

-resting in his hands, his rusty black robe gathered around him. For

-a moment my hair stirred under my cap; sweat started on forehead and

-cheek-bone; then I recovered my reason, and understood that the man was

-human and was probably wounded to death. Ay, to death; for there, at my

-feet, lay the wet trail of blood, over leaves and stones, down into the

-little hollow, across to the figure in black resting silently under the

-trees.

-

-I saw that he could not escape even if he had the strength, for before

-him, almost at his very feet, lay a deep, shining swamp.

-

-As I stepped forward my foot broke a twig. At the sound the figure

-started a little, then its head fell forward again. Its face was

-masked. Walking up to the man, I bade him tell where he was wounded.

-Durand and the others broke through the thicket at the same moment and

-hurried to my side.

-

-"Who are you who hide a masked face in a priest's robe?" said the

-gendarme loudly.

-

-There was no answer.

-

-"See--see the stiff blood all over his robe!" muttered Le Bihan to

-Fortin.

-

-"He will not speak," said I.

-

-"He may be too badly wounded," whispered Le Bihan.

-

-"I saw him raise his head," I said; "my wife saw him creep up here."

-

-Durand stepped forward and touched the figure.

-

-"Speak!" he said.

-

-"Speak!" quavered Fortin.

-

-Durand waited a moment, then with a sudden upward movement he stripped

-off the mask and threw back the man's head. We were looking into the

-eye sockets of a skull. Durand stood rigid; the mayor shrieked. The

-skeleton burst out from its rotting robes and collapsed on the ground

-before us. From between the staring ribs and the grinning teeth spurted

-a torrent of black blood, showering the shrinking grasses; then the

-thing shuddered, and fell over into the black ooze of the bog. Little

-bubbles of iridescent air appeared from the mud; the bones were slowly

-engulfed, and, as the last fragments sank out of sight, up from the

-depths and along the bank crept a creature, shiny, shivering, quivering

-its wings.

-

-It was a death's-head moth.

-

-       *       *       *       *       *

-

-I wish I had time to tell you how Lys outgrew superstitions--for she

-never knew the truth about the affair, and she never will know, since

-she has promised not to read this book. I wish I might tell you about

-the king and his coronation, and how the coronation robe fitted. I wish

-that I were able to write how Yvonne and Herbert Stuart rode to a boar

-hunt in Quimperlé, and how the hounds raced the quarry right through

-the town, overturning three gendarmes, the notary, and an old woman.

-But I am becoming garrulous, and Lys is calling me to come and hear the

-king say that he is sleepy. And his Highness shall not be kept waiting.

-

-       *       *       *       *       *

-

-  THE KING'S CRADLE SONG.

-

-      Seal with a seal of gold

-      The scroll of a life unrolled;

-    Swathe him deep in his purple stole;

-    Ashes of diamonds, crystalled coal,

-      Drops of gold in each scented fold.

-

-    Crimson wings of the Little Death,

-    Stir his hair with your silken breath;

-    Flaming wings of sins to be,

-    Splendid pinions of prophecy,

-      Smother his eyes with hues and dyes,

-  While the white moon spins and the winds arise,

-      And the stars drip through the skies.

-

-      Wave, O wings of the Little Death!

-      Seal his sight and stifle his breath,

-    Cover his breast with the gemmed shroud pressed;

-    From north to north, from west to west,

-      Wave, O wings of the Little Death!

-  Till the white moon reels in the cracking skies,

-      And the ghosts of God arise.

-

-

-

-

-THE WHITE SHADOW.

-

-

-  We are no other than a moving row

-  Of magic shadow-shapes, that come and go

-    Round with this sun-illumined lantern, held

-  In midnight by the master of the show.

-

-  A moment's halt--a momentary taste

-  Of being from the well amid the waste--

-    And lo! the phantom caravan has reached

-  The nothing it set out from. Oh, make haste!

-

-  Ah, Love! could you and I with him conspire

-  To grasp this sorry scheme of things entire,

-    Would not we shatter it to bits--and then

-  Remould it nearer to the heart's desire!

-

-                                        FITZGERALD.

-

-

-

-

-THE WHITE SHADOW.

-

-  Listen, then, love, and with your white hand clear

-  Your forehead from its cloudy hair.

-

-

-I.

-

-"Three great hulking cousins," said she, closing her gray eyes

-disdainfully.

-

-We accepted the rebuke in astonished silence. Presently she opened her

-eyes, and seemed surprised to see us there yet.

-

-"O," she said, "if you think I am going to stay here until you make up

-your minds----"

-

-"I've made up mine," said Donald. "We will go to the links. You may

-come."

-

-"I shall not," she announced. "Walter, what do you propose?"

-

-Walter looked at his cartridge belt and then at the little

-breech-loader standing in a corner of the arbour.

-

-"Oh, I know," she said, "but I won't! I won't! I won't!"

-

-The uncles and aunts on the piazza turned to look at us; her mother

-arose from a steamer-chair and came across the lawn.

-

-"Won't what, Sweetheart?" she asked, placing both hands on her

-daughter's shoulders.

-

-"Mamma, Walter wants me to shoot, and Don wants me to play golf, and

-I--won't!"

-

-"She doesn't know what she wants," said I.

-

-"Don't I?" she said, flushing with displeasure.

-

-"Her mother might suggest something," hazarded Donald. We looked at our

-aunt.

-

-"Sweetheart is spoiled," said that lady decisively. "If you children

-don't go away at once and have a good time, I shall find employment for

-her."

-

-"Algebra?" I asked maliciously.

-

-"How dare you!" cried Sweetheart, sitting up. "Oh, isn't he mean! isn't

-he ignoble!--and I've done my algebra; haven't I, mamma?"

-

-"But your French?" I began.

-

-Donald laughed, and so did Walter. As for Sweetheart, she arose in all

-the dignity of sixteen years, closed her eyes with superb insolence,

-and, clasping her mother's waist with one round white arm, marched out

-of the arbour.

-

-"We tease her too much," said Donald.

-

-"She's growing up fast; we ought not to call her 'Sweetheart' when she

-puts her hair up," added Walter.

-

-"She's going to put it up in October, when she goes back to school,"

-said Donald. "Jack, she will hate you if you keep reminding her of her

-algebra and French."

-

-"Then I'll stop," said I, suddenly conscious what an awful thing it

-would be if she hated me.

-

-Donald's two pointers came frisking across the lawn from the kennels,

-and Donald picked up his gun.

-

-"Here we go again," said I. "Donny's going to the coverts after grouse,

-Walter's going up on the hill with his dust-shot and arsenic, and I'm

-going across the fields after butterflies. Why the deuce can't we all

-go together, just for once?"

-

-"And take Sweetheart? She would like it if we all went together," said

-Walter; "she is tired of seeing Jack net butterflies."

-

-"Collecting birds and shooting grouse are two different things," began

-Donald. "You spoil my dogs by shooting your confounded owls and humming

-birds."

-

-"Oh, your precious dogs!" I cried. "Shut up, Donny, and give Sweetheart

-a good day's tramp. It's a pity if three cousins can't pool their

-pleasures for once."

-

-Donald nodded uncertainly.

-

-"Come on," said Walter, "we'll find Sweetheart. Jack, you get your

-butterfly togs and come back here."

-

-I nodded, and watched my two cousins sauntering across the lawn--big,

-clean-cut fellows, resembling each other enough to be brothers instead

-of cousins.

-

-We all resembled each other more or less, Donald, Walter, and I. As for

-Sweetheart, she looked like none of us.

-

-It was all very well for her mother to call her Sweetheart, and for

-her aunts to echo it in chorus, but the time was coming when we saw we

-should have to stop. A girl of sixteen with such a name is ridiculous,

-and Sweetheart was nearly seventeen; and her hair was "going up" and

-her gowns were "coming down" in October.

-

-Her own name was pretty enough. I don't know that I ought to tell it,

-but I will: it was the same as her mother's. We called her Sweetheart

-sometimes, sometimes "The Aspen Beauty." Donald had given her that name

-from a butterfly in my collection, the Vanessa Pandora, commonly known

-as the Aspen beauty, from its never having been captured in America

-except in our village of Aspen.

-

-Here, in the north of New York State, we four cousins spent our summers

-in the family house. There was not much to do in Aspen. We used the

-links, we galloped over the sandy roads, we also trotted our several

-hobbies, Donald, Walter, and I. Sweetheart had no hobby; to make up for

-this, however, she owned a magnificent team of bêtes-noires--Algebra

-and French.

-

-As for me, my butterfly collection languished. I had specimens of

-nearly every butterfly in New York State, and I rather longed for new

-states to conquer. Anyway, there were plenty of Aspen beauties--I mean

-the butterflies--flying about the roads and balm-of-Gilead trees, and

-perhaps that is why I lingered there long enough to collect hundreds of

-duplicates for exchange. And perhaps it wasn't.

-

-I thought of these things as I sat in the sun-flecked arbour, watching

-the yellow elm leaves flutter down from the branches. I thought, too,

-of Sweetheart, and wondered how she would look with her hair up. And

-while I sat there smoking, watching the yellow leaves drifting across

-the lawn, a sharp explosion startled me and I raised my head.

-

-Sweetheart was standing on the lawn, gazing dreamily at the smoking

-débris of a large firecracker.

-

-"What's that for?" I asked.

-

-"It proclaims my independence," said Sweetheart--"my independence

-forever. Hereafter my cousins will ask to accompany me on my walks;

-they need no longer charitably permit me to accompany them. Are you

-three boys going to ride your hobbies?"

-

-"We are," I said.

-

-"Then good-bye. I am going to walk."

-

-"Can't we come too?" I asked, laughing.

-

-"Oh," she said graciously, "if you put it in that way I could not

-refuse."

-

-"May we bring our guns?" asked Donald from the piazza.

-

-"May I bring my net?" I added, half amused, half annoyed.

-

-She made a gesture, indifferent, condescending.

-

-"Dear me!" murmured the aunts in chorus from the piazza as we trooped

-after the Aspen beauty, "Sweetheart is growing very fast."

-

-I smiled vaguely at Sweetheart. I was wondering how she would look in

-long frocks and coiled hair.

-

-

-II.

-

-In the fall of the year the meadows of Aspen glimmer in the sunlight

-like crumpled sheets of beaten gold; for Aspen is the land of

-golden-rod, of yellow earth and gilded fern.

-

-There the crisp oaks rustle, every leaf a blot of yellow; there the

-burnished pines sound, sound, tremble, and resound, like gilt-stringed

-harps aquiver in the wind.

-

-Sweet fern, sun-dried, bronzed, fills all the hills with incense, vague

-and delicate as the white down drifting from the frothy milkweed.

-

-And where the meadow brook prattled, limpid, filtered with sunlight,

-Sweetheart stood knee-deep in fragrant mint, watching the aimless

-minnows swimming in circles. On a distant hill, dark against the blue,

-Donald moved with his dogs, and I saw the sun-glint on his gun, and I

-heard the distant "Hi--on! Hi--on!" long after he disappeared below the

-brown hill's brow.

-

-Walter, too, had gone, leaving us there by the brook together,

-Sweetheart and I; and I saw the crows flapping and circling far over

-the woods, and I heard the soft report of his dust-shot shells among

-the trees.

-

-"The ruling passion, Sweetheart," I said. "Donny chases the phantom of

-pleasure with his dogs. The phantom flies from Walter, and he follows

-with his dust-shot."

-

-"Then," said Sweetheart, "follow your phantom also; there are

-butterflies everywhere." She raised both arms and turned from the

-brook. "Everywhere flying I see butterflies--phantoms of pleasure; and,

-Jack, you do not follow with your net."

-

-"No," said I, "the world to-day is too fair to--slay in. I even doubt

-that the happiness of empires hinges on the discovery of a new species

-of anything. Do I bore you?"

-

-"A little," said Sweetheart, touching the powdered gold of the blossoms

-about her. She laid the tip of her third finger on her lips and then

-on the golden-rod. "I shall not pick it; the world is too fair to-day,"

-she said. "What are you going to do, Jack?"

-

-"I could doze," I said. "Could you?"

-

-"Yes--if you told me stories."

-

-I contemplated her in silence for a moment. After a while she sat down

-under an oak and clasped her hands.

-

-"I am growing so old," she sighed, "I no longer take pleasure

-in childish things--Donald's dogs, Walter's humming birds, your

-butterflies. Jack?"

-

-"What?"

-

-"Sit down on the grass."

-

-"What for?"

-

-"Because I ask you."

-

-I sat down.

-

-Presently she said: "I am as tall as mamma. Why should I study algebra?"

-

-"Because," I answered evasively.

-

-"Your answer is as rude as though I were twenty, instead of sixteen,"

-said Sweetheart. "If you treat me as a child from this moment, I shall

-hate you."

-

-"Me--Sweetheart?"

-

-"And that name!--it is good for children and kittens."

-

-I looked at her seriously. "It is good for women, too--when it is

-time," I said. "I prophesy that one day you will hear it again. As for

-me, I shall not call you by that name if you dislike it."

-

-"I am a woman--now," she said.

-

-"Oh! at sixteen."

-

-"To-morrow I am to be seventeen."

-

-Presently, looking off at the blue hills, I said: "For a long time

-I have recognised that that subtle, indefinable attitude--we call

-it deference--due from men to women is due from us to you. Donny and

-Walter are slower to accept this. You know what you have been to us

-as a child; we can't bear to lose you--to meet you in another way--to

-reckon with you as we reckon with a woman. But it is true: our little

-Sweetheart has vanished, and--_you_ are here!"

-

-The oak leaves began to rustle in the hill winds; the crows cawed from

-the woods.

-

-"Oui c'est moi," she said at length.

-

-"I shall never call you Sweetheart again," I said, smiling.

-

-"Who knows?" she laughed, and leaned over to pick a blade of wild

-wheat. She coloured faintly a moment later, and said: "I didn't mean

-that, Jack."

-

-And so Sweetheart took her first step across that threshold of mystery,

-the Temple of Idols. And of the gilded idols within the temple, one

-shall turn to living flesh at the sound of a voice. And lo! where

-a child had entered, a woman returned with the key to the Temple of

-Gilded Idols.

-

-"Jack," said Sweetheart, "you are wrong. No day is too fair to kill in.

-I shall pick my arms full--full of flowers."

-

-Over the yellow fields, red with the stalks of the buckwheat, crowned

-with a glimmering cloud of the dusty gold of the golden-rod, Sweetheart

-passed, pensive, sedate, awed by the burden of sixteen years.

-

-I followed.

-

-Over the curling fern and wind-stirred grasses the silken milkweed

-seeds sailed, sailed, and the great red-brown butterflies drifted

-above, ruddy as autumn leaves aglow in the sun.

-

-"On the sand-cliff there are marigolds," said Sweetheart.

-

-I looked at the mass of wild flowers in her arms; her white polished

-skin reflected the blaze of colour, warming like ivory under their

-glow.

-

-"Marigolds," I repeated; "we will get some."

-

-"The sand slides on the face of the cliff; you must be careful," she

-said.

-

-"And I may see one of those rare cliff butterflies. I haven't any good

-examples."

-

-I fancy she was not listening; the crows were clamouring above the

-beech woods; the hill winds filled our ears with a sound like the sound

-of the sea on shoals. Her gray eyes, touched with the sky's deep blue

-and the blue of the misty hills, looked out across the miles of woods

-and fields, and saw a world; not a world old, scarred, rock-ribbed, and

-salt with tears, but a new world, youthful, ripe, sunny, hazy with the

-splendour of wonders hidden behind the horizon--a world jewelled with

-gems, spanned by rose-mist rainbows--a world of sixteen years.

-

-"We are already at the cliff's edge," I said.

-

-She stepped to the edge and looked over. I drew her back. The sand

-started among the rocks, running, running with a sound like silver

-water.

-

-"Then you shall not go either," she said. "I do not care for marigolds."

-

-But I was already on the edge, stooping for a blossom. The next instant

-I fell.

-

-There was a whistle of sand, a flurry and a rush of wind, a blur of

-rock, fern, dead grasses--a cry!

-

-For I remember as I fell, falling I called, "Sweetheart!" and again

-"Sweetheart!" Then my body struck the rocks below.

-

-

-III.

-

-Of all the seconds that tick the whole year through, of all the seconds

-that have slipped onward marking the beat of time since time was

-loosed, there is one, one brief moment, steeped in magic and heavy with

-oblivion, that sometimes lingers in the soul of man, annihilating space

-and time. If, at the feet of God, a year is a second passed unnoted,

-this magic second, afloat on the tide of time, moves on and on till,

-caught in the vortex of some life's whirl, it sinks into the soul of a

-being near to death.

-

-And in that soul the magic second glows and lingers, stretching into

-minutes, hours, days--aye, days and days, till, if the magic hold, the

-calm years crowd on one by one; and yet it all is but a second--that

-magic moment that comes on the tide of time--that came to me and was

-caught up in my life's whirl as I fell, dropping there between sky and

-earth.

-

-And so that magic moment grew to minutes, to hours; and when my body,

-whirling, pitching, struck and lay flung out on the earth, the magic

-second grew until the crystal days fell from my life, as beads, one by

-one, fall from the rosaries that saints tell kneeling.

-

-Those days of a life that I have lived, those years that linger still

-aglow in the sun behind me, dim yet splendid as dust-dimmed jewels,

-they also have ended, not in vague night, but in the sunburst of

-another second--such a second as ticks from my watch as I write, quick,

-sharp, joyous, irrevocable! So, of that magic second, or day, or year,

-I shall tell--I, as I was, standing beside my body flung there across

-the earth.

-

-I looked at my body, lying in a heap, then turned to the sand cliff

-smiling.

-

-"Sweetheart!" I called.

-

-But she was already at my side.

-

-We walked on through fragrant pastures, watching the long shadows

-stretch from field to field, speaking of what had been and of all that

-was to be. It was so simple--everything was clear before us. Had there

-been doubts, fears, sudden alarms, startled heartbeats?

-

-If there had been, now they were ended forever.

-

-"Not forever," said Sweetheart; "who knows how long the magic second

-may last?"

-

-"But we--what difference can that make?" I asked.

-

-"To us?"

-

-"Yes."

-

-"None," said Sweetheart decisively.

-

-We looked out into the west. The sun turned to a mound of cinders; the

-hills loomed in opalescent steam.

-

-"But--but--your shadow!" said Sweetheart.

-

-I bent my head, thrilled with happiness.

-

-"And yours," I whispered.

-

-The shadows we cast were whiter than snow.

-

-I still heard the hill winds, soft in my ears as breaking surf; a

-bird-note came from the dusky woodland; a star broke out overhead.

-

-"What is your pleasure, Sweetheart, now all is said?" I asked.

-

-"The world is all so fair," she sighed; "is it fairer beyond the hills,

-Jack?"

-

-"It is fair where you pass by, north, south, and from west to west

-again. In France the poplars are as yellow as our oaks. In Morbihan the

-gorse gilds all the hills, yellow as golden-rod. Shall we go?"

-

-"But in the spring--let us wait until spring."

-

-"Where?"

-

-"Here."

-

-"Until spring?"

-

-"It is written that Time shall pass as a shadow across the sea. What

-is that book there under your feet--that iron-bound book, half embedded

-like a stone in the grass."

-

-"I did not see it!"

-

-"Bring it to me."

-

-I raised the book; it left a bare mark in the sod as a stone that is

-turned. Then, holding it on my knees, I opened it, and Sweetheart,

-leaning on my shoulder, read. The tall stars flared like candles,

-flooding the page with diamond light; the earth, perfumed with

-blossoms, stirred with the vague vibration of countless sounds, tiny

-voices swaying breathless in the hidden surge of an endless harmony.

-

-"The white shadow is the shadow of the soul," she read. Even the winds

-were hushed as her sweet lips moved.

-

-"And what shall make thee to understand what hell is?... When the

-sun shall be folded up as a garment that is laid away; when the stars

-fall, and the seas boil, and when souls shall be joined again to their

-bodies; and when the girl who hath been buried alive shall be asked

-for what crime; when books shall be laid open, when hell shall burn

-fiercely, and when paradise shall be brought very near:

-

-"Every soul shall know what it hath wrought!"

-

-I closed my eyes; the splendour of the starlight on the page was more

-than my eyes could bear.

-

-But she read on; for what can dim her eyes?

-

-"O man, verily, labouring, thou labourest to meet thy LORD.

-

-"And thou shalt meet HIM!

-

-"When the earth shall be stretched like a skin, and shall cast forth

-that which is therein;

-

-"By the heaven adorned with signs, by the witness and the witnessed;

-

-"By that which appeareth by night; by the daybreak and the ten

-nights--the ten nights;

-

-"The night of Al Kadr is better than a thousand months.

-

-"Praise be to God, the Lord of all creatures; the Most Merciful, the

-King of the Day of Judgment. Thee do we worship, and of thee do we beg

-assistance. Direct us in the right way, in the way of those to whom

-thou hast been gracious; not of those against whom thou art incensed,

-nor of those who go astray!"

-

-       *       *       *       *       *

-

-In the sudden silence that spread across earth and heaven I heard the

-sound of a voice under the earth, calling, calling, calling.

-

-"It is already spring," said Sweetheart; and she rose, placing her

-white hands in mine. "Shall we go?"

-

-"But we are already there," I stammered, turning my eyes fearfully; for

-the tall pines dwindled and clustered and rose again cool and gray in

-the morning air, all turned to stone, fretted and carved like lacework;

-and where the pines had faded, the twin towers of a cathedral loomed;

-and where the hills swept across the horizon, the roofs of a white city

-glimmered in the morning sun. Bridges and quays and streets and domes

-and the hum of traffic and rattle of arms; and over all, the veil of

-haze and the twin gray towers of Notre Dame!

-

-"Sweetheart!" I faltered.

-

-But we were already in my studio.

-

-

-IV.

-

-The studio had not changed. The sun flooded it.

-

-Sweetheart sat in the broken armchair and watched me struggle with the

-packing. Every now and then she made an impulsive movement toward the

-heap of clothes on the floor, which I checked with a "Thanks! I can fix

-it all alone, Sweetheart."

-

-Clifford seemed to extract amusement from it all, and said as much to

-Rowden, who was as usual ruining my zitherine by trying to play it like

-a banjo.

-

-Elliott, knowing he could be of no use to us, had the decency to

-sit outside the studio on one of the garden benches. He appeared at

-intervals at the studio door, saying, "Come along, Clifford; they don't

-want you messing about. Drop that banjo, Rowden, or Jack will break

-your head with it--won't you, Jack?"

-

-I said I would, but not with the zitherine.

-

-Clifford flatly refused to move unless Sweetheart would take him

-out into our garden and show him the solitary goldfish which lurked

-in the fountain under the almond trees. But Sweetheart, apparently

-fascinated by the mysteries of packing, turned a deaf ear to Clifford's

-blandishments and Rowden's discords.

-

-"I imagined," said Clifford, somewhat hurt, "that you would delight in

-taking upon yourself the duties of a hostess. I should be pleased to

-believe that I am not an unwelcome guest."

-

-"So should I," echoed Rowden; "I'd be pleased too."

-

-"What a shame for you to bother, Jack!" she said. "Mr. Clifford shall

-go and make some tea directly. Mr. Rowden, you may take a table out by

-the fountain--and stay there."

-

-Clifford, motioning Elliott to take the other end of the Japanese

-table, backed with it through the hallway and out to the gravel walk,

-expostulating.

-

-"The sugar is there in that tin box by the model stand," she said, when

-he reappeared, "and the extra spoons are lying in a long box on Jack's

-big easel."

-

-When Rowden, reluctantly relinquishing the zitherine, followed

-Clifford, bearing the cups and alcohol lamp, I raised my head and

-wiped the dust from my forehead. I believe I swore a little in French.

-Sweetheart looked startled. She knew more French than I supposed she

-did.

-

-"What is it, Jack?"

-

-"Mais--rien, ça m'embête--cette espèce de malle----"

-

-"Then why won't you let me help you, Jack? I can at least put in my

-gowns."

-

-"But I must pack my colour box first, and the gun case, and the

-box of reels, and the pastel case, and our shooting boots, and the

-water-colour box, and the cartridge belt, and your golf shoes, and----"

-

-"O dear!" said Sweetheart with a shudder.

-

-I stood up and scowled at the trunk.

-

-"To look at you, Jack," murmured Sweetheart, "one might think you

-unhappy."

-

-Unhappy! At the thought our eyes met across the table.

-

-"Unhappy!" I whispered.

-

-Then Clifford came stumbling in, wearing a pair of Joseph's sabots,

-and, imitating that faithful domestic in voice and manner, invited us

-to tea under the lilacs and almond blossoms.

-

-"In a moment," cried Sweetheart impatiently. "Go and pour the tea."

-

-Clifford looked aghast. "No, no!" he cried; "it's impossible--I won't

-believe that you two are deliberately getting rid of me so you can be

-alone to spoon! And your honeymoon already a year old, and----"

-

-Sweetheart frowned, and tapped her foot.

-

-Clifford retired indignant.

-

-Then she raised her eyes to mine, and a delicate colour stained her

-cheeks and neck.

-

-"Yes," I said, "we have been married nearly a year, Sweetheart."

-

-We looked at our white shadows on the floor.

-

-

-V.

-

-Sweetheart sat under the lilac blossoms pouring out tea for Clifford,

-Elliott, and Rowden. She was gracious to Clifford, gentle to Elliott,

-and she took Rowden under her wing in the sweetest way possible, to

-which Clifford stated his objections.

-

-"Mr. Rowden is younger than you are," she said gravely. "Monsieur

-Clifford, I do not wish you to torment him."

-

-"Rowden's no baby; he's as old as Jack is, and Jack doesn't murder

-music."

-

-"I am glad to see you acknowledge Jack's superiority in all matters,"

-said Sweetheart with a dangerous smile.

-

-"I don't," cried Clifford laughing; "and I don't see what you find

-to care about in a man who clips his hair like a gendarme and paints

-everything purple."

-

-"Everything is purple--if Jack paints it so," said Sweetheart, smiling

-at her reflected face in the water. She stood at the rim of the little

-stone fountain with her hands clasped behind her back. Elliott and

-Clifford were poking about in the water plants to dislodge the solitary

-goldfish, while Rowden gathered dewy clusters of lilacs as an offering.

-

-"There he goes!" said Elliott.

-

-"Poor fellow, living there all alone!" said Sweetheart. "Jack must

-leave word with Joseph to get him a little lady fish to pay his court

-to."

-

-"Better put in another gentleman fish, then, if you're following

-Nature," said Clifford, with an attempt at cynicism which drew the

-merriest laugh from Sweetheart.

-

-"Oh, how funny is Monsieur Clifford when he wants to be like

-Frenchmen!" she murmured.

-

-"Jack," said Elliott, as I came from the studio and picked up a cup of

-tea grown cold, "Clifford's doing the world-worn disenchanted roué."

-

-"And--and I fear he will next make love to me!" cried Sweetheart.

-

-"You'd better look out, Jack," said Clifford darkly, and pretended to

-sulk until Sweetheart sent him off to buy the bonbons she would need

-for the train.

-

-"They're packed," I said, "every trunk of them!"

-

-Sweetheart was enchanted. "All my new gowns, and the shoes

-from Rix's--O Jack, you didn't forget the shoes--and the bath

-robes--and----"

-

-"All packed," I said, swallowing the tea with a wry face.

-

-"Oh," she cried reproachfully, "don't drink that! Here, I will have

-some hot tea in a moment," and she ran over and perched on the arm of

-the garden bench while I lighted the alcohol lamp and then a cigarette.

-

-Rowden came up with his offering of lilacs, and she decorated each of

-us with a spray.

-

-It was growing late. The long shadows fell across the gravel walks and

-flecked the white walls of the sculptor's studio opposite.

-

-"It's the nine-o'clock train, isn't it?" said Elliott.

-

-"We will meet you at the station at eight-thirty," added Rowden.

-

-"You don't mind, do you, our dining alone?" said Sweetheart shyly;

-"it's our last day--Jack's and mine--in the old studio."

-

-"Not the last, I hope," said Elliott sincerely.

-

-We all sat silent for a moment.

-

-"O Paris, Paris--how I fear it!" murmured Sweetheart to me; and in the

-same breath, "No, no, we must love it, you and I."

-

-Then Elliott said aloud, "I suppose you have no idea when you will

-return?"

-

-"No," I replied, thinking of the magic second that had become a year.

-

-And so we dined alone, Sweetheart and I, in the old studio.

-

-At half-past eight o'clock the cab stood at the gate with all our traps

-piled on top, and Joseph and his wife and the two brats were crying,

-"Au revoir, madame! au revoir, monsieur! We will keep the studio well

-dusted. Bon voyage! bon voyage!" and all of a sudden my arm was caught

-by Sweetheart's little gloved hand, and she drew me back through

-the long ivy-covered alley to the garden where the studio stood, its

-doorway closed and silent, the hollow windows black and grim. Truly the

-light had passed away with the passing of Sweetheart. Her hand slipped

-from my arm, and she went and knelt down at the threshold and kissed

-it.

-

-"I first knew happiness when I first crossed it," she said; "it breaks

-my heart to leave it. Only that magic second! but it seems years that

-we have lived here."

-

-"It was you who brought happiness to it," I said.

-

-"Good-bye! good-bye, dear, dear, old studio!" she cried. "Oh, if Jack

-is always the same to me as he has been here--if he will be faithful

-and true in that new home!"

-

-The new home was to be in a strange land. Sweetheart was a little

-frightened, but was dying to go there. Sweetheart had never seen the

-golden gorse ablaze on the moors of Morbihan.

-

-

-VI.

-

-I went inside the brass railing and waited my turn to buy the tickets.

-When it came, I took two first class to Quimperlé, for it was to be

-an all-night ride, and there was no sleeping car. Clifford had taken

-charge of the baggage, and I went with him to have it registered,

-leaving Sweetheart with Elliott and Rowden. All the traps were

-there--the big trunks, the big valises, my sketching kit, the zitherine

-in a leather case, two handbags, a bundle of umbrellas and canes, and a

-huge package of canvases. The toilet case and the rugs and waterproofs

-we took with us into the compartment.

-

-The compartment was empty. Sweetheart nestled into one corner, and

-when I had placed our traps in the racks overhead I sat down opposite,

-while Clifford handed in our sandwiches, a bottle of red wine, and

-Sweetheart's box of bonbons.

-

-We didn't say much; most had been said before starting. Clifford was

-more affected than he cared to show--I know by the way he grasped my

-hand. They are dear fellows, every one. We did not realize that we were

-actually going--going, perhaps, forever. She laughed, and chatted, and

-made fun of Clifford, and teased Rowden, aided and abetted by Elliott,

-until the starting gong clanged and a warning whistle sounded along the

-gaslit platform.

-

-"Jack," cried Clifford, leaning in the window, "God bless you! God

-bless you both!"

-

-Elliott touched her hand and wrung mine, and Rowden risked his neck to

-give us both one last cordial grasp.

-

-"Count on me--on us," cried Clifford, speaking in English, "if you

-are--troubled!"

-

-By what, my poor Clifford? Can you, with all your gay courage, turn

-back the hands of the dials? Can you, with all your warm devotion, add

-one second to the magic second and make it two? The shadows we cast are

-white.

-

-The train stole out into the night, and I saw them grouped on the

-platform, silhouettes in the glare of the yellow signals. I drew in my

-head and shut the window. Sweetheart's face had grown very serious, but

-now she smiled across from her corner.

-

-"Aren't you coming over by me, Jack?"

-

-

-VII.

-

-We must have been moving very swiftly, for the car rocked and trembled,

-and it was probably that which awoke me. I looked across at Sweetheart.

-She was lying on her side, one cheek resting on her gloved hand, her

-travelling cap pushed back, her eyes shut. I smoothed away the curly

-strands of hair which straggled across her cheeks, and tucked another

-rug well about her feet. Her feet were small as a child's. I speak as

-if she were not a child. She was eighteen then.

-

-The next time I awoke we lay in a long gaslit station. Some soldiers

-were disembarking from the forward carriages, and a gendarme stalked up

-and down the platform.

-

-I looked sleepily about for the name of the station. It was painted

-in blue over the buffet--"Petit St. Yves." "Is it possible we are in

-Brittany?" I thought. Then the voices of the station hands, who were

-hoisting a small boat upon the forward carriage, settled my doubts.

-"Allons! tire hardiment, Jean Louis! mets le cannotte deboutte."

-

-"Arrête toi Yves! doucement! doucement! Sacrée garce!"

-

-Somewhere in the darkness a mellow bell tolled. I settled back to

-slumber, my eyes on Sweetheart.

-

-She slept.

-

-

-VIII.

-

-I awoke in a flood of brightest sunshine. From our window I could look

-into the centre of a most enchanting little town, all built of white

-limestone and granite. The June sunshine slanted on thatched roof and

-painted gable, and fairly blazed on the little river slipping by under

-the stone bridge in the square.

-

-The streets and the square were alive with rosy-faced women in white

-head-dresses. Everywhere the constant motion of blue skirts and

-spotless coiffes, the twinkle of varnished socks, the clump! clump! of

-sabots.

-

-Like a black shadow a priest stole across the square. Above him the

-cross on the church glowed like a live cinder, flashing its reflection

-along the purple-slated roof from the eaves of which a cloud of

-ash-gray pigeons drifted into the gutter below. I turned from the

-window to encounter Sweetheart's eyes. Her lips moved a little, her

-long lashes heavy with slumber drooped lower, then with a little sigh

-she sat bolt upright. When I laughed, as I always did, she smiled,

-a little confused, a little ashamed, murmuring: "Bonjour, mon chéri!

-Quelle heure est-il?" That was always the way Sweetheart awoke.

-

-"O dear, I am so rumpled!" she said. "Jack, get me the satchel this

-minute, and don't look at me until I ask you to."

-

-I unlocked the satchel, and then turning to the window again threw it

-wide open. Oh, how sweet came the morning air from the meadows! Some

-young fellows below on the bank of the stream were poking long cane

-fishing-rods under the arches of the bridge.

-

-"Sweetheart," I said over my shoulder, "I believe there are trout in

-this stream."

-

-"Mr. Elliott says that whenever you see a puddle you always say that,"

-she replied.

-

-"What does he know about it?" I answered, for I am touchy on the

-subject; "he doesn't know a catfish from a--a dogfish."

-

-"Neither do I, Jack dear, but I'm going to learn. Don't be cross."

-

-She had finished her toilet and came over to the window, leaning out

-over my shoulder.

-

-"Where are we?" she cried in startled wonder at the little white town

-and the acres of swaying clover. "Oh, Jack, is--is this the country?"

-

-A man in uniform passing under our window looked up surprised.

-

-"What are you doing here?" he demanded; then, seeing Sweetheart, he

-took off his gold-laced cap, and added, with a bow: "This carriage goes

-no farther, monsieur--madame----"

-

-"Merci!" exclaimed Sweetheart, "we wish to go to Quimperlé!"

-

-"And we have tickets for Quimperlé," I insisted.

-

-"But," smiled the official, "this is Quimperlé."

-

-It was true. There was the name written over the end of the station;

-and, looking ahead, I saw that our car had been detached and was

-standing in stately seclusion under the freight shed. How long it had

-been standing so Heaven alone knows; but they evidently had neglected

-to call us, and there we were inhabiting a detached carriage in the

-heart of Quimperlé. I managed to get a couple of porters, and presently

-we found all our traps piled up on the platform, and a lumbering

-vehicle with a Breton driver waiting to convey us to the hotel.

-

-"Which," said I to the docile Breton, "is the best hotel in Quimperlé?"

-

-"The Hôtel Lion d'Or," he replied.

-

-"How do you know?" I demanded.

-

-"Because," said he mildly, "it is the only hotel in Quimperlé."

-

-Sweetheart observed that this ought to be convincing, even to me,

-and she tormented me all the way to the square, where I got even by

-pretending to be horrified at her dishevelled condition incident to a

-night's railway ride in a stuffy compartment.

-

-"Don't, Jack! people will look at us."

-

-"Let 'em."

-

-"Oh, this is cruel! Oh, I'll pay you for this!"

-

-And they did look at us--or rather at her; for from the time Sweetheart

-and I had cast our lots together, I noticed that I seemed to escape the

-observation of passers-by. When I lived alone in Paris I attracted a

-fair share of observation from the world as it wagged on its Parisian

-way. It was pleasant to meet a pretty girl's eyes now and then in the

-throng which flowed through the park and boulevard. I really never

-flattered myself that it was because of my personal beauty; but in

-Paris, any young fellow who is dressed in the manner of Albion, hatted

-and gloved in the same style, is not entirely a cipher. But now it was

-not the same, by a long shot.

-

-Sweetheart's beauty simply put me in my place as an unnoticed but

-perhaps correct supplement to her.

-

-She knew she was a beauty, and was delighted when she looked into her

-mirror. Nothing escaped her. The soft hair threaded with sunshine,

-which, when loosened, curled to her knees; the clear white forehead and

-straight brows; the nose delicate and a trifle upturned; the scarlet

-lips and fine cut chin--she knew the value of each of these. She was

-pleased with the soft, full curve of her throat, the little ears, and

-the colour which came and went in her cheeks.

-

-But her eyes were the first thing one noticed. They were the most

-beautiful gray eyes that ever opened under silken lashes. She approved

-of my telling her this, which duty I fulfilled daily. Perhaps it may be

-superfluous to say that we were very much in love. Did I say _were_?

-

-I think that, as I am chanting the graces of Sweetheart, it might not

-be amiss to say that she is just an inch shorter than I am, and that

-no Parisienne carried a pretty gown with more perfection than she

-did. I have seen gowns that looked like the devil on the manikin, but

-when Sweetheart wore them they were the astonishment and admiration of

-myself. And I do know when a woman is well dressed, though I am an art

-critic.

-

-Sweetheart regarded her beauty as an intimate affair between ourselves,

-a precious gift for our mutual benefit, to be carefully treasured and

-petted. Her attitude toward the world was unmistakable. The world might

-look--she was indifferent. With our intimate friends she was above

-being flattered. Clifford said to me once: "She carries her beauty as

-a princess would carry the Koh-i-noor--she knows she is worthy of it,

-and hopes it is worthy of her."

-

-"We ought to be so happy that I am beautiful!" she would say to me.

-"Just think, supposing I were not!"

-

-I used to try to make her believe that it would have made no difference.

-

-"Oh, not now," she would say gravely. "I know that if I lost it it

-would be the same to us both, now; but you can't make me believe that,

-at first, when you used to lean over the terrace of the Luxembourg and

-wait patiently for hours just to see me walk out of the Odeon."

-

-"I didn't," I would always explain; "I was there by accident."

-

-"Oh, what a funny accident to happen every day for two months!"

-

-"Stop teasing! Of course, after the first week----"

-

-"And what a funny accident that I should pass the same way every day

-for two months, when before I always went by the Rue de Seine!"

-

-There was once such an accident, and such a girl. I never knew her; she

-is dead. I wondered sometimes that Sweetheart knew, and believed it was

-she herself. Yet the other woman's shadow was black.

-

-Sweetheart had a most peculiar and unworldly habit of not embellishing

-facts. She presently displayed it when we arrived at the Hôtel Lion

-d'Or.

-

-"Jack," said she nervously, "the cinders have made your face

-unpleasant. I am ashamed. They may not believe you are my husband."

-

-"As monsieur and madame," I said, "we may have dirty faces and be

-honest."

-

-"Do you suppose they--they will believe it? These queer people----"

-

-"They'd better!" I said fiercely.

-

-"I--I hadn't thought of that," she said. "You see, in our own little

-place in Paris everybody knew it, but here----"

-

-I said, "Dearest, what nonsense!" and we marched unceremoniously up

-to the register, where I wrote our names. Then, with a hasty little

-squeeze of her gloved hand, she turned to the maid and tripped off to

-inspect our quarters. While I was pumping the fat-headed old proprietor

-about the trout fishing in the vicinity, the maid returned with the

-request that I mount to the room above. I followed her along the tiled

-passages and found Sweetheart sitting on a trunk.

-

-"It's charming! charming!" she said. "Just look at the roses outside,

-and the square, and the river! and oh, Jack, the funny little Breton

-cattle, and the old man with knee-breeches! It's charming! and"--here

-she caught sight of the enraptured and fascinated maid--"and you are

-charming, with your red cheeks and white coiffe," she said. "Oh, how

-pretty!"

-

-"Oh, madame!" murmured the servant in dire confusion.

-

-I said, "Dearest, that will do. Nobody speaks of my peculiar charms,

-and I wish to be noticed."

-

-The presence of the maid prevented Sweetheart from making amends, so we

-told her we were satisfied, and we would spare her life if she prepared

-breakfast in seventeen seconds.

-

-She accepted the gift of existence with a dazed courtsey, and vanished.

-

-It was refreshing to get hold of a sponge and cold water after fourteen

-hours in a cramped compartment. Hunger drove us to hurry--a thing we

-rarely did in the morning--and the way we splashed cold water about

-would have been fatal to any but a tiled floor.

-

-"Dear," I said, "you have not yet seen me in my Tyrolese knickerbockers

-and beautiful shooting jacket. You have never beheld my legs clothed in

-Tyrolese stockings, at twenty francs a pair."

-

-"The legs?" she inquired from the depths of a bath robe.

-

-I ignored the question, and parted my hair with care. Then I sat down

-on the window and whistled.

-

-Of course I was ready first. Sweetheart's hair had got into a tangle

-and needed to be all combed out.

-

-"Oh, I know you are impatient, because you're whistling the Chant du

-Départ," she said from the door of her toilet room.

-

-"As usual," I said, "I am ready first."

-

-"If you say that again----" she threatened.

-

-I said it, and dodged a sponge. Presently I was requested to open the

-trunk and select a gown for her. Dear little Sweetheart! she loved

-to pretend that she had so many it needed long consultation to decide

-which.

-

-"The dark blue?" I inquired.

-

-"Don't you think it is too warm?"

-

-"The pale blue, then--or the pink and white?"

-

-"Why not the white, with the cuffs à l'Anglaise, and the canoe hat?"

-

-I hauled it out.

-

-Then, of course, she changed her mind.

-

-"I think the gray is better for the morning; then I can wear the big

-chip hat."

-

-I fished up the gray. It was light, almost silvery, and had white spots

-on it.

-

-"Jack, dear," she said, coming out with her hair tucked up in a knot,

-drawing the bath robe up to her chin with both hands, "I think that the

-white cloth would be better, and that I can wear the béret."

-

-By this time the trunk was in a pretty mess, which amused her; but at

-last I ferreted out the white cloth dress, and, refusing to listen to

-further discussion, sat down on the window seat. Sweetheart enjoyed it.

-

-"Stop telling me to hurry," she said; "I can't, if you keep saying it

-all the time."

-

-After a while she called me to fasten her corsage, which hooked with

-about ten hundred hooks along the side and collar. I hated to do it,

-and my finger ends stung for hours after, but, as Sweetheart very

-rightly says, "When we are rich enough to have a maid you needn't," I

-submitted with an air which delighted her. Her tormenting "Thank you,

-Jack," was the last straw, so I calmly picked her up and carried her

-out, and almost to the dining room, where I set her down just in time

-to avoid the proprietor and three domestics issuing from the office.

-

-Sweetheart was half inclined to laugh, half indignant, and wholly

-scandalized. But she did not dare say anything, for we were at the

-dining-room door.

-

-There were some people there, but except for a slight inclination we

-did not notice each other. We had a small table to ourselves by the

-rose-bowered window.

-

-We were very hungry. Breakfast began with fresh sardines just caught,

-and ended with little Breton cakes and a demi-tasse. I finished first;

-I always do, because the wretched habit of bolting my food, contracted

-while studying under Bouguereau at Julian's, clings to me yet. Oh,

-I shall have a merry time paying for it when I am forty! I began, as

-usual, to tease Sweetheart.

-

-"If you continue to eat like this, dear, you will never be able to wear

-your new frocks. This one seems a trifle too tight now."

-

-Sweetheart, who prided herself as much on her figure as on her lovely

-face, repelled the insult with disdain and nibbled her Breton biscuit

-defiantly. When at last she condescended to rise, we strolled out

-under the trees in front of the hotel, and sat down on the low stone

-wall surrounding the garden. The noon sun hung in the zenith, flooding

-the town with a dazzling downpour. Sunbeams glanced and danced on

-the water; sunbeams filtered through the foliage; sunbeams stole

-under Sweetheart's big straw hat, searching the depths of the gray

-eyes. Sunbeams played merry mischief with my ears and neck, which

-were beginning to sting in the first sunburn of the year. Through the

-square the white-coiffed women passed and repassed; small urchins with

-silver-buckled hatbands roamed about the bridge and market-place until

-collected and trooped off to school by a black-robed Jesuit frère;

-and in the shade of the trees a dozen sprawling men in Breton costume

-smoked their microscopical pipes and watched the water.

-

-"They are an industrious race," said I with fine irony, watching a

-happy inebriate pursuing a serpentine course toward the café opposite.

-

-Sweetheart, who was as patriotic a little girl as ever hummed the

-Marseillaise, and adopted France as long as she lived in it, was up in

-arms in an instant.

-

-"I have read," she said with conviction, "that the Bretons are a brave,

-industrious race. They are French."

-

-"They speak a different language," I said--"not a word of French in it."

-

-"They are French," repeated Sweetheart, with an inflection which

-decided me to shun the subject until I could unpack my guide-book.

-

-We sat a little while longer under the trees, until we both began

-nodding and mutually accused each other. Then Sweetheart went up to

-the room to take a nap, and I, scorning such weakness, lay down in a

-steamer chair under our window and fell fast asleep in no time.

-

-I was aroused by a big pink rose which hit me squarely on the mouth.

-Sweetheart was perched in the window seat above, and as I looked up she

-sent a shower of blossoms down upon me.

-

-"Jack, you lazy creature, it's five o'clock, and I'm dressed and ready

-for a walk!"

-

-"So am I," I said, jumping up.

-

-"But not like that. You must come up and make yourself nice for dinner."

-

-"Nice? What's the matter with these tweeds? Aren't these new stockings

-presentable?"

-

-"Look at your hair!" she said evasively. "Come up this minute and brush

-it."

-

-I went, and was compelled to climb into a white collar and shirt, and

-trousers of an English cut. But before we had gone far along the great

-military road that climbed the heights above the little river, I took

-Sweetheart's hand in mine and imparted to her my views and intentions

-upon the subject of my costume for the future.

-

-"You see, dearest, we are here in Brittany for three reasons. The

-first is, that I should paint outdoors. The second is, that we should

-economize like the deuce. The third is, our shadows----"

-

-"I know," she interrupted faintly. "Never mind, Jack, dear."

-

-We walked silently for a while, hand clasping hand very tightly, for we

-were both thinking of the third reason.

-

-I broke the silence first, speaking cheerfully, and she looked up with

-a quick smile while the shadow fell from her brow.

-

-"You see, dear, in this place, where we are going, there are no people

-but peasants. Your frocks are all right for a place like this; we

-must both wear our free-and-easy togs--I for painting, and you for

-scrambling about after your wild flowers or fishing with me. If you get

-tired of seeing me in corduroys or tweeds, I'll dress for you when you

-think you can't stand it any longer."

-

-"Oh, Jack, I do like your knickerbockers----"

-

-"And you shall wear your most gorgeous gown for me----"

-

-"Indeed I won't," she laughed, adding impulsively, "indeed I

-will--every day, if you wish it!"

-

-At the top of the hill stood an ancient Ursuline convent surrounded

-by a high wall, which also inclosed the broad acres of the wealthy

-sisterhood. We sat down by the roadside hedge and looked across the

-valley, where the hurrying river had ceased to hasten and now lingered

-in placid pools and long, deep reaches. The sun had set behind the

-forest, and the sky threw a purple light over woods and meadow. The

-grassy pools below were swept by flocks of whistling martins and

-swallows. One or two white gulls flapped slowly toward the tide water

-below, and a young curlew, speeding high overhead, uttered a lonesome

-cry. The grass--the brilliant green grass of Brittany--had turned a

-deep metallic blue in the twilight. A pale primrose light grew and died

-in the sky, and the forest changed from rose to ashes. Then a dull red

-bar shot across the parting clouds in the west, the forest smouldered

-an instant, and the pools glowed crimson. Slowly the red bar melted

-away, the light died out among the branches, the pools turned sombre.

-Looking up, we saw the new moon flashing in the sky above our heads.

-Sweetheart sighed in perfect contentment.

-

-"It's beautiful!" I said, with another sigh.

-

-"Ah, yes," she murmured, "beautiful to you, and to me--to me, Jack, who

-have never before seen this land of Morbihan."

-

-After a while she said, "And the ocean--oh, how I long to see it! Is it

-near us, Jack?"

-

-"The river runs into it twenty kilometres below. We feel the tide at

-Quimperlé." I did not add, "Baedeker."

-

-"I wonder," I said presently, "what are the feelings of a little

-American who sees this country--the real country--for the first time?"

-

-"I suppose you mean me," she said. "I don't know--I don't think I

-understand it yet, but I know I shall love it, and never want to go

-back."

-

-"Perhaps we never shall," I said. "The magic second may stretch into

-years that end at last as all ends."

-

-Then our hands met in that sudden nervous clasp which seemed to help

-and steady us when we were thinking of the real world, so long, so long

-forgotten.

-

-

-IX.

-

-I was awakened next morning by a spongeful of cold water in the face,

-which I hate. I started up to wreak vengeance upon Sweetheart, but she

-fled to the toilet room and locked herself in. From this retreat she

-taunted me until further sleep was out of the question, and I bowed

-to the inevitable--indignantly, when I saw my watch pointed to five

-o'clock.

-

-Sweetheart was perfectly possessed to row; so when I had bolted my

-coffee and sat watching her placidly sip hers, we decided to go down to

-the bank of the little stream and hire a boat. The boat was a wretched,

-shapeless affair, with two enormous oars and the remnants of rowlocks.

-It was the best boat in town, so we took it. I managed to get away

-from the bank, and, conscious of Sweetheart's open admiration, pulled

-boldly down the stream. It was easy work, for the tide was ebbing. The

-river up to the bridge was tidal, but above the bridge it leaped and

-flowed, a regular salmon stream. Sweetheart was so impatient to take

-the oars that I relinquished them and picked up my rod. The boat swung

-down the stream and under the high stone viaduct, where I insisted

-on anchoring and whipping the promising-looking water. The water was

-likely enough, and the sudden splash of a leaping grilse added to its

-likelihood. I was in hopes a grilse might become entangled with one of

-the flies, but though a big one shot up out of the water within five

-feet of Sweetheart, causing her to utter a suppressed scream, neither

-grilse nor trout rose to the beautiful lures I trailed about, and I

-only hooked two or three enormous dace, which came up like logs and

-covered the bottom of the boat with their coarse scales.

-

-Sweetheart had never seen a French trout uncooked, and scarcely shared

-my disappointment.

-

-"They are splendid fish," she repeated; "you are unreasonable."

-

-There was an ancient Breton squatting on the bank; from his sulky

-attitude I took him to be a poacher visiting his infernal set lines and

-snares; but I hailed him pleasantly with a bonjour, which he returned

-civilly enough.

-

-"Are there trout in this stream?"

-

-"About the bridge," he replied cautiously.

-

-"Have you caught any?"

-

-"I ain't fishing," he said, much alarmed.

-

-"What's that?" I demanded, pointing to as plump a trout as ever I saw,

-floating on the end of a string under the bank.

-

-"Where?" he asked, looking about him with affected concern.

-

-"There!"

-

-He looked around, everywhere except where I pointed. He examined the

-horizon, and the tree tops, as though he expected a fish on every twig.

-I poled the boat up to the bank and pointed out the fish.

-

-"Ma doui!" he exclaimed, "there _is_ a fish!"

-

-"Yes, a trout," I said.

-

-"Trout?" He burst into a forced laugh. "Trout! Ha! ha! Why, monsieur,

-that is a dace--a poor little dace!" He hastily jerked it up with a

-long homemade gaff which lay--of course quite by accident--at his feet.

-

-"A poor little dace!" he mumbled. "Of course, monsieur would not care

-to claim such a poor, coarse little fish; but I am only too glad to eat

-it--ah, yes, only too glad!"

-

-"You see," said Sweetheart impulsively, "that you are wrong. Give him

-our fish; that will make four dace for the poor fellow."

-

-I placed the three dace across the blade of my oar and held it out to

-the poacher. He took them as if he were really glad to get them. Then

-I said, "These are dace, and they don't have red spots."

-

-He stood as if ready to bolt, but I laughed, and settled back on my

-oars, saying: "You're a poacher; but I don't care a continental, and

-you can poach all day in this confounded country, where there is about

-one trout to the kilometre. Don't look scared. What do I care? Only

-don't tell me I'm unable to distinguish a trout when I can see the tip

-of his nose."

-

-I then sailed majestically out into the stream.

-

-Sweetheart wanted to know whether that was really a real poacher.

-She had read about them. Her ideal poacher was a young, stalwart,

-eagle-eyed giant, with a tangle of hair and a disposition toward

-assassination. The reality shocked her.

-

-"Anyway," she said, "you frightened the poor old thing. How rough men

-are!"

-

-We returned to the landing place with difficulty, for the tide was

-still on the ebb, and we got aground more than once. My hands were in

-a fine condition when at last I drove that wretched scow into the mud

-and lifted Sweetheart out to the firm bank. The evil-eyed old man who

-rented us the boat glanced sardonically at my rod and blistered hands,

-and I was glad enough to pay him all he asked and break away for the

-hotel.

-

-We had an hour to lunch in, pack, and be ready for the trap which

-was to bear us to our destination--the distant village of Faöuet, in

-Morbihan.

-

-

-X.

-

-A long drive on a smooth white road, acres of gorse and broom, beech

-woods and oak thickets, and the "Heu! heu! Allo! Allons! en route!" of

-the Breton driver, these are my recollections of the ride to Faöuet.

-There are others, too--the hedges heavy with bloom, the perfume of the

-wild honeysuckle, the continual bird chorus from every grove and every

-bramble patch--and Sweetheart's veil flying into my face.

-

-We have spoken of it since together, but she has few recollections

-of that journey. She only remembers it as her first steps into our

-heritage.

-

-And so we entered into our heritage, Sweetheart and I; and our heritage

-was very fair, for it lay everywhere about us. It was a world which

-we alone inhabited. Men said, "This land is Gloanec's," "This is

-Gurnalec's," "This is Kerdec's"; they spoke of "my woods" and "his

-meadows" and "their pastures." And how we laughed; for when we passed

-together through their lands, around us, far as the eye could reach,

-our heritage lay in the sunshine.

-

-

-XI.

-

-One day, when Sweetheart had been weeping--for we were thinking of the

-end to the magic second--I spoke of our heritage which swept far as the

-eye could reach across the moors of Faöuet.

-

-She said: "The past is ours, Jack; the present is ours; the future----"

-

-We tried to smile, but our hearts were like lead. Yet we know that the

-future will also be ours. I know it as I write.

-

-

-XII.

-

-The letter from St. Gildas, bringing with it a breath of salt air, lay

-on the table before us. Sweetheart clasped her hands and looked at me.

-

-"I'm in favour of going at once," I said for the third time. Over by

-the wall were piled my canvases, the result of three months in Faöuet.

-

-The first was a study of Sweetheart under the trees of the ancient

-orchard in the convent grounds. What trouble I had had with that

-canvas! I remembered the morning that the old gardener came over

-and stood behind me as I painted; and when I had replied to his

-"Good-morning," I recalled the pang his next words gave me:

-

-"I am so sorry, monsieur, but it is forbidden to enter the convent

-grounds."

-

-My canvas was almost finished, and, as the romancers have it, "my

-despair was great!" A month's work for nothing--or next to nothing!

-

-Sweetheart rose from her pose on the low bough of the apple tree and

-came over to my side. "Never mind, Jack; I shall go and ask the Mother

-Superior about it."

-

-I knew that she would win over the Mother Superior; and when, that

-evening, she came back radiant, crying, "She is lovely!--she says you

-may finish the picture, and I think you ought to go and thank her," I

-put on my cap, and stepping across the street, we rang at the gate.

-

-The old gardener let us in, and in a moment I stood before the latticed

-windows behind which some one was moving. In a low voice the invisible

-nun told us that the Superior granted to us the privilege of working in

-the orchard, but we must be careful of the grass, because it was almost

-time to cut it.

-

-"I am sure we may have confidence in you," she said.

-

-"We will not trample the grass, my sister, and I thank you for us both."

-

-The lattice trembled, was raised a little, and then fell.

-

-"You are English," said the hidden nun.

-

-"I am American, my sister."

-

-I looked at the lattice a moment, then dropped my eyes. I may have been

-mistaken, but I think she sighed.

-

-Sweetheart came closer to the lattice and murmured her thanks.

-

-There was a pause.

-

-Then came the voice again, sweet and gentle: "May Our Lady of Saint

-Gildas protect you"; and we went out by the little iron wicket.

-

-The next picture was another study of Sweetheart in the woods; the

-next, another study of Sweetheart; and the others were studies of the

-same young lady.

-

-The light in the room had grown dim, and I walked to the window which

-overlooked the convent chapel. The chapel windows were open; within,

-the nuns stood or knelt chanting. Three white-veiled figures were

-advancing to the altar, and the others, draped in black now knelt

-behind. I didn't think I had any business to look at them, so I did

-not. After all, they were cloistered nuns, and it was only on hot

-nights that they opened the chapel windows. Sweetheart was speaking

-beside my shoulder.

-

-"Poor things! The ones in white, they are the novices; they will never

-see parents or friends again. When they enter the gates they never

-leave--never; they are buried there."

-

-I said: "After all, we are much like them. We have left all; we have

-nothing now but each other, for the world is dead, and we are bound by

-vows which keep us within the narrow confines of our heritage."

-

-"But our heritage is everywhere--as far as we can see."

-

-"Ah, yes, but we can only see to the horizon. There is a world beyond."

-

-"I have renounced it," said Sweetheart faintly.

-

-

-XIII.

-

-The letter from St. Gildas had been lying on our table for a week

-before I thought of answering it, and even then it was Sweetheart who

-wrote:

-

-     "DEAR MR. STUART:

-

-     "Jack is too lazy to answer your kind note, so, in pure shame

-     for his discourtesy, I hasten to reply to your questions.

-

-     "First: Yes; we have been working very hard, and Jack's

-     pictures are charming, though he growls over them all day.

-

-     "Second: Yes; we intend to stay in Brittany this winter for

-     lots of reasons--one being economy, and another, Jack's

-     outdoor painting.

-

-     "Third: Yes; we are coming to St. Gildas.

-

-     "Fourth: To-morrow.

-

-     "Fifth: No; we had not heard of Mr. Clifford's affair with

-     the policeman; and oh, I am so sorry he was locked up and

-     fined! Jack laughs. I suspect he, too, was as wicked as you

-     all when he was a student, alone in Paris.

-

-     "Sixth: I know you are Jack's oldest and most intimate friend,

-     so I allow you more liberty than I do Messieurs Clifford and

-     Elliott; therefore I will answer your question as to whether

-     the honeymoon is not on the wane. No! no! no! There are three

-     answers to one question. See how generous I can be!"

-

-Sweetheart called me to see whether or not I approved. I did, and added

-my answer to Stuart's last question as follows: "No, you idiot!" Then

-I signed the note, and Sweetheart sealed and directed it.

-

-So we left for St. Gildas next morning before sunrise and in the rain.

-This leaving at such an unearthly hour was not my doing, but Sweetheart

-was determined, and rose by candlelight in spite of desperate

-opposition on my part. It was cold, and the rain beat against the

-windows.

-

-It was many kilometres to St. Gildas, but before we had gone six, the

-rain had ceased and the eastern sky flushed to a pale rose.

-

-"Thank goodness!" I said, "we shall have the sun."

-

-Then the daily repeated miracle of the coming of dawn was wrought

-before our eyes. The heavens glowed in rainbow tints; the shredded mist

-rising along the river was touched with purple and gold, and acres

-of meadow and pasture dripped precious stones. Shreds of the fading

-night-mist drifted among the tree tops, now tipped with fire, while in

-the forest depths faint sparkles came from some lost ray of morning

-light falling on wet leaves. Then of a sudden up shot the sun, and

-against it, black and gigantic, a peasant towered, leaning upon his

-spade.

-

-

-XIV.

-

-We were fast nearing the end of our long journey. The sun blazed on

-us from the zenith, and the wheels creaked with the heat of the white

-road. The driver leaned back, saying, "We enter Finistère here by this

-granite post." Presently he added, "The ocean!"

-

-There it lay, a basin of silver and blue. Sweetheart had started to her

-feet, speechless, one hand holding to my shoulder, the other clasped

-to her breast. And now, as the road wound through the hills and down

-to the coast, long stretches of white sand skirted the distant cliffs,

-and over the cliffs waved miles and miles of yellow gorse. A cluster of

-white and gray houses lay in the hollow to the left almost at the mouth

-of the river, and beyond, the waves were beating in the bar--beating

-the same rhythm which we were to hear so long there together, day and

-night. There was not a boat to be seen, not a creature, nor was there

-any sign of life save for the smoke curling from a cottage chimney

-below. The ocean lay sparkling beneath, and beyond its deeper blue

-melted into the haze on the horizon.

-

-Suddenly, in the road below, the figure of a man appeared, and at the

-same moment a pointer pup came gambolling up beside us in an ecstasy

-of self-abnegation and apology. I sprang out of the lumbering vehicle

-and lifted Sweetheart to the ground, and in an instant we were shaking

-hands with a stalwart young fellow in knickerbockers and jersey, who

-said we were a pretty pair not to have come sooner, and told Sweetheart

-he pitied her lot--meaning me.

-

-Then we walked arm in arm down a fragrant lane to the river bank, where

-the dearest old lady toddled out of the granite house to welcome us and

-show us our rooms. Sweetheart went with her, while I stopped an instant

-to chat with Stuart.

-

-"That is Madame Ylven," he said. "She is the most stunning peasant

-woman in Finistère, and you will want for nothing." Then, after a

-moment, "Good heavens! Jack, what a beauty your wife----" He stopped

-short, but added, "What a delicious little beauty Sweetheart has grown

-to be!"

-

-A white-coiffed maid came to the door, and said, "Will monsieur have

-the goodness to come? Madame wishes him to see the rooms."

-

-The wind blew from the south, and the thunder of the sea was in my ears

-as I mounted the stairs to our new quarters.

-

-Sweetheart met me at the door, saying, "It seems almost too much

-happiness to bear, but I feel that we are at home at last--alone

-together for all time."

-

-Alone together? The ocean at our threshold, the moors and forests at

-our back, and a good slate roof above us. Before me through the open

-door I could see the great old-fashioned room, warm in the afternoon

-sunlight--the room we were to live in so long, the room in which we

-were to pass the happiest and bitterest moments of our lives.

-

-She hesitated an instant before the threshold. I think we knew that we

-stood upon the threshold of our destiny. Then I said, half in earnest:

-"Are you afraid to cross with me into the unknown future? See, the room

-is filled with sunshine. Are you afraid?"

-

-She sprang across the threshold, and, turning to me, held out both

-hands.

-

-

-XV.

-

-The sun slipped lower and lower into the sea, until a distant tossing

-wave washed it out against the sky. Light died in the room, and shadows

-closed around us; yet it was in the darkness and shadows that we drew

-nearer to each other, then and after.

-

-

-XVI.

-

-Stuart stood under our window and yelled up at me, "Oh, Jack! I say,

-Jack!"

-

-Sweetheart, who was fussing over the half-unpacked trunk, went to the

-window and threw open the panes.

-

-"You don't mean to say you have had your coffee?" she said. "Jack isn't

-up yet."

-

-"Jack is up," I explained, coming to the window in pajamas. "Hello!"

-

-"I only wanted to say that I haven't had my coffee," he explained, "and

-I'm going to take it with you when you're ready."

-

-Sweetheart picked up her béret, and, passing a hatpin through it,

-turned to me with a warning, "I shall eat all the breakfast, monsieur!"

-and vanished down the stairs. A moment later I heard her clear voice

-below:

-

-  Sonnez le choeur,

-    Chasseur!

-  Sonnez la mort!

-

-Before I had finished dressing, Sweetheart tripped in with my coffee

-and toast.

-

-"Of course I've finished," she said, "and you don't deserve this.

-Mr. Stuart has gone off with his canvases, and says he'll see you at

-lunch."

-

-I swallowed the coffee and browsed on little squares of toast which

-she condescendingly buttered for me, and then, lighting a cigarette, I

-announced my intention of commanding an exploring expedition consisting

-of Sweetheart and myself. A scratching at the door and a patter of feet

-announced that I had been overheard.

-

-Sweetheart unlatched the door, and the pointer pup of the evening

-before charged into the room and covered us with boisterous caresses,

-which we took to indicate that he not only approved of the expedition,

-but intended to undertake the general supervision of it himself. I

-resigned the leadership at once.

-

-"His name," said Sweetheart in the tone of one who presents a

-distinguished guest, "is 'Luff.'"

-

-I gravely acknowledged the honour by patting his head.

-

-"I'm afraid," I said to Sweetheart, "that there is a bar sinister

-upon his escutcheon, but possibly it is only the indelible mark of the

-conquering British foxhound."

-

-Sweetheart said, "Nonsense!" and the expedition moved, Luff leading

-with a series of ear-splitting orders in the dog language which we

-perfectly understood.

-

-In ten minutes we stood on the cliffs, the salt wind whipping our

-faces. Saint-Gildas-des-Prés lay at our feet.

-

-"I know," observed Sweetheart calmly, "all about this place. Captain

-Ylven told me at breakfast."

-

-"Well," said I, "what's that island on the horizon?"

-

-Then she overwhelmed me with erudition, until I longed for Baedeker and

-revenge.

-

-"That is the Isle de Groix, and all about us is the Bay of Biscay. This

-little hamlet on the cliff is St. Julien, and if we follow the coast

-far enough we come to Lorient."

-

-"Follow the coast? Which way?"

-

-Sweetheart had forgotten, and I triumphed in silence, until she stamped

-her foot and marched off to assist Luff in investigating a suspicious

-hole in the cliff.

-

-I went to the edge of the plateau and looked over. The surf thundered

-against the rocks, tossing long strands of seaweed over the pebbly

-beach. A man with a wooden rake stood in the water up to his knees. He

-raked the seaweed from the breakers as a farmer rakes weeds from the

-lawn. The salt wind began to sting my lips and eyes. My throat felt dry

-and salty. I turned toward the hamlet of St. Gildas. I had not imagined

-it so small. Besides our house there were but three others clustered

-under the river bank. Behind it stretched woods and grain fields broken

-by patches of yellow gorse. Across the river stood a stone chapel

-almost lost in the miles of moorland. To the east and west the downs

-covered with gorse and heather rolled to the horizon. Here and there

-along the cliffs stood what appeared to be the ruins of ancient forts,

-and on a rock, just where the river sweeps out into the sea, rose a

-dirty white signal tower. The tower was low and squatty and wet. It

-looked like some saline excrescence which had slowly exuded from the

-brine-soaked rock. On the bar hundreds of white gulls rose and settled

-as the tide encroached; curlew were running along the foam-splashed

-shore under the eastern cliffs across the river.

-

-On our side of the river the cliffs were covered with blackthorn and

-hawthorn, with here and there a stunted oak, probably so placed by

-Providence as general rendezvous for all the small twittering birds of

-Finistère. Birds were everywhere. From the clouds came the ceaseless

-carol of skylarks; from the grain fields and the flowering gorse rose

-an unbroken chorus, taken up and repeated by flocks of microscopical

-songsters among the blackthorns on the cliffs.

-

-"This is paradise, this wilderness," I thought.

-

-Then, as I heard Sweetheart's mocking voice from the cliff:

-

-  O frère Jacques,

-  Dormez vous!

-

-"I'm not asleep!" I cried in answer. "What is it?"

-

-"Luff has unearthed a poor little mole, but I won't allow him to hurt

-it."

-

-"Jack, dear," she said, as I came up, "couldn't we keep it as a pet?

-See, the poor little thing is blind."

-

-As it was blind we called it "Love," which later was changed to

-"Cupid," and finally, when we discovered it true gormandizing

-character, for "Cupid" we substituted "Cupidity," by which name it

-flourished and fattened.

-

-"What a change," said Sweetheart sadly, "from Blind Love to Blind

-Greed!"

-

-The mole grew very fat.

-

-

-XVII.

-

-When the winds stir the leaves among the poplars, and the long shadows

-fall athwart the fields; when the winds rise at night, and the branches

-scrape and crack above the moonlit snow; when in the long hot days

-the earth is bathed in fragrance, and all the little creatures of

-the fields are silent; when in the still evenings the flowers perfume

-the air, and the gravel walks shine white in the moonlight; when the

-breezes quicken from the distant coast; when the sand shakes beneath

-the shock of the breakers, and every wave is plumed with white; when

-the calm eye of the beacon turns to mine, lingers, and turn away, and

-the surf is yeasty and thick; when I start at the sound of a voice from

-the cliffs, and my eyes are raised in vain; when the white gulls toss

-and drift in the storm-clouds, and the water hurries out in the black

-ebb tide; when I rise and look from the window; when I dress; when I

-work with pen and colour; when I rest; when I walk; when I sleep--there

-is one face before my eyes, one name on my lips. For the white shadow

-is turning gray, and God alone knows the end.

-

-

-XVIII.

-

-And God alone knows the end, for the mists are crowding, brooding

-like angry-browed clouds, and I hear the whistle of unseen winds, and

-my life-flame wavers and sinks and flares, blown hither and thither,

-tossing, fading, leaping, but fading, always fading.

-

-In a flash, like a printed picture on a screen, illuminated, keenly

-etched in the white glare, I see the bed, and the people around me,

-the black gowns, the pale eyes of the doctor, the sponge and basin, the

-rolls of lint.

-

-Voices, minute but clean-cut and clear as picked harp-strings, tinkle

-in my ears; the voice of the doctor, other voices, but always the

-voice of the doctor--"The splinter of bone on the brain; the splinter

-pressing on the tissues; the depression."

-

-The doctor! That is the man! That is the man who comes to my side, who

-follows, follows where I go, who seeks me throughout the world! I saw

-him as I lay flung on the turf, limp, unconscious, below the cliffs

-on the Aspen hills; I felt his presence in the studio; I heard him

-creeping at my heels across the gorse thickets of St. Gildas. And now

-he has come to cut short the magic second, to turn back time--back,

-back, into the old worn channels, rock-ribbed and salt with tears.

-

-As a leaf of written paper torn in two, so shall my life be torn in

-two; and the long tear shall mangle the chapter written in rose and

-gold.

-

-Then, too, my shadow, already turned from white to gray, shall fall

-with a deeper stain wherever I pass; and I shall see the yellow gorse

-glimmer and turn to golden-rod, and the poplars turn to oaks; and the

-twin towers of Notre Dame, filmy, lace-carved, and gray with centuries,

-shall dwindle as I look--dwindle and sway and turn to pines, singing

-pines that murmur to the winds, blowing across the Aspen hills.

-

-       *       *       *       *       *

-

-All that is fair shall pass away; all that I love, all that I fear

-for--these shall the doctor take away, lifting them from my memory on

-the point of a steel blade. What has he to give in return? A hell of

-vapour, distorting sight; a hell of sound, drowning the soul.

-

-       *       *       *       *       *

-

-Gigantic apparitions arise across the world of water, wavering like

-shadows on the clouds. Steel-clad, clothed in skins, casqued in steel,

-their winged heads bend and nod and move against the clouds. And even

-they are changing as clouds change shape. I see steel limbs turn red

-and naked. I see winged casques trail to the earth, feathered, painted

-in colours of earth.

-

-Ihó! Inâh! Etó! E-hó!

-

-The bridge of stars spans the vast lake of air; the sun and the moon

-travel over it.

-

-       *       *       *       *       *

-

-My shadow is turning dark; I can scarcely see the doctor, but now--God

-have mercy!--_I can touch him._

-

-       *       *       *       *       *

-

-All the high spectres are stooping from the clouds, bending above me to

-watch. I know them and their eyes of shadow--I know them now; Hârpen

-that was to Chaské what Hárpstinâ shall be to Hapéda; and Hârka shall

-come after all with the voice of winter winds:

-

-"Aké u, aké u, aké u!"

-

-But the magic second shall never return.

-

-"Mâ cânté maséca!"

-

-       *       *       *       *       *

-

-Now they leave my bed, the people who crowded there under the shadowy

-forms of the spectres; now the doctor bends over; I see and feel him.

-His hands are tangled in the threads of time; he is cutting a thread;

-he----

-

-

-XIX.

-

-When I spoke to him first I spoke in the French language. Before he

-answered, the scream of a blue jay in the elms outside set my nerves

-aquiver, and I called for Donald and Walter.

-

-As I lay there I could see the Aspen hills from the window, heaps

-of crumpled gold bathed in sunshine. Over them sailed the froth from

-the silken milkweed; over them drifted the big brown-red butterflies,

-luminous as richest autumn leaves.

-

-Some one closed the door softly. The doctor had gone.

-

-The sunlight poured into the window, etching my shadow on the wall

-behind. Lying very still there I saw it motionless beside me. _The

-shadow was black._

-

-Somebody said in the next room, "Will he die?"

-

-"Die?" I said aloud.

-

-A bird twittered outside my window.

-

-The door opened again, noiselessly.

-

-"Sweetheart?" I whispered.

-

-"Yes, Jack."

-

-After a moment I said, "When do you go back to school?"

-

-"I? I finished school a year ago."

-

-"Come nearer."

-

-"I am here, Jack."

-

-"Time stopped a year ago."

-

-"A year ago to-day."

-

-The same gray eyes, the same face, paler, perhaps.

-

-"We have journeyed far," I sighed, "always together, but in those days

-our shadows were white as snow. Am I going to die? There are tears in

-your eyes."

-

-They fell on my cheek; her arms fell too, closer, closer, around my

-neck.

-

-"Life has begun," she said.

-

-"Life? What was the year that ends to-day? The magic second of life?"

-

-"A year of death, to me!"

-

-Ah, but her soul knows of a life in death! And she shall know it,

-too, when her shadow turns whiter than snow. For the Temple of Idols

-has closed its doors at the sound of a voice, and an idol of gilt has

-turned to flesh and blood.

-

-I-hó!

-

-So shall she know of the life in death when her soul and her body are

-one.

-

-

-

-

-PASSEUR.

-

-

-  O friends, I've served ye food and bed;

-    O friends, the mist is rising wet;

-  Then bide a moment, O my dead,

-    Where, lonely, I must linger yet!

-

-

-

-

-PASSEUR.

-

-  Because man goeth to his long home,

-  And the mourners go about the streets.

-

-

-When he had finished his pipe he tapped the brier bowl against the

-chimney until the ashes powdered the charred log smouldering across

-the andirons. Then he sank back in his chair, absently touching the hot

-pipe-bowl with the tip of each finger until it grew cool enough to be

-dropped into his coat pocket.

-

-Twice he raised his eyes to the little American clock ticking upon the

-mantel. He had half an hour to wait.

-

-The three candles that lighted the room might be trimmed to advantage;

-this would give him something to do. A pair of scissors lay open

-upon the bureau, and he rose and picked them up. For a while he stood

-dreamily shutting and opening the scissors, his eyes roaming about the

-room. There was an easel in the corner, and a pile of dusty canvases

-behind it; behind the canvases there was a shadow--that gray, menacing

-shadow that never moved.

-

-When he had trimmed each candle he wiped the smoky scissors on a paint

-rag and flung them on the bureau again. The clock pointed to ten; he

-had been occupied exactly three minutes.

-

-The bureau was littered with neckties, pipes, combs and brushes,

-matches, reels and fly-books, collars, shirt studs, a new pair of

-Scotch shooting stockings, and a woman's workbasket.

-

-He picked out all the neckties, folded them once, and hung them over

-a bit of twine that stretched across the looking-glass; the shirt

-studs he shovelled into the top drawer along with brushes, combs, and

-stockings; the reels and fly-books he dusted with his handkerchief

-and placed methodically along the mantel shelf. Twice he stretched out

-his hand toward the woman's workbasket, but his hand fell to his side

-again, and he turned away into the room staring at the dying fire.

-

-Outside the snow-sealed window a shutter broke loose and banged

-monotonously, until he flung open the panes and fastened it. The soft,

-wet snow, that had choked the window-panes all day, was frozen hard

-now, and he had to break the polished crust before he could find the

-rusty shutter hinge.

-

-He leaned out for a moment, his numbed hands resting on the snow, the

-roar of a rising snow-squall in his ears; and out across the desolate

-garden and stark hedgerow he saw the flat black river spreading through

-the gloom.

-

-A candle sputtered and snapped behind him; a sheet of drawing-paper

-fluttered across the floor, and he closed the panes and turned back

-into the room, both hands in his worn pockets.

-

-The little American clock on the mantel ticked and ticked, but the

-hands lagged, for he had not been occupied five minutes in all. He went

-up to the mantel and watched the hands of the clock. A minute--longer

-than a year to him--crept by.

-

-Around the room the furniture stood ranged--a chair or two of yellow

-pine, a table, the easel, and in one corner the broad curtained bed;

-and behind each lay shadows, menacing shadows that never moved.

-

-A little pale flame started up from the smoking log on the andirons;

-the room sang with the sudden hiss of escaping wood gases. After a

-little the back of the log caught fire; jets of blue flared up here and

-there with mellow sounds like the lighting of gas-burners in a row, and

-in a moment a thin sheet of yellow flame wrapped the whole charred log.

-

-Then the shadows moved; not the shadows behind the furniture--they

-never moved--but other shadows, thin, gray, confusing, that came and

-spread their slim patterns all around him, and trembled and trembled.

-

-He dared not step or tread upon them, they were too real; they meshed

-the floor around his feet, they ensnared his knees, they fell across

-his breast like ropes. Some night, in the silence of the moors, when

-wind and river were still, he feared these strands of shadow might

-tighten--creep higher around his throat and tighten. But even then he

-knew that those other shadows would never move, those gray shapes that

-knelt crouching in every corner.

-

-When he looked up at the clock again ten minutes had straggled past.

-Time was disturbed in the room; the strands of shadow seemed entangled

-among the hands of the clock, dragging them back from their rotation.

-He wondered if the shadows would strangle Time, some still night when

-the wind and the flat river were silent.

-

-There grew a sudden chill across the floor; the cracks of the boards

-let it in. He leaned down and drew his sabots toward him from their

-place near the andirons, and slipped them over his chaussons; and as he

-straightened up, his eyes mechanically sought the mantel above, where

-in the dusk another pair of sabots stood, little, slender, delicate

-sabots, carved from red beech. A year's dust grayed their surface; a

-year's rust dulled the silver band across the instep. He said this to

-himself aloud, knowing that it was within a few minutes of the year.

-

-His own sabots came from Mort-Dieu; they were shaved square and banded

-with steel. But in days past he had thought that no sabot in Mort-Dieu

-was delicate enough to touch the instep of the Mort-Dieu passeur. So he

-sent to the shore lighthouse, and they sent to Lorient, where the women

-are coquettish and show their hair under the coiffe, and wear dainty

-sabots; and in this town, where vanity corrupts and there is much lace

-on coiffe and collarette, a pair of delicate sabots was found, banded

-with silver and chiselled in red beech. The sabots stood on the mantel

-above the fire now, dusty and tarnished.

-

-There was a sound from the window, the soft murmur of snow blotting

-glass panes. The wind, too, muttered under the roof eaves. Presently it

-would begin to whisper to him from the chimney--he knew it--and he held

-his hands over his ears and stared at the clock.

-

-In the hamlet of Mort-Dieu the pines sing all day of the sea secrets,

-but in the night the ghosts of little gray birds fill the branches,

-singing of the sunshine of past years. He heard the song as he sat,

-and he crushed his hands over his ears; but the gray birds joined with

-the wind in the chimney, and he heard all that he dared not hear, and

-he thought all that he dared not hope or think, and the swift tears

-scalded his eyes.

-

-In Mort-Dieu the nights are longer than anywhere on earth; he knew

-it--why should he not know? This had been so for a year; it was

-different before. There were so many things different before; days and

-nights vanished like minutes then; the pines told no secrets of the

-sea, and the gray birds had not yet come to Mort-Dieu. Also, there was

-Jeanne, passeur at the Carmes.

-

-When he first saw her she was poling the square, flat-bottomed ferry

-skiff from the Carmes to Mort-Dieu, a red handkerchief bound across her

-silky black hair, a red skirt fluttering just below her knees. The next

-time he saw her he had to call to her across the placid river, "Ohé!

-Ohé, passeur!" She came, poling the flat skiff, her deep blue eyes

-fixed pensively on him, the scarlet skirt and kerchief idly flapping in

-the April wind. Then day followed day when the far call "Passeur!" grew

-clearer and more joyous, and the faint answering cry, "I come!" rippled

-across the water like music tinged with laughter. Then spring came,

-and with spring came love--love, carried free across the ferry from the

-Carmes to Mort-Dieu.

-

-The flame above the charred log whistled, flickered, and went out in

-a jet of wood vapour, only to play like lightning above the gas and

-relight again. The clock ticked more loudly, and the song from the

-pines filled the room. But in his straining eyes a summer landscape was

-reflected, where white clouds sailed and white foam curled under the

-square bow of a little skiff. And he pressed his numbed hands tighter

-to his ears to drown the cry, "Passeur! Passeur!"

-

-And now for a moment the clock ceased ticking. It was time to go--who

-but he should know it, he who went out into the night swinging his

-lantern? And he went. He had gone each night from the first--from that

-first strange winter evening when a strange voice had answered him

-across the river, the voice of the new passeur. He had never heard

-_her_ voice again.

-

-So he passed down the windy wooden stairs, lantern hanging lighted in

-his hand, and stepped out into the storm. Through sheets of drifting

-snow, over heaps of frozen seaweed and icy drift he moved, shifting his

-lantern right and left, until its glimmer on the water warned him. Then

-he called out into the night, "Passeur!" The frozen spray spattered

-his face and crusted the lantern; he heard the distant boom of breakers

-beyond the bar, and the noise of mighty winds among the seaward cliffs.

-

-"Passeur!"

-

-Across the broad flat river, black as a sea of pitch, a tiny light

-sparkled a moment. Again he cried, "Passeur!"

-

-"I come!"

-

-He turned ghastly white, for it was her voice--or was he crazy?--and

-he sprang waist deep into the icy current and cried out again, but his

-voice ended in a sob.

-

-Slowly through the snow the flat skiff took shape, creeping nearer

-and nearer. But she was not at the pole--he saw that; there was only a

-tall, thin man, shrouded to the eyes in oilskin; and he leaped into the

-boat and bade the ferryman hasten.

-

-Halfway across he rose in the skiff, and called, "Jeanne!" But the roar

-of the storm and the thrashing of icy waves drowned his voice. Yet he

-heard her again, and she called to him by name.

-

-When at last the boat grated upon the invisible shore, he lifted his

-lantern, trembling, stumbling among the rocks, and calling to her, as

-though his voice could silence the voice that had spoken a year ago

-that night. And it could not. He sank shivering upon his knees, and

-looked out into the darkness, where an ocean rolled across a world.

-Then his stiff lips moved, and he repeated her name; but the hand of

-the ferryman fell gently upon his head.

-

-And when he raised his eyes he saw that the ferryman was Death.

-

-

-

-

-THE KEY TO GRIEF.

-

-  The moving finger writes, and, having writ,

-    Moves on; nor all your piety nor wit

-  Shall lure it back to cancel half a line,

-    Nor all your tears wash out a word of it.

-

-                                        FITZGERALD.

-

-

-

-

-THE KEY TO GRIEF.

-

-  The wild hawk to the wind-swept sky

-    The deer to the wholesome wold,

-  And the heart of a man to the heart of a maid,

-    As it was in the days of old.

-

-                                        KIPLING.

-

-

-I.

-

-They were doing their work very badly. They got the rope around his

-neck, and tied his wrists with moose-bush withes, but again he fell,

-sprawling, turning, twisting over the leaves, tearing up everything

-around him like a trapped panther.

-

-He got the rope away from them; he clung to it with bleeding fists; he

-set his white teeth in it, until the jute strands relaxed, unravelled,

-and snapped, gnawed through by his white teeth.

-

-Twice Tully struck him with a gum hook. The dull blows fell on flesh

-rigid as stone.

-

-Panting, foul with forest mould and rotten leaves, hands and face

-smeared with blood, he sat up on the ground, glaring at the circle of

-men around him.

-

-"Shoot him!" gasped Tully, dashing the sweat from his bronzed brow; and

-Bates, breathing heavily, sat down on a log and dragged a revolver from

-his rear pocket. The man on the ground watched him; there was froth in

-the corners of his mouth.

-

-"Git back!" whispered Bates, but his voice and hand trembled. "Kent,"

-he stammered, "won't ye hang?"

-

-The man on the ground glared.

-

-"Ye've got to die, Kent," he urged; "they all say so. Ask Lefty

-Sawyer; ask Dyce; ask Carrots.--He's got to swing fur it--ain't he,

-Tully?--Kent, fur God's sake, swing fur these here gents!"

-

-The man on the ground panted; his bright eyes never moved.

-

-After a moment Tully sprang on him again. There was a flurry of leaves,

-a crackle, a gasp and a grunt, then the thumping and thrashing of two

-bodies writhing in the brush. Dyce and Carrots jumped on the prostrate

-men. Lefty Sawyer caught the rope again, but the jute strands gave

-way and he stumbled. Tully began to scream, "He's chokin' me!" Dyce

-staggered out into the open, moaning over a broken wrist.

-

-"Shoot!" shouted Lefty Sawyer, and dragged Tully aside. "Shoot, Jim

-Bates! Shoot straight, b' God!"

-

-"Git back!" gasped Bates, rising from the fallen log.

-

-The crowd parted right and left; a quick report rang

-out--another--another. Then from the whirl of smoke a tall form

-staggered, dealing blows--blows that sounded sharp as the crack of a

-whip.

-

-"He's off! Shoot straight!" they cried.

-

-There was a gallop of heavy boots in the woods. Bates, faint and dazed,

-turned his head.

-

-"Shoot!" shrieked Tully.

-

-But Bates was sick; his smoking revolver fell to the ground; his white

-face and pale eyes contracted. It lasted only a moment; he started

-after the others, plunging, wallowing through thickets of osier and

-hemlock underbrush.

-

-Far ahead he heard Kent crashing on like a young moose in November,

-and he knew he was making for the shore. The others knew too. Already

-the gray gleam of the sea cut a straight line along the forest edge;

-already the soft clash of the surf on the rocks broke faintly through

-the forest silence.

-

-"He's got a canoe there!" bawled Tully. "He'll be into it!"

-

-And he was into it, kneeling in the bow, driving his paddle to the

-handle. The rising sun gleamed like red lightning on the flashing

-blade; the canoe shot to the crest of a wave, hung, bows dripping in

-the wind, dropped into the depths, glided, tipped, rolled, shot up

-again, staggered, and plunged on.

-

-Tully ran straight out into the cove surf; the water broke against his

-chest, bare and wet with sweat. Bates sat down on a worn black rock and

-watched the canoe listlessly.

-

-The canoe dwindled to a speck of gray and silver; and when Carrots, who

-had run back to the gum camp for a rifle, returned, the speck on the

-water might have been easier to hit than a loon's head at twilight. So

-Carrots, being thrifty by nature, fired once, and was satisfied to save

-the other cartridges. The canoe was still visible, making for the open

-sea. Somewhere beyond the horizon lay the keys, a string of rocks bare

-as skulls, black and slimy where the sea cut their base, white on the

-crests with the excrement of sea birds.

-

-"He's makin' fur the Key to Grief!" whispered Bates to Dyce.

-

-Dyce, moaning, and nursing his broken wrist, turned a sick face out to

-sea.

-

-The last rock seaward was the Key to Grief, a splintered pinnacle

-polished by the sea. From the Key to Grief, seaward a day's paddle, if

-a man dared, lay the long wooded island in the ocean known as Grief on

-the charts of the bleak coast.

-

-In the history of the coast, two men had made the voyage to the Key to

-Grief, and from there to the island. One of these was a rum-crazed pelt

-hunter, who lived to come back; the other was a college youth; they

-found his battered canoe at sea, and a day later his battered body was

-flung up in the cove.

-

-So, when Bates whispered to Dyce, and when Dyce called to the others,

-they knew that the end was not far off for Kent and his canoe; and they

-turned away into the forest, sullen, but satisfied that Kent would get

-his dues when the devil got his.

-

-Lefty spoke vaguely of the wages of sin. Carrots, with an eye to

-thrift, suggested a plan for an equitable division of Kent's property.

-

-When they reached the gum camp they piled Kent's personal effects on a

-blanket.

-

-Carrots took the inventory: a revolver, two gum hooks, a fur cap, a

-nickel-plated watch, a pipe, a pack of new cards, a gum sack, forty

-pounds of spruce gum, and a frying pan.

-

-Carrots shuffled the cards, picked out the joker, and flipped it

-pensively into the fire. Then he dealt cold decks all around.

-

-When the goods and chattels of their late companion had been divided by

-chance--for there was no chance to cheat--somebody remembered Tully.

-

-"He's down there on the coast, starin' after the canoe," said Bates

-huskily.

-

-He rose and walked toward a heap on the ground covered by a blanket. He

-started to lift the blanket, hesitated, and finally turned away. Under

-the blanket lay Tully's brother, shot the night before by Kent.

-

-"Guess we'd better wait till Tully comes," said Carrots uneasily. Bates

-and Kent had been campmates. An hour later Tully walked into camp.

-

-He spoke to no one that day. In the morning Bates found him down on

-the coast digging, and said: "Hello, Tully! Guess we ain't much hell on

-lynchin'!"

-

-"Naw," said Tully. "Git a spade."

-

-"Goin' to plant him there?"

-

-"Yep."

-

-"Where he kin hear them waves?"

-

-"Yep."

-

-"Purty spot."

-

-"Yep."

-

-"Which way will he face?"

-

-"Where he kin watch fur that damned canoe!" cried Tully fiercely.

-

-"He--he can't see," ventured Bates uneasily. "He's dead, ain't he?"

-

-"He'll heave up that there sand when the canoe comes back! An' it's

-a-comin'! An' Bud Kent'll be in it, dead or alive! Git a spade!"

-

-The pale light of superstition flickered in Bates's eyes. He hesitated.

-

-"The--the dead can't see," he began; "kin they?"

-

-Tully turned a distorted face toward him.

-

-"Yer lie!" he roared. "My brother kin see, dead or livin'! An' he'll

-see the hangin' of Bud Kent! An' he'll git up outer the grave fur to

-see it, Bill Bates! I'm tellin' ye! I'm tellin' ye! Deep as I'll plant

-him, he'll heave that there sand and call to me, when the canoe comes

-in! I'll hear him; I'll be here! An' we'll live to see the hangin' of

-Bud Kent!"

-

-About sundown they planted Tully's brother, face to the sea.

-

-

-II.

-

-On the Key to Grief the green waves rub all day. White at the summit,

-black at the base, the shafted rocks rear splintered pinnacles,

-slanting like channel buoys. On the polished pillars sea birds

-brood--white-winged, bright-eyed sea birds, that nestle and preen and

-flap and clatter their orange-coloured beaks when the sifted spray

-drives and drifts across the reef.

-

-As the sun rose, painting crimson streaks criss-cross over the waters,

-the sea birds sidled together, huddling row on row, steeped in downy

-drowse.

-

-Where the sun of noon burnished the sea, an opal wave washed, listless,

-noiseless; a sea bird stretched one listless wing.

-

-And into the silence of the waters a canoe glided, bronzed by the

-sunlight, jewelled by the salt drops stringing from prow to thwart,

-seaweed a-trail in the diamond-flashing wake, and in the bow a man

-dripping with sweat.

-

-Up rose the gulls, sweeping in circles, turning, turning over rock and

-sea, and their clamour filled the sky, starting little rippling echoes

-among the rocks.

-

-The canoe grated on a shelf of ebony; the seaweed rocked and washed;

-the little sea crabs sheered sideways, down, down into limpid depths of

-greenest shadows. Such was the coming of Bud Kent to the Key to Grief.

-

-He drew the canoe halfway up the shelf of rock and sat down, breathing

-heavily, one brown arm across the bow. For an hour he sat there. The

-sweat dried under his eyes. The sea birds came back, filling the air

-with soft querulous notes.

-

-There was a livid mark around his neck, a red, raw circle. The salt

-wind stung it; the sun burned it into his flesh like a collar of

-red-hot steel. He touched it at times; once he washed it with cold salt

-water.

-

-Far in the north a curtain of mist hung on the sea, dense, motionless

-as the fog on the Grand Banks. He never moved his eyes from it; he knew

-what it was. Behind it lay the Island of Grief.

-

-All the year round the Island of Grief is hidden by the banks of mist,

-ramparts of dead white fog encircling it on every side. Ships give it

-wide berth. Some speak of warm springs on the island whose waters flow

-far out to sea, rising in steam eternally.

-

-The pelt hunter had come back with tales of forests and deer and

-flowers everywhere; but he had been drinking much, and much was

-forgiven him.

-

-The body of the college youth tossed up in the cove on the mainland

-was battered out of recognition, but some said, when found, one hand

-clutched a crimson blossom half wilted, but broad as a sap pan.

-

-So Kent lay motionless beside his canoe, burned with thirst, every

-nerve vibrating, thinking of all these things. It was not fear that

-whitened the firm flesh under the tan; it was the fear of fear. He

-must not think--he must throttle dread; his eyes must never falter, his

-head never turn from that wall of mist across the sea. With set teeth

-he crushed back terror; with glittering eyes he looked into the hollow

-eyes of fright. And so he conquered fear.

-

-He rose. The sea birds whirled up into the sky, pitching, tossing,

-screaming, till the sharp flapping of their pinions set the snapping

-echoes flying among the rocks.

-

-Under the canoe's sharp prow the kelp bobbed and dipped and parted; the

-sunlit waves ran out ahead, glittering, dancing. Splash! splash! bow

-and stern! And now he knelt again, and the polished paddle swung and

-dipped, and swept and swung and dipped again.

-

-Far behind, the clamour of the sea birds lingered in his ears, till

-the mellow dip of the paddle drowned all sound and the sea was a sea of

-silence.

-

-No wind came to cool the hot sweat on cheek and breast. The sun blazed

-a path of flame before him, and he followed out into the waste of

-waters. The still ocean divided under the bows and rippled innocently

-away on either side, tinkling, foaming, sparkling like the current in

-a woodland brook. He looked around at the world of flattened water, and

-the fear of fear rose up and gripped his throat again. Then he lowered

-his head, like a tortured bull, and shook the fear of fear from his

-throat, and drove the paddle into the sea as a butcher stabs, to the

-hilt.

-

-So at last he came to the wall of mist. It was thin at first, thin and

-cool, but it thickened and grew warmer, and the fear of fear dragged at

-his head, but he would not look behind.

-

-Into the fog the canoe shot; the gray water ran by, high as the

-gunwales, oily, silent. Shapes flickered across the bows, pillars of

-mist that rode the waters, robed in films of tattered shadows. Gigantic

-forms towered to dizzy heights above him, shaking out shredded shrouds

-of cloud. The vast draperies of the fog swayed and hung and trembled as

-he brushed them; the white twilight deepened to a sombre gloom. And now

-it grew thinner; the fog became a mist, and the mist a haze, and the

-haze floated away and vanished into the blue of the heavens.

-

-All around lay a sea of pearl and sapphire, lapping, lapping on a

-silver shoal.

-

-So he came to the Island of Grief.

-

-

-III.

-

-On the silver shoal the waves washed and washed, breaking like crushed

-opals where the sands sang with the humming froth.

-

-Troops of little shore birds, wading on the shoal, tossed their

-sun-tipped wings and scuttled inland, where, dappled with shadow from

-the fringing forest, the white beach of the island stretched.

-

-The water all around was shallow, limpid as crystal, and he saw the

-ribbed sand shining on the bottom, where purple seaweed floated, and

-delicate sea creatures darted and swarmed and scattered again at the

-dip of his paddle.

-

-Like velvet rubbed on velvet the canoe brushed across the sand. He

-staggered to his feet, stumbled out, dragged the canoe high up under

-the trees, turned it bottom upward, and sank beside it, face downward

-in the sand. Sleep came to drive away the fear of fear, but hunger,

-thirst, and fever fought with sleep, and he dreamed--dreamed of a

-rope that sawed his neck, of the fight in the woods, and the shots. He

-dreamed, too, of the camp, of his forty pounds of spruce gum, of Tully,

-and of Bates. He dreamed of the fire and the smoke-scorched kettle, of

-the foul odour of musty bedding, of the greasy cards, and of his own

-new pack, hoarded for weeks to please the others. All this he dreamed,

-lying there face downward in the sand; but he did not dream of the face

-of the dead.

-

-The shadows of the leaves moved on his blonde head, crisp with clipped

-curls. A butterfly flitted around him, alighting now on his legs,

-now on the back of his bronzed hands. All the afternoon the bees hung

-droning among the wildwood blossoms; the leaves above scarcely rustled;

-the shore birds brooded along the water's edge; the thin tide, sleeping

-on the sand, mirrored the sky.

-

-Twilight paled the zenith; a breeze moved in the deeper woods; a star

-glimmered, went out, glimmered again, faded, and glimmered.

-

-Night came. A moth darted to and fro under the trees; a beetle hummed

-around a heap of seaweed and fell scrambling in the sand. Somewhere

-among the trees a sound had become distinct, the song of a little

-brook, melodious, interminable. He heard it in his dream; it threaded

-all his dreams like a needle of silver, and like a needle it pricked

-him--pricked his dry throat and cracked lips. It could not awake him;

-the cool night swathed him head and foot.

-

-Toward dawn a bird woke up and piped. Other birds stirred, restless,

-half awakened; a gull spread a cramped wing on the shore, preened its

-feathers, scratched its tufted neck, and took two drowsy steps toward

-the sea.

-

-The sea breeze stirred out behind the mist bank; it raised the feathers

-on the sleeping gulls; it set the leaves whispering. A twig snapped,

-broke off, and fell. Kent stirred, sighed, trembled, and awoke.

-

-The first thing he heard was the song of the brook, and he stumbled

-straight into the woods. There it lay, a thin, deep stream in the gray

-morning light, and he stretched himself beside it and laid his cheek

-in it. A bird drank in the pool, too--a little fluffy bird, bright-eyed

-and fearless.

-

-His knees were firmer when at last he rose, heedless of the drops that

-beaded lips and chin. With his knife he dug and scraped at some white

-roots that hung half meshed in the bank of the brook, and when he had

-cleaned them in the pool he ate them.

-

-The sun stained the sky when he went down to the canoe, but the eternal

-curtain of fog, far out at sea, hid it as yet from sight.

-

-He lifted the canoe, bottom upwards, to his head, and, paddle and pole

-in either hand, carried it into the forest.

-

-After he had set it down he stood a moment, opening and shutting his

-knife. Then he looked up into the trees. There were birds there, if

-he could get at them. He looked at the brook. There were the prints of

-his fingers in the sand; there, too, was the print of something else--a

-deer's pointed hoof.

-

-He had nothing but his knife. He opened it again and looked at it.

-

-That day he dug for clams and ate them raw. He waded out into the

-shallows, too, and jabbed at fish with his setting pole, but hit

-nothing except a yellow crab.

-

-Fire was what he wanted. He hacked and chipped at flinty-looking

-pebbles, and scraped tinder from a stick of sun-dried driftwood. His

-knuckles bled, but no fire came.

-

-That night he heard deer in the woods, and could not sleep for

-thinking, until the dawn came up behind the wall of mist, and he rose

-with it to drink his fill at the brook and tear raw clams with his

-white teeth. Again he fought for fire, craving it as he had never

-craved water, but his knuckles bled, and the knife scraped on the flint

-in vain.

-

-His mind, perhaps, had suffered somewhat. The white beach seemed to

-rise and fall like a white carpet on a gusty hearth. The birds, too,

-that ran along the sand, seemed big and juicy, like partridges; and

-he chased them, hurling shells and bits of driftwood at them till he

-could scarcely keep his feet for the rising, plunging beach--or carpet,

-whichever it was. That night the deer aroused him at intervals. He

-heard them splashing and grunting and crackling along the brook. Once

-he arose and stole after them, knife in hand, till a false step into

-the brook awoke him to his folly, and he felt his way back to the

-canoe, trembling.

-

-Morning came, and again he drank at the brook, lying on the sand where

-countless heart-shaped hoofs had passed leaving clean imprints; and

-again he ripped the raw clams from their shells and swallowed them,

-whimpering.

-

-All day long the white beach rose and fell and heaved and flattened

-under his bright dry eyes. He chased the shore birds at times, till the

-unsteady beach tripped him up and he fell full length in the sand. Then

-he would rise moaning, and creep into the shadow of the wood, and watch

-the little song-birds in the branches, moaning, always moaning.

-

-His hands, sticky with blood, hacked steel and flint together, but so

-feebly that now even the cold sparks no longer came.

-

-He began to fear the advancing night; he dreaded to hear the big warm

-deer among the thickets. Fear clutched him suddenly, and he lowered his

-head and set his teeth and shook fear from his throat again.

-

-Then he started aimlessly into the woods, crowding past bushes,

-scraping trees, treading on moss and twig and mouldy stump, his bruised

-hands swinging, always swinging.

-

-The sun set in the mist as he came out of the woods on to another

-beach--a warm, soft beach, crimsoned by the glow in the evening clouds.

-

-And on the sand at his feet lay a young girl asleep, swathed in the

-silken garment of her own black hair, round limbed, brown, smooth as

-the bloom on the tawny beach.

-

-A gull flapped overhead, screaming. Her eyes, deeper than night,

-unclosed. Then her lips parted in a cry, soft with sleep, "Ihó!"

-

-She rose, rubbing her velvet eyes. "Ihó!" she cried in wonder; "Inâh!"

-

-The gilded sand settled around her little feet. Her cheeks crimsoned.

-

-"E-hó! E-hó!" she whispered, and hid her face in her hair.

-

-

-IV.

-

-The bridge of the stars spans the sky seas; the sun and the moon are

-the travellers who pass over it. This was also known in the lodges of

-the Isantee, hundreds of years ago. Chaské told it to Hârpam, and when

-Hârpam knew he told it to Hapéda; and so the knowledge spread to Hârka,

-and from Winona to Wehârka, up and down, across and ever across, woof

-and web, until it came to the Island of Grief. And how? God knows!

-

-Wehârka, prattling in the tules, may have told Ne-kâ; and Ne-kâ,

-high in the November clouds, may have told Kay-óshk, who told it to

-Shinge-bis, who told it to Skeé-skah, who told it to Sé-só-Kah.

-

-Ihó! Inâh! Behold the wonder of it! And this is the fate of all

-knowledge that comes to the Island of Grief.

-

-       *       *       *       *       *

-

-As the red glow died in the sky, and the sand swam in shadows, the girl

-parted the silken curtains of her hair and looked at him.

-

-"Ehó!" she whispered again in soft delight.

-

-For now it was plain to her that he was the sun! He had crossed the

-bridge of stars in the blue twilight; he had come!

-

-"E-tó!"

-

-She stepped nearer, shivering, faint with the ecstasy of this holy

-miracle wrought before her.

-

-He was the Sun! His blood streaked the sky at dawn; his blood stained

-the clouds at even. In his eyes the blue of the sky still lingered,

-smothering two blue stars; and his body was as white as the breast of

-the Moon.

-

-She opened both arms, hands timidly stretched, palm upward. Her face

-was raised to his, her eyes slowly closed; the deep-fringed lids

-trembled.

-

-Like a young priestess she stood, motionless save for the sudden quiver

-of a limb, a quick pulse-flutter in the rounded throat. And so she

-worshipped, naked and unashamed, even after he, reeling, fell heavily

-forward on his face; even when the evening breeze stealing over the

-sands stirred the hair on his head, as winds stir the fur of a dead

-animal in the dust.

-

-       *       *       *       *       *

-

-When the morning sun peered over the wall of mist, and she saw it was

-the sun, and she saw him, flung on the sand at her feet, then she knew

-that he was a man, only a man, pallid as death and smeared with blood.

-

-And yet--miracle of miracles!--the divine wonder in her eyes deepened,

-and her body seemed to swoon, and fall a-trembling, and swoon again.

-

-For, although it was but a man who lay at her feet, it had been easier

-for her to look upon a god.

-

-He dreamed that he breathed fire--fire, that he craved as he had never

-craved water. Mad with delirium, he knelt before the flames, rubbing

-his torn hands, washing them in the crimson-scented flames. He had

-water, too, cool scented water, that sprayed his burning flesh, that

-washed in his eyes, his hair, his throat. After that came hunger,

-a fierce rending agony, that scorched and clutched and tore at his

-entrails; but that, too, died away, and he dreamed that he had eaten

-and all his flesh was warm. Then he dreamed that he slept; and when he

-slept he dreamed no more.

-

-One day he awoke and found her stretched beside him, soft palms tightly

-closed, smiling, asleep.

-

-

-V.

-

-Now the days began to run more swiftly than the tide along the tawny

-beach; and the nights, star-dusted and blue, came and vanished and

-returned, only to exhale at dawn like perfume from a violet.

-

-They counted hours as they counted the golden bubbles, winking with

-a million eyes along the foam-flecked shore; and the hours ended, and

-began, and glimmered, iridescent, and ended as bubbles end in a tiny

-rainbow haze.

-

-There was still fire in the world; it flashed up at her touch and where

-she chose. A bow strung with the silk of her own hair, an arrow winged

-like a sea bird and tipped with shell, a line from the silver tendon of

-a deer, a hook of polished bone--these were the mysteries he learned,

-and learned them laughing, her silken head bent close to his.

-

-The first night that the bow was wrought and the glossy string attuned,

-she stole into the moonlit forest to the brook; and there they stood,

-whispering, listening, and whispering, though neither understood the

-voice they loved.

-

-In the deeper woods, Kaug, the porcupine, scraped and snuffed. They

-heard Wabóse, the rabbit, pit-a-pat, pit-a-pat, loping across dead

-leaves in the moonlight. Skeé-skah, the wood-duck, sailed past,

-noiseless, gorgeous as a floating blossom.

-

-Out on the ocean's placid silver, Shinge-bis, the diver, shook the

-scented silence with his idle laughter, till Kay-óshk, the gray gull,

-stirred in his slumber. There came a sudden ripple in the stream, a

-mellow splash, a soft sound on the sand.

-

-"Ihó! Behold!"

-

-"I see nothing."

-

-The beloved voice was only a wordless melody to her.

-

-"Ihó! Ta-hinca, the red deer! E-hó! The buck will follow!"

-

-"Ta-hinca," he repeated, notching the arrow.

-

-"E-tó! Ta-mdóka!"

-

-So he drew the arrow to the head, and the gray gull feathers brushed

-his ear, and the darkness hummed with the harmony of the singing

-string.

-

-Thus died Ta-mdóka, the buck deer of seven prongs.

-

-

-VI.

-

-As an apple tossed spinning into the air, so spun the world above the

-hand that tossed it into space.

-

-And one day in early spring, Sé-só-Kah, the robin, awoke at dawn, and

-saw a girl at the foot of the blossoming tree holding a babe cradled in

-the silken sheets of her hair.

-

-At its feeble cry, Kaug, the porcupine, raised his quilled head.

-Wabóse, the rabbit, sat still with palpitating sides. Kay-óshk, the

-gray gull, tiptoed along the beach.

-

-Kent knelt with one bronzed arm around them both.

-

-"Ihó! Inâh!" whispered the girl, and held the babe up in the rosy

-flames of dawn.

-

-But Kent trembled as he looked, and his eyes filled. On the pale green

-moss their shadows lay--three shadows. But the shadow of the babe was

-white as froth.

-

-Because it was the firstborn son, they named it Chaské; and the girl

-sang as she cradled it there in the silken vestments of her hair; all

-day long in the sunshine she sang:

-

-    Wâ-wa, wâ-wa, wâ-we--yeá;

-  Kah-wéen, nee-zhéka Ke-diaus-âi,

-  Ke-gâh nau-wâi, ne-mé-go S'weén,

-  Ne-bâun, ne-bâun, ne-dâun-is âis.

-  E-we wâ-wa, wâ-we--yeá;

-  E-we wâ-wa, wâ-we--yeá.

-

-Out in the calm ocean, Shinge-bis, the diver, listened, preening his

-satin breast in silence. In the forest, Ta-hinca, the red deer, turned

-her delicate head to the wind.

-

-That night Kent thought of the dead, for the first time since he had

-come to the Key of Grief.

-

-"Aké-u! aké-u!" chirped Sé-só-Kah, the robin. But the dead never come

-again.

-

-"Beloved, sit close to us," whispered the girl, watching his troubled

-eyes. "Ma-cânte maséca."

-

-But he looked at the babe and its white shadow on the moss, and he only

-sighed: "Ma-cânte maséca, beloved! Death sits watching us across the

-sea."

-

-Now for the first time he knew more than the fear of fear; he knew

-fear. And with fear came grief.

-

-He never before knew that grief lay hidden there in the forest. Now he

-knew it. Still, that happiness, eternally reborn when two small hands

-reached up around his neck, when feeble fingers clutched his hand--that

-happiness that Sé-só-Kah understood, chirping to his brooding

-mate--that Ta-mdóka knew, licking his dappled fawns--that happiness

-gave him heart to meet grief calmly, in dreams or in the forest depths,

-and it helped him to look into the hollow eyes of fear.

-

-He often thought of the camp now; of Bates, his blanket mate; of Dyce,

-whose wrist he had broken with a blow; of Tully, whose brother he had

-shot. He even seemed to hear the shot, the sudden report among the

-hemlocks; again he saw the haze of smoke, he caught a glimpse of a tall

-form falling through the bushes.

-

-He remembered every minute incident of the trial: Bates's hand laid

-on his shoulder; Tully, red-bearded and wild-eyed, demanding his

-death; while Dyce spat and spat and smoked and kicked at the blackened

-log-ends projecting from the fire. He remembered, too, the verdict, and

-Tully's terrible laugh; and the new jute rope that they stripped off

-the market-sealed gum packs.

-

-He thought of these things, sometimes wading out on the shoals,

-shell-tipped fish spear poised: at such times he would miss his fish.

-He thought of it sometimes when he knelt by the forest stream listening

-for Ta-hinca's splash among the cresses: at such moments the feathered

-shaft whistled far from the mark, and Ta-mdóka stamped and snorted

-till even the white fisher, stretched on a rotting log, flattened his

-whiskers and stole away into the forest's blackest depths.

-

-When the child was a year old, hour for hour notched at sunset and

-sunrise, it prattled with the birds, and called to Ne-Kâ, the wild

-goose, who called again to the child from the sky: "Northward!

-northward, beloved!"

-

-When winter came--there is no frost on the Island of Grief--Ne-Kâ, the

-wild goose, passing high in the clouds, called: "Southward! southward,

-beloved!" And the child answered in a soft whisper of an unknown

-tongue, till the mother shivered, and covered it with her silken hair.

-

-"O beloved!" said the girl, "Chaské calls to all things living--to

-Kaug, the porcupine, to Wabóse, to Kay-óshk, the gray gull--he calls,

-and they understand."

-

-Kent bent and looked into her eyes.

-

-"Hush, beloved; it is not _that_ I fear."

-

-"Then what, beloved?"

-

-"His shadow. It is white as surf foam. And at night--I--I have seen----"

-

-"Oh, what?"

-

-"The air about him aglow like a pale rose."

-

-"Ma cânté maséca. The earth alone lasts. I speak as one dying--I know,

-O beloved!"

-

-Her voice died away like a summer wind.

-

-"Beloved!" he cried.

-

-But there before him she was changing; the air grew misty, and her hair

-wavered like shreds of fog, and her slender form swayed, and faded, and

-swerved, like the mist above a pond.

-

-In her arms the babe was a figure of mist, rosy, vague as a breath on

-a mirror.

-

-"The earth alone lasts. Inâh! It is the end, O beloved!"

-

-The words came from the mist--a mist as formless as the ether--a mist

-that drove in and crowded him, that came from the sea, from the clouds,

-from the earth at his feet. Faint with terror, he staggered forward

-calling, "Beloved! And thou, Chaské, O beloved! Aké u! Aké u!"

-

-Far out at sea a rosy star glimmered an instant in the mist and went

-out.

-

-A sea bird screamed, soaring over the waste of fog-smothered waters.

-Again he saw the rosy star; it came nearer; its reflection glimmered in

-the water.

-

-"Chaské!" he cried.

-

-He heard a voice, dull in the choking mist.

-

-"O beloved, I am here!" he called again.

-

-There was a sound on the shoal, a flicker in the fog, the flare of a

-torch, a face white, livid, terrible--the face of the dead.

-

-He fell upon his knees; he closed his eyes and opened them. Tully stood

-beside him with a coil of rope.

-

-       *       *       *       *       *

-

-Ihó! Behold the end! The earth alone lasts. The sand, the opal wave on

-the golden beach, the sea of sapphire, the dusted starlight, the wind,

-and love, shall die. Death also shall die, and lie on the shores of

-the skies like the bleached skull there on the Key to Grief, polished,

-empty, with its teeth embedded in the sand.

-

-

-

-

-A MATTER OF INTEREST.

-

-

-

-

-A MATTER OF INTEREST.

-

-  He that knows not, and knows not that he knows not, is a fool. Shun

-      him.

-  He that knows not, and knows that he knows not, is simple. Teach him.

-  He that knows, and knows not that he knows, is asleep. Wake him.

-  He that knows, and knows that he knows, is wise. Follow him.

-

-                                       _Arabian Proverb._

-

-

-I.

-

-Much as I dislike it, I am obliged to include this story in a volume

-devoted to fiction: I have attempted to tell it as an absolutely true

-story, but until three months ago, when the indisputable proofs were

-placed before the British Association by Professor James Holroyd,

-I was regarded as an impostor. Now that the Smithsonian Institute

-in Washington, the Philadelphia Zoölogical Society, and the Natural

-History Museum of New York city, are convinced that the story is

-truthful and accurate in every particular, I prefer to tell it my own

-way. Professor Holroyd urges me to do this, although Professor Bruce

-Stoddard, of Columbia College, is now at work upon a pamphlet, to be

-published the latter part of next month, describing scientifically the

-extraordinary discovery which, to the shame of the United States, was

-first accepted and recognised in England.

-

-Now, having no technical ability concerning the affair in question,

-and having no knowledge of either comparative anatomy or zoölogy, I

-am perhaps unfitted to tell this story. But the story is true; the

-episode occurred under my own eyes--here, within a few hours' sail of

-the Battery. And as I was one of the first persons to verify what has

-long been a theory among scientists, and, moreover, as the result of

-Professor Holroyd's discovery is to be placed on exhibition in Madison

-Square Garden on the twentieth of next month, I have decided to tell,

-as simply as I am able, exactly what occurred.

-

-I first wrote out the story on April 1, 1896. The North American

-Review, the Popular Science Monthly, the Scientific American, Nature,

-Forest and Stream, and the Fossiliferous Magazine in turn rejected it;

-some curtly informing me that fiction had no place in their columns.

-When I attempted to explain that it was not fiction, the editors of

-these periodicals either maintained a contemptuous silence, or bluntly

-notified me that my literary services and opinions were not desired.

-But finally, when several publishers offered to take the story as

-fiction, I cut short all negotiations and decided to publish it myself.

-Where I am known at all, it is my misfortune to be known as a writer

-of fiction. This makes it impossible for me to receive a hearing from a

-scientific audience. I regret it bitterly, because now, when it is too

-late, I am prepared to prove certain scientific matters of interest,

-and to produce the proofs. In this case, however, I am fortunate, for

-nobody can dispute the existence of a thing when the bodily proof is

-exhibited as evidence.

-

-This is the story; and if I write it as I write fiction, it is because

-I do not know how to write it otherwise.

-

-I was walking along the beach below Pine Inlet, on the south shore

-of Long Island. The railroad and telegraph station is at West Oyster

-Bay. Everybody who has travelled on the Long Island Railroad knows the

-station, but few, perhaps, know Pine Inlet. Duck shooters, of course,

-are familiar with it; but as there are no hotels there, and nothing

-to see except salt meadow, salt creek, and a strip of dune and sand,

-the summer-squatting public may probably be unaware of its existence.

-The local name for the place is Pine Inlet; the maps give its name as

-Sand Point, I believe, but anybody at West Oyster Bay can direct you

-to it. Captain McPeek, who keeps the West Oyster Bay House, drives duck

-shooters there in winter. It lies five miles southeast from West Oyster

-Bay.

-

-I had walked over that afternoon from Captain McPeek's. There was a

-reason for my going to Pine Inlet--it embarrasses me to explain it,

-but the truth is I meditated writing an ode to the ocean. It was out

-of the question to write it in West Oyster Bay, with the whistle of

-locomotives in my ears. I knew that Pine Inlet was one of the loneliest

-places on the Atlantic coast; it is out of sight of everything except

-leagues of gray ocean. Rarely one might make out fishing smacks

-drifting across the horizon. Summer squatters never visited it;

-sportsmen shunned it, except in winter. Therefore, as I was about to do

-a bit of poetry, I thought that Pine Inlet was the spot for the deed.

-So I went there.

-

-As I was strolling along the beach, biting my pencil reflectively,

-tremendously impressed by the solitude and the solemn thunder of

-the surf, a thought occurred to me: how unpleasant it would be if I

-suddenly stumbled on a summer boarder. As this joyless impossibility

-flitted across my mind, I rounded a bleak sand dune.

-

-A summer girl stood directly in my path.

-

-If I jumped, I think the young lady has pardoned me by this time. She

-ought to, because she also started, and said something in a very faint

-voice. What she said was "Oh!"

-

-She stared at me as though I had just crawled up out of the sea to bite

-her. I don't know what my own expression resembled, but I have been

-given to understand it was idiotic.

-

-Now I perceived, after a few moments, that the young lady was

-frightened, and I knew I ought to say something civil. So I said, "Are

-there any mosquitoes here?"

-

-"No," she replied, with a slight quiver in her voice; "I have only seen

-one, and it was biting somebody else."

-

-I looked foolish; the conversation seemed so futile, and the young

-lady appeared to be more nervous than before. I had an impulse to say,

-"Do not run; I have breakfasted," for she seemed to be meditating a

-plunge into the breakers. What I did say was: "I did not know anybody

-was here. I do not intend to intrude. I come from Captain McPeek's,

-and I am writing an ode to the ocean." After I had said this it seemed

-to ring in my ears like, "I come from Table Mountain, and my name is

-Truthful James."

-

-I glanced timidly at her.

-

-"She's thinking of the same thing," said I to myself. "What an ass I

-must appear!"

-

-However, the young lady seemed to be a trifle reassured. I noticed she

-drew a sigh of relief and looked at my shoes. She looked so long that

-it made me suspicious, and I also examined my shoes. They seemed to be

-fairly respectable.

-

-"I--I am sorry," she said, "but would you mind not walking on the

-beach?"

-

-This was sudden. I had intended to retire and leave the beach to her,

-but I did not fancy being driven away so abruptly.

-

-"I was about to withdraw, madam," said I, bowing stiffly; "I beg you

-will pardon any inconvenience----"

-

-"Dear me!" she cried, "you don't understand. I do not--I would

-not think for a moment of asking you to leave Pine Inlet. I merely

-ventured to request you to walk on the dunes. I am so afraid that your

-footprints may obliterate the impressions that my father is studying."

-

-"Oh!" said I, looking about me as though I had been caught in the

-middle of a flower-bed; "really I did not notice any impressions.

-Impressions of what--if I may be permitted?"

-

-"I don't know," she said, smiling a little at my awkward pose. "If you

-step this way in a straight line you can do no damage."

-

-I did as she bade me. I suppose my movements resembled the gait of

-a wet peacock. Possibly they recalled the delicate manoeuvres of the

-kangaroo. Anyway, she laughed.

-

-This seriously annoyed me. I had been at a disadvantage; I walk well

-enough when let alone.

-

-"You can scarcely expect," said I, "that a man absorbed in his own

-ideas could notice impressions on the sand. I trust I have obliterated

-nothing."

-

-As I said this I looked back at the long line of footprints stretching

-away in prospective across the sand. They were my own. How large they

-looked! Was that what she was laughing at?

-

-"I wish to explain," she said gravely, looking at the point of her

-parasol. "I am very sorry to be obliged to warn you--to ask you to

-forego the pleasure of strolling on a beach that does not belong to me.

-Perhaps," she continued, in sudden alarm, "perhaps this beach belongs

-to you?"

-

-"The beach? Oh, no," I said.

-

-"But--but you were going to write poems about it?"

-

-"Only one--and that does not necessitate owning the beach. I have

-observed," said I frankly, "that the people who own nothing write many

-poems about it."

-

-She looked at me seriously.

-

-"I write many poems," I added.

-

-She laughed doubtfully.

-

-"Would you rather I went away?" I asked politely.

-

-"I? Why, no--I mean that you may do as you please--except please do not

-walk on the _beach_."

-

-"Then I do not alarm you by my presence?" I inquired. My clothes

-were a bit ancient. I wore them shooting, sometimes. "My family is

-respectable," I added; and I told her my name.

-

-"Oh! Then you wrote 'Culled Cowslips' and 'Faded Fig-Leaves,' and

-you imitate Maeterlinck, and you---- Oh, I know lots of people that

-you know;" she cried with every symptom of relief; "and you know my

-brother."

-

-"I am the author," said I coldly, "of 'Culled Cowslips,' but 'Faded

-Fig-Leaves' was an earlier work, which I no longer recognise, and I

-should be grateful to you if you would be kind enough to deny that I

-ever imitated Maeterlinck. Possibly," I added, "he imitates me."

-

-"Now, do you know," she said, "I was afraid of you at first? Papa is

-digging in the salt meadows nearly a mile away."

-

-It was hard to bear.

-

-"Can you not see," said I, "that I am wearing a shooting coat?"

-

-"I do see--now; but it is so--so old," she pleaded.

-

-"It is a shooting coat all the same," I said bitterly.

-

-She was very quiet, and I saw she was sorry.

-

-"Never mind," I said magnanimously, "you probably are not familiar with

-sporting goods. If I knew your name I should ask permission to present

-myself."

-

-"Why, I am Daisy Holroyd," she said.

-

-"What! Jack Holroyd's little sister?"

-

-"Little!" she cried.

-

-"I didn't mean that," said I. "You know that your brother and I were

-great friends in Paris----"

-

-"I know," she said significantly.

-

-"Ahem! Of course," I said, "Jack and I were inseparable----"

-

-"Except when shut in separate cells," said Miss Holroyd coldly.

-

-This unfeeling allusion to the unfortunate termination of a

-Latin-Quarter celebration hurt me.

-

-"The police," said I, "were too officious."

-

-"So Jack says," replied Miss Holroyd demurely.

-

-We had unconsciously moved on along the sand hills, side by side, as we

-spoke.

-

-"To think," I repeated, "that I should meet Jack's little----"

-

-"Please," she said, "you are only three years my senior."

-

-She opened the sunshade and tipped it over one shoulder. It was white,

-and had spots and posies on it.

-

-"Jack sends us every new book you write," she observed. "I do not

-approve of some things you write."

-

-"Modern school," I mumbled.

-

-"That is no excuse," she said severely; "Anthony Trollope didn't do it."

-

-The foam spume from the breakers was drifting across the dunes, and the

-little tip-up snipe ran along the beach and teetered and whistled and

-spread their white-barred wings for a low, straight flight across the

-shingle, only to tip and skeep and sail on again. The salt sea wind

-whistled and curled through the crested waves, blowing in perfumed

-puffs across thickets of sweet bay and cedar. As we passed through the

-crackling juicy-stemmed marsh weed myriads of fiddler crabs raised

-their fore-claws in warning and backed away, rustling, through the

-reeds, aggressive, protesting.

-

-"Like millions of pigmy Ajaxes defying the lightning," I said.

-

-Miss Holroyd laughed.

-

-"Now I never imagined that authors were clever except in print," she

-said.

-

-She was a most extraordinary girl.

-

-"I suppose," she observed after a moment's silence--"I suppose I am

-taking you to my father."

-

-"Delighted!" I mumbled. "H'm! I had the honour of meeting Professor

-Holroyd in Paris."

-

-"Yes; he bailed you and Jack out," said Miss Holroyd serenely.

-

-The silence was too painful to last.

-

-"Captain McPeek is an interesting man," I said. I spoke more loudly

-than I intended; I may have been nervous.

-

-"Yes," said Daisy Holroyd, "but he has a most singular hotel clerk."

-

-"You mean Mr. Frisby?"

-

-"I do."

-

-"Yes," I admitted, "Mr. Frisby is queer. He was once a bill-poster."

-

-"I know it!" exclaimed Daisy Holroyd, with some heat. "He ruins

-landscapes whenever he has an opportunity. Do you know that he has a

-passion for bill-posting? He has; he posts bills for the pure pleasure

-of it, just as you play golf, or tennis, or billiards."

-

-"But he's a hotel clerk now," I said; "nobody employs him to post

-bills."

-

-"I know it! He does it all by himself for the pure pleasure of it. Papa

-has engaged him to come down here for two weeks, and I dread it," said

-the girl.

-

-What Professor Holroyd might want of Frisby I had not the faintest

-notion. I suppose Miss Holroyd noticed the bewilderment in my face, for

-she laughed, and nodded her head twice.

-

-"Not only Mr. Frisby, but Captain McPeek also," she said.

-

-"You don't mean to say that Captain McPeek is going to close his

-hotel!" I exclaimed.

-

-My trunk was there. It contained guarantees of my respectability.

-

-"Oh, no; his wife will keep it open," replied the girl. "Look! you can

-see papa now. He's digging."

-

-"Where?" I blurted out.

-

-I remembered Professor Holroyd as a prim, spectacled gentleman, with

-close-cut, snowy beard and a clerical allure. The man I saw digging

-wore green goggles, a jersey, a battered sou'wester, and hip-boots

-of rubber. He was delving in the muck of the salt meadow, his face

-streaming with perspiration, his boots and jersey splashed with

-unpleasant-looking mud. He glanced up as we approached, shading his

-eyes with a sunburnt hand.

-

-"Papa, dear," said Miss Holroyd, "here is Jack's friend, whom you

-bailed out of Mazas."

-

-The introduction was startling. I turned crimson with mortification.

-The professor was very decent about it; he called me by name at once.

-

-When he said this he looked at his spade. It was clear that he

-considered me a nuisance and wished to go on with his digging.

-

-"I suppose," he said, "you are still writing?"

-

-"A little," I replied, trying not to speak sarcastically. My output had

-rivaled that of "The Duchess"--in quantity, I mean.

-

-"I seldom read--fiction," he said, looking restlessly at the hole in

-the ground.

-

-Miss Holroyd came to my rescue.

-

-"That was a charming story you wrote last," she said. "Papa should read

-it--you should, papa; it's all about a fossil."

-

-We both looked narrowly at Miss Holroyd. Her smile was guileless.

-

-"Fossils!" repeated the professor. "Do you care for fossils?"

-

-"Very much," said I.

-

-Now I am not perfectly sure what my object was in lying. I looked at

-Daisy Holroyd's dark-fringed eyes. They were very grave.

-

-"Fossils," said I, "are my hobby."

-

-I think Miss Holroyd winced a little at this. I did not care. I went on:

-

-"I have seldom had the opportunity to study the subject, but, as a boy,

-I collected flint arrow-heads----"

-

-"Flint arrow-heads!" said the professor coldly.

-

-"Yes; they were the nearest things to fossils obtainable," I replied,

-marvelling at my own mendacity.

-

-The professor looked into the hole. I also looked. I could see nothing

-in it. "He's digging for fossils," thought I to myself.

-

-"Perhaps," said the professor cautiously, "you might wish to aid me

-in a little research--that is to say, if you have an inclination for

-fossils." The double-entendre was not lost upon me.

-

-"I have read all your books so eagerly," said I, "that to join you,

-to be of service to you in any research, however difficult and trying,

-would be an honour and a privilege that I never dared to hope for."

-

-"That," thought I to myself, "will do its own work."

-

-But the professor was still suspicious. How could he help it, when

-he remembered Jack's escapades, in which my name was always blended!

-Doubtless he was satisfied that my influence on Jack was evil. The

-contrary was the case, too.

-

-"Fossils," he said, worrying the edges of the excavation with his

-spade, "fossils are not things to be lightly considered."

-

-"No, indeed!" I protested.

-

-"Fossils are the most interesting as well as puzzling things in the

-world," said he.

-

-"They are!" I cried enthusiastically.

-

-"But I am not looking for fossils," observed the professor mildly.

-

-This was a facer. I looked at Daisy Holroyd. She bit her lip and fixed

-her eyes on the sea. Her eyes were wonderful eyes.

-

-"Did you think I was digging for fossils in a salt meadow?" queried

-the professor. "You can have read very little about the subject. I am

-digging for something quite different."

-

-I was silent. I knew that my face was a trifle flushed. I longed to

-say, "Well, what the devil are you digging for?" but I only stared into

-the hole as though hypnotized.

-

-"Captain McPeek and Frisby ought to be here," he said, looking first at

-Daisy and then across the meadows.

-

-I ached to ask him why he had subpoenaed Captain McPeek and Frisby.

-

-"They are coming," said Daisy, shading her eyes. "Do you see the speck

-on the meadows?"

-

-"It may be a mud hen," said the professor.

-

-"Miss Holroyd is right," I said. "A wagon and team and two men are

-coming from the north. There is a dog beside the wagon--it's that

-miserable yellow dog of Frisby's."

-

-"Good gracious!" cried the professor, "you don't mean to tell me that

-you see all that at such a distance?"

-

-"Why not?" I said.

-

-"I see nothing," he insisted.

-

-"You will see that I'm right, presently," I laughed.

-

-The professor removed his blue goggles and rubbed them, glancing

-obliquely at me.

-

-"Haven't you heard what extraordinary eyesight duck shooters have?"

-said his daughter, looking back at her father. "Jack says that they can

-tell exactly what kind of a duck is flying before most people could see

-anything at all in the sky."

-

-"It's true," I said; "it comes to anybody, I fancy, who has had

-practice."

-

-The professor regarded me with a new interest. There was inspiration in

-his eyes. He turned toward the ocean. For a long time he stared at the

-tossing waves on the beach, then he looked far out to where the horizon

-met the sea.

-

-"Are there any ducks out there?" he asked at last.

-

-"Yes," said I, scanning the sea, "there are."

-

-He produced a pair of binoculars from his coat-tail pocket, adjusted

-them, and raised them to his eyes.

-

-"H'm! What sort of ducks?"

-

-I looked more carefully, holding both hands over my forehead.

-

-"Surf ducks--scoters and widgeon. There is one bufflehead among

-them--no, two; the rest are coots," I replied.

-

-"This," cried the professor, "is most astonishing. I have good eyes,

-but I can't see a blessed thing without these binoculars!"

-

-"It's not extraordinary," said I; "the surf ducks and coots any novice

-might recognise; the widgeon and buffleheads I should not have been

-able to name unless they had risen from the water. It is easy to tell

-any duck when it is flying, even though it looks no bigger than a black

-pin-point."

-

-But the professor insisted that it was marvellous, and he said that I

-might render him invaluable service if I would consent to come and camp

-at Pine Inlet for a few weeks.

-

-I looked at his daughter, but she turned her back--not exactly in

-disdain either. Her back was beautifully moulded. Her gown fitted also.

-

-"Camp out here?" I repeated, pretending to be unpleasantly surprised.

-

-"I do not think he would care to," said Miss Holroyd without turning.

-

-I had not expected that.

-

-"Above all things," said I, in a clear, pleasant voice, "I like to camp

-out."

-

-She said nothing.

-

-"It is not exactly camping," said the professor. "Come, you shall see

-our conservatory. Daisy, come, dear! you must put on a heavier frock;

-it is getting toward sundown."

-

-At that moment, over a near dune, two horses' heads appeared, followed

-by two human heads, then a wagon, then a yellow dog.

-

-I turned triumphantly to the professor.

-

-"You are the very man I want," he muttered; "the very man--the very

-man."

-

-I looked at Daisy Holroyd. She returned my glance with a defiant little

-smile.

-

-"Waal," said Captain McPeek, driving up, "here we be! Git out, Frisby."

-

-Frisby, fat, nervous, and sentimental, hopped out of the cart.

-

-"Come!" said the professor, impatiently moving across the dunes. I

-walked with Daisy Holroyd. McPeek and Frisby followed. The yellow dog

-walked by himself.

-

-

-II.

-

-The sun was dipping into the sea as we trudged across the meadows

-toward a high dome-shaped dune covered with cedars and thickets of

-sweet bay. I saw no sign of habitation among the sand hills. Far as the

-eye could reach, nothing broke the gray line of sea and sky save the

-squat dunes crowned with stunted cedars.

-

-Then, as we rounded the base of the dune, we almost walked into the

-door of a house. My amazement amused Miss Holroyd, and I noticed also

-a touch of malice in her pretty eyes. But she said nothing, following

-her father into the house, with the slightest possible gesture to me.

-Was it invitation, or was it menace?

-

-The house was merely a light wooden frame, covered with some waterproof

-stuff that looked like a mixture of rubber and tar. Over this--in

-fact, over the whole roof--was pitched an awning of heavy sail-cloth.

-I noticed that the house was anchored to the sand by chains, already

-rusted red. But this one-storied house was not the only building

-nestling in the south shelter of the big dune. A hundred feet away

-stood another structure--long, low, also built of wood. It had rows on

-rows of round portholes on every side. The ports were fitted with heavy

-glass, hinged to swing open if necessary. A single big double door

-occupied the front.

-

-Behind this long, low building was still another, a mere shed. Smoke

-rose from the sheet-iron chimney. There was somebody moving about

-inside the open door.

-

-As I stood gaping at this mushroom hamlet the professor appeared at the

-door and asked me to enter. I stepped in at once.

-

-The house was much larger than I had imagined. A straight hallway ran

-through the centre from east to west. On either side of this hallway

-were rooms, the doors swinging wide open. I counted three doors on each

-side; the three on the south appeared to be bedrooms.

-

-The professor ushered me into a room on the north side, where I found

-Captain McPeek and Frisby sitting at a table, upon which were drawings

-and sketches of articulated animals and fishes.

-

-"You see, McPeek," said the professor, "we only wanted one more man,

-and I think I've got him.--Haven't I?" turning eagerly to me.

-

-"Why, yes," I said, laughing; "this is delightful. Am I invited to stay

-here?"

-

-"Your bedroom is the third on the south side; everything is ready.

-McPeek, you can bring his trunk to-morrow, can't you?" demanded the

-professor.

-

-The red-faced captain nodded, and shifted a quid.

-

-"Then it's all settled," said the professor, and he drew a sigh of

-satisfaction. "You see," he said, turning to me, "I was at my wit's end

-to know whom to trust. I never thought of you. Jack's out in China, and

-I didn't dare trust anybody in my own profession. All you care about is

-writing verses and stories, isn't it?"

-

-"I like to shoot," I replied mildly.

-

-"Just the thing!" he cried, beaming at us all in turn. "Now I can see

-no reason why we should not progress rapidly. McPeek, you and Frisby

-must get those boxes up here before dark. Dinner will be ready before

-you have finished unloading. Dick, you will wish to go to your room

-first."

-

-My name isn't Dick, but he spoke so kindly, and beamed upon me in such

-a fatherly manner, that I let it go. I had occasion to correct him

-afterward, several times, but he always forgot the next minute. He

-calls me Dick to this day.

-

-It was dark when Professor Holroyd, his daughter, and I sat down to

-dinner. The room was the same in which I had noticed the drawings of

-beast and bird, but the round table had been extended into an oval, and

-neatly spread with dainty linen and silver.

-

-A fresh-cheeked Swedish girl appeared from a further room, bearing the

-soup. The professor ladled it out, still beaming.

-

-"Now, this is very delightful!--isn't it, Daisy?" he said.

-

-"Very," said Miss Holroyd, with the faintest tinge of irony.

-

-"Very," I repeated heartily; but I looked at my soup when I said it.

-

-"I suppose," said the professor, nodding mysteriously at his daughter,

-"that Dick knows nothing of what we're about down here?"

-

-"I suppose," said Miss Holroyd, "that he thinks we are digging for

-fossils."

-

-I looked at my plate. She might have spared me that.

-

-"Well, well," said her father, smiling to himself, "he shall know

-everything by morning. You'll be astonished, Dick, my boy."

-

-"His name isn't Dick," corrected Daisy.

-

-The professor said, "Isn't it?" in an absent-minded way, and relapsed

-into contemplation of my necktie.

-

-I asked Miss Holroyd a few questions about Jack, and was informed that

-he had given up law and entered the diplomatic service--as what, I did

-not dare ask, for I know what our diplomatic service is.

-

-"In China," said Daisy.

-

-"Choo Choo is the name of the city," added her father proudly; "it's

-the terminus of the new trans-Siberian railway."

-

-"It's on the Yellow River," said Daisy.

-

-"He's vice-consul," added the professor triumphantly.

-

-"He'll make a good one," I observed. I knew Jack. I pitied his consul.

-

-So we chatted on about my old playmate, until Freda, the red-cheeked

-maid, brought coffee, and the professor lighted a cigar, with a little

-bow to his daughter.

-

-"Of course, you don't smoke," she said to me, with a glimmer of malice

-in her eyes.

-

-"He mustn't," interposed the professor hastily; "it will make his hand

-tremble."

-

-"No, it doesn't," said I, laughing; "but my hand will shake if I don't

-smoke. Are you going to employ me as a draughtsman?"

-

-"You'll know to-morrow," he chuckled, with a mysterious smile at his

-daughter.--"Daisy, give him my best cigars; put the box here on the

-table. We can't afford to have his hand tremble."

-

-Miss Holroyd rose, and crossed the hallway to her father's room,

-returning presently with a box of promising-looking cigars.

-

-"I don't think he knows what is good for him," she said. "He should

-smoke only one every day."

-

-It was hard to bear. I am not vindictive, but I decided to treasure up

-a few of Miss Holroyd's gentle taunts. My intimacy with her brother was

-certainly a disadvantage to me now. Jack had apparently been talking

-too much, and his sister appeared to be thoroughly acquainted with my

-past. It was a disadvantage. I remembered her vaguely as a girl with

-long braids, who used to come on Sundays with her father and take tea

-with us in our rooms. Then she went to Germany to school, and Jack and

-I employed our Sunday evenings otherwise. It is true that I regarded

-her weekly visits as a species of infliction, but I did not think I

-ever showed it.

-

-"It is strange," said I, "that you did not recognise me at once, Miss

-Holroyd. Have I changed so greatly in five years?"

-

-"You wore a pointed French beard in Paris," she said--"a very downy

-one. And you never stayed to tea but twice, and then you only spoke

-once."

-

-"Oh!" said I blankly. "What did I say?"

-

-"You asked me if I liked plums," said Daisy, bursting into an

-irresistible ripple of laughter.

-

-I saw that I must have made the same sort of an ass of myself that most

-boys of eighteen do.

-

-It was too bad. I never thought about the future in those days. Who

-could have imagined that little Daisy Holroyd would have grown up

-into this bewildering young lady? It was really too bad. Presently the

-professor retired to his room, carrying with him an armful of drawings,

-and bidding us not to sit up late. When he closed his door Miss Holroyd

-turned to me.

-

-"Papa will work over those drawings until midnight," she said, with a

-despairing smile.

-

-"It isn't good for him," I said. "What are the drawings?"

-

-"You may know to-morrow," she answered, leaning forward on the table

-and shading her face with one hand. "Tell me about yourself and Jack in

-Paris."

-

-I looked at her suspiciously.

-

-"What! There isn't much to tell. We studied. Jack went to the law

-school, and I attended--er--oh, all sorts of schools."

-

-"Did you? Surely you gave yourself a little recreation occasionally?"

-

-"Occasionally," I nodded.

-

-"I am afraid you and Jack studied too hard."

-

-"That may be," said I, looking meek.

-

-"Especially about fossils."

-

-I couldn't stand that.

-

-"Miss Holroyd," I said, "I do care for fossils. You may think that I am

-a humbug, but I have a perfect mania for fossils--now."

-

-"Since when?"

-

-"About an hour ago," I said airily. Out of the corner of my eye I saw

-that she had flushed up. It pleased me.

-

-"You will soon tire of the experiment," she said with a dangerous smile.

-

-"Oh, I may," I replied indifferently.

-

-She drew back. The movement was scarcely perceptible, but I noticed it,

-and she knew I did.

-

-The atmosphere was vaguely hostile. One feels such mental conditions

-and changes instantly. I picked up a chessboard, opened it, set up the

-pieces with elaborate care, and began to move, first the white, then

-the black. Miss Holroyd watched me coldly at first, but after a dozen

-moves she became interested and leaned a shade nearer. I moved a black

-pawn forward.

-

-"Why do you do that?" said Daisy.

-

-"Because," said I, "the white queen threatens the pawn."

-

-"It was an aggressive move," she insisted.

-

-"Purely defensive," I said. "If her white highness will let the pawn

-alone, the pawn will let the queen alone."

-

-Miss Holroyd rested her chin on her wrist and gazed steadily at the

-board. She was flushing furiously, but she held her ground.

-

-"If the white queen doesn't block that pawn, the pawn may become

-dangerous," she said coldly.

-

-I laughed, and closed up the board with a snap.

-

-"True," I said, "it might even take the queen." After a moment's

-silence I asked, "What would you do in that case, Miss Holroyd?"

-

-"I should resign," she said serenely; then realizing what she had said,

-she lost her self-possession for a second, and cried: "No, indeed! I

-should fight to the bitter end! I mean----"

-

-"What?" I asked, lingering over my revenge.

-

-"I mean," she said slowly, "that your black pawn would never have the

-chance--never! I should take it immediately."

-

-"I believe you would," said I, smiling; "so we'll call the game yours,

-and--the pawn captured."

-

-"I don't want it," she exclaimed. "A pawn is worthless."

-

-"Except when it's in the king row."

-

-"Chess is most interesting," she observed sedately. She had completely

-recovered her self-control. Still I saw that she now had a certain

-respect for my defensive powers. It was very soothing to me.

-

-"You know," said I gravely, "that I am fonder of Jack than of anybody.

-That's the reason we never write each other, except to borrow things. I

-am afraid that when I was a young cub in France I was not an attractive

-personality."

-

-"On the contrary," said Daisy, smiling, "I thought you were very big

-and very perfect. I had illusions. I wept often when I went home and

-remembered that you never took the trouble to speak to me but once."

-

-"I was a cub," I said; "not selfish and brutal, but I didn't understand

-schoolgirls. I never had any sisters, and I didn't know what to say to

-very young girls. If I had imagined that you felt hurt----"

-

-"Oh, I did--five years ago. Afterward I laughed at the whole thing."

-

-"Laughed?" I repeated, vaguely disappointed.

-

-"Why, of course. I was very easily hurt when I was a child. I think I

-have outgrown it."

-

-The soft curve of her sensitive mouth contradicted her.

-

-"Will you forgive me now?" I asked.

-

-"Yes. I had forgotten the whole thing until I met you an hour or so

-ago."

-

-There was something that had a ring not entirely genuine in this

-speech. I noticed it, but forgot it the next moment.

-

-"Tiger cubs have stripes," said I. "Selfishness blossoms in the cradle,

-and prophecy is not difficult. I hope I am not more selfish than my

-brothers."

-

-"I hope not," she said, smiling.

-

-Presently she rose, touched her hair with the tip of one finger, and

-walked to the door.

-

-"Good-night," she said, courtesying very low.

-

-"Good-night," said I, opening the door for her to pass.

-

-

-III.

-

-The sea was a sheet of silver, tinged with pink. The tremendous arch of

-the sky was all shimmering and glimmering with the promise of the sun.

-Already the mist above, flecked with clustered clouds, flushed with

-rose colour and dull gold. I heard the low splash of the waves breaking

-and curling across the beach. A wandering breeze, fresh and fragrant,

-blew the curtains of my window. There was the scent of sweet bay in the

-room, and everywhere the subtile, nameless perfume of the sea.

-

-When at last I stood upon the shore, the air and sea were all aglimmer

-in a rosy light, deepening to crimson in the zenith. Along the beach I

-saw a little cove, shelving and all ashine, where shallow waves washed

-with a mellow sound. Fine as dusted gold the shingle glowed, and the

-thin film of water rose, receded, crept up again a little higher, and

-again flowed back, with the low hiss of snowy foam and gilded bubbles

-breaking.

-

-I stood a little while quiet, my eyes upon the water, the invitation of

-the ocean in my ears, vague and sweet as the murmur of a shell. Then I

-looked at my bathing suit and towels.

-

-"In we go!" said I aloud. A second later the prophecy was fulfilled.

-

-I swam far out to sea, and as I swam the waters all around me turned to

-gold. The sun had risen.

-

-There is a fragrance in the sea at dawn that none can name. Whitethorn

-abloom in May, sedges asway, and scented rushes rustling in an inland

-wind recall the sea to me--I can't say why.

-

-Far out at sea I raised myself, swung around, dived, and set out again

-for shore, striking strong strokes until the flecked foam flew. And

-when at last I shot through the breakers, I laughed aloud and sprang

-upon the beach, breathless and happy. Then from the ocean came another

-cry, clear, joyous, and a white arm rose in the air.

-

-She came drifting in with the waves like a white sea-sprite, laughing

-at me from her tangled hair, and I plunged into the breakers again to

-join her.

-

-Side by side we swam along the coast, just outside the breakers, until

-in the next cove we saw the flutter of her maid's cap strings.

-

-"I will beat you to breakfast!" she cried, as I rested, watching her

-glide up along the beach.

-

-"Done!" said I--"for a sea-shell!"

-

-"Done!" she called across the water.

-

-I made good speed along the shore, and I was not long in dressing,

-but when I entered the dining-room she was there, demure, smiling,

-exquisite in her cool, white frock.

-

-"The sea-shell is yours," said I. "I hope I can find one with a pearl

-in it."

-

-The professor hurried in before she could reply. He greeted me very

-cordially, but there was an abstracted air about him, and he called me

-Dick until I recognised that remonstrance was useless. He was not long

-over his coffee and rolls.

-

-"McPeek and Frisby will return with the last load, including your

-trunk, by early afternoon," he said, rising and picking up his bundle

-of drawings. "I haven't time to explain to you what we are doing,

-Dick, but Daisy will take you about and instruct you. She will give

-you the rifle standing in my room--it's a good Winchester. I have

-sent for an 'Express' for you, big enough to knock over any elephant

-in India.--Daisy, take him through the sheds and tell him everything.

-Luncheon is at noon.--Do you usually take luncheon, Dick?"

-

-"When I am permitted," I smiled.

-

-"Well," said the professor doubtfully, "you mustn't come back here

-for it. Freda can take you what you want. Is your hand unsteady after

-eating?"

-

-"Why, papa!" said Daisy. "Do you intend to starve him?"

-

-We all laughed.

-

-The professor tucked his drawings into a capacious pocket, pulled his

-sea boots up to his hips, seized a spade, and left, nodding to us as

-though he were thinking of something else.

-

-We went to the door and watched him across the salt meadows until a

-distant sand dune hid him.

-

-"Come," said Daisy Holroyd, "I am going to take you to the shop."

-

-She put on a broad-brimmed straw hat, a distractingly pretty

-combination of filmy cool stuffs, and led the way to the long low

-structure that I had noticed the evening before.

-

-The interior was lighted by the numberless little portholes, and I

-could see everything plainly. I acknowledge I was nonplussed by what I

-did see.

-

-In the centre of the shed, which must have been at least a hundred feet

-long, stood what I thought at first was the skeleton of an enormous

-whale. After a moment's silent contemplation of the thing I saw that

-it could not be a whale, for the frames of two gigantic bat-like wings

-rose from each shoulder. Also I noticed that the animal possessed

-legs--four of them--with most unpleasant-looking webbed claws fully

-eight feet long. The bony framework of the head, too, resembled

-something between a crocodile and a monstrous snapping turtle.

-The walls of the shanty were hung with drawings and blue prints. A

-man dressed in white linen was tinkering with the vertebræ of the

-lizardlike tail.

-

-"Where on earth did such a reptile come from?" I asked at length.

-

-"Oh, it's not real!" said Daisy scornfully; "it's papier-maché."

-

-"I see," said I--"a stage prop."

-

-"A what?" asked Daisy, in hurt astonishment.

-

-"Why, a--a sort of Siegfried dragon--a what's-his-name--er, Pfafner, or

-Peffer, or----"

-

-"If my father heard you say such things he would dislike you," said

-Daisy. She looked grieved, and moved toward the door. I apologized--for

-what, I knew not--and we became reconciled. She ran into her father's

-room and brought me the rifle, a very good Winchester. She also gave me

-a cartridge belt, full.

-

-"Now," she smiled, "I shall take you to your observatory, and when we

-arrive you are to begin your duty at once."

-

-"And that duty?" I ventured, shouldering the rifle.

-

-"That duty is, to watch the ocean. I shall then explain the whole

-affair--but you mustn't look at me while I speak; you must watch the

-sea."

-

-"This," said I, "is hardship. I had rather go without the luncheon."

-

-I do not think she was offended at my speech; still she frowned for

-almost three seconds.

-

-We passed through acres of sweet bay and spear grass, sometimes

-skirting thickets of twisted cedars, sometimes walking in the full

-glare of the morning sun, sinking into shifting sand where sun-scorched

-shells crackled under our feet, and sun-browned seaweed glistened,

-bronzed and iridescent. Then, as we climbed a little hill, the sea wind

-freshened in our faces, and lo! the ocean lay below us, far-stretching

-as the eye could reach, glittering, magnificent.

-

-Daisy sat down flat on the sand. It takes a clever girl to do that and

-retain the respectful deference due her from men. It takes a graceful

-girl to accomplish it triumphantly when a man is looking.

-

-"You must sit beside me," she said--as though it would prove irksome to

-me.

-

-"Now," she continued, "you must watch the water while I am talking."

-

-I nodded.

-

-"Why don't you do it, then?" she asked.

-

-I succeeded in wrenching my head toward the ocean, although I felt sure

-it would swing gradually round again in spite of me.

-

-"To begin with," said Daisy Holroyd, "there's a thing in that ocean

-that would astonish you if you saw it. Turn your head!"

-

-"I am," I said meekly.

-

-"Did you hear what I said?"

-

-"Yes--er--a thing in the ocean that's going to astonish me." Visions of

-mermaids rose before me.

-

-"The thing," said Daisy, "is a Thermosaurus!"

-

-I nodded vaguely, as though anticipating a delightful introduction to

-a nautical friend.

-

-"You don't seem astonished," she said reproachfully.

-

-"Why should I be?" I asked.

-

-"Please turn your eyes toward the water. Suppose a Thermosaurus should

-look out of the waves!"

-

-"Well," said I, "in that case the pleasure would be mutual."

-

-She frowned, and bit her upper lip.

-

-"Do you know what a Thermosaurus is?" she asked.

-

-"If I am to guess," said I, "I guess it's a jellyfish."

-

-"It's that big, ugly, horrible creature that I showed you in the shed!"

-cried Daisy impatiently.

-

-"Eh!" I stammered.

-

-"Not papier-maché either," she continued excitedly; "it's a real one."

-

-This was pleasant news. I glanced instinctively at my rifle and then at

-the ocean.

-

-"Well," said I at last, "it strikes me that you and I resemble a pair

-of Andromedas waiting to be swallowed. This rifle won't stop a beast,

-a live beast, like that Nibelungen dragon of yours."

-

-"Yes, it will," she said; "it's not an ordinary rifle."

-

-Then, for the first time, I noticed, just below the magazine, a

-cylindrical attachment that was strange to me.

-

-"Now, if you will watch the sea very carefully, and will promise not to

-look at me," said Daisy, "I will try to explain."

-

-She did not wait for me to promise, but went on eagerly, a sparkle of

-excitement in her blue eyes:

-

-"You know, of all the fossil remains of the great bat-like and

-lizard-like creatures that inhabited the earth ages and ages ago,

-the bones of the gigantic saurians are the most interesting. I think

-they used to splash about the water and fly over the land during the

-Carboniferous period; anyway, it doesn't matter. Of course, you have

-seen pictures of reconstructed creatures such as the Ichthyosaurus, the

-Plesiosaurus, the Anthracosaurus, and the Thermosaurus?"

-

-I nodded, trying to keep my eyes from hers.

-

-"And you know that the remains of the Thermosaurus were first

-discovered and reconstructed by papa?"

-

-"Yes," said I. There was no use in saying no.

-

-"I am glad you do. Now, papa has proved that this creature lived

-entirely in the Gulf Stream, emerging for occasional flights across an

-ocean or two. Can you imagine how he proved it?"

-

-"No," said I, resolutely pointing my nose at the ocean.

-

-"He proved it by a minute examination of the microscopical shells

-found among the ribs of the Thermosaurus. These shells contained little

-creatures that live only in the warm waters of the Gulf Stream. They

-were the food of the Thermosaurus."

-

-"It was rather slender rations for a thing like that, wasn't it? Did he

-ever swallow bigger food--er--men?"

-

-"Oh, yes. Tons of fossil bones from prehistoric men are also found in

-the interior of the Thermosaurus."

-

-"Then," said I, "you, at least, had better go back to Captain

-McPeek's----"

-

-"Please turn around; don't be so foolish. I didn't say there was a

-_live_ Thermosaurus in the water, did I?"

-

-"Isn't there?"

-

-"Why, no!"

-

-My relief was genuine, but I thought of the rifle and looked

-suspiciously out to sea.

-

-"What's the Winchester for?" I asked.

-

-"Listen, and I will explain. Papa has found out--how, I do not exactly

-understand--that there is in the waters of the Gulf Stream the body of

-a Thermosaurus. The creature must have been alive within a year or so.

-The impenetrable scale armour that covers its body has, as far as papa

-knows, prevented its disintegration. We know that it is there still, or

-was there within a few months. Papa has reports and sworn depositions

-from steamer captains and seamen from a dozen different vessels,

-all corroborating each other in essential details. These stories, of

-course, get into the newspapers--sea-serpent stories--but papa knows

-that they confirm his theory that the huge body of this reptile is

-swinging along somewhere on the Gulf Stream."

-

-She opened her sunshade and held it over her. I noticed that she

-deigned to give me the benefit of about one eighth of it.

-

-"Your duty with that rifle is this: If we are fortunate enough to see

-the body of the Thermosaurus come floating by, you are to take good

-aim and fire--fire rapidly every bullet in the magazine; then reload

-and fire again, and reload and fire as long as you have any cartridges

-left."

-

-"A self-feeding Maxim is what I should have," I said with gentle

-sarcasm. "Well, and suppose I make a sieve of this big lizard?"

-

-"Do you see these rings in the sand?" she asked.

-

-Sure enough, somebody had driven heavy piles deep into the sand all

-around us, and to the tops of these piles were attached steel rings,

-half buried under the spear grass. We sat almost exactly in the centre

-of a circle of these rings.

-

-"The reason is this," said Daisy: "every bullet in your cartridges

-is steel-tipped and armour-piercing. To the base of each bullet is

-attached a thin wire of pallium. Pallium is that new metal, a thread of

-which, drawn out into finest wire, will hold a ton of iron suspended.

-Every bullet is fitted with minute coils of miles of this wire. When

-the bullet leaves the rifle it spins out this wire as a shot from a

-life-saver's mortar spins out and carries the life line to a wrecked

-ship. The end of each coil of wire is attached to that cylinder under

-the magazine of your rifle. As soon as the shell is automatically

-ejected this wire flies out also. A bit of scarlet tape is fixed to

-the end, so that it will be easy to pick up. There is also a snap clasp

-on the end, and this clasp fits those rings that you see in the sand.

-Now, when you begin firing, it is my duty to run and pick up the wire

-ends and attach them to the rings. Then, you see, we have the body of

-the Thermosaurus full of bullets, every bullet anchored to the shore by

-tiny wires, each of which could easily hold a ton's strain."

-

-I looked at her in amazement.

-

-"Then," she added calmly, "we have captured the Thermosaurus."

-

-"Your father," said I at length, "must have spent years of labour over

-this preparation."

-

-"It is the work of a lifetime," she said simply.

-

-My face, I suppose, showed my misgivings.

-

-"It must not fail," she added.

-

-"But--but we are nowhere near the Gulf Stream," I ventured.

-

-Her face brightened, and she frankly held the sunshade over us both.

-

-"Ah, you don't know," she said, "what else papa has discovered. Would

-you believe that he has found a loop in the Gulf Stream--a genuine

-loop--that swings in here just outside of the breakers below? It is

-true! Everybody on Long Island knows that there is a warm current off

-the coast, but nobody imagined it was merely a sort of backwater from

-the Gulf Stream that formed a great circular mill-race around the

-cone of a subterranean volcano, and rejoined the Gulf Stream off Cape

-Albatross. But it is! That is why papa bought a yacht three years ago

-and sailed about for two years so mysteriously. Oh, I did want to go

-with him so much!"

-

-"This," said I, "is most astonishing."

-

-She leaned enthusiastically toward me, her lovely face aglow.

-

-"Isn't it?" she said; "and to think that you and papa and I are the

-only people in the whole world who know this!"

-

-To be included in such a triology was very delightful.

-

-"Papa is writing the whole thing--I mean about the currents. He also

-has in preparation sixteen volumes on the Thermosaurus. He said this

-morning that he was going to ask you to write the story first for some

-scientific magazine. He is certain that Professor Bruce Stoddard, of

-Columbia, will write the pamphlets necessary. This will give papa time

-to attend to the sixteen-volume work, which he expects to finish in

-three years."

-

-"Let us first," said I, laughing, "catch our Thermosaurus."

-

-"We must not fail," she said wistfully.

-

-"We shall not fail," I said, "for I promise to sit on this sand hill

-as long as I live--until a Thermosaurus appears--if that is your wish,

-Miss Holroyd."

-

-Our eyes met for an instant. She did not chide me, either, for not

-looking at the ocean. Her eyes were bluer, anyway.

-

-"I suppose," she said, bending her head and absently pouring sand

-between her fingers--"I suppose you think me a blue-stocking, or

-something odious?"

-

-"Not exactly," I said. There was an emphasis in my voice that made her

-colour. After a moment she laid the sunshade down, still open.

-

-"May I hold it?" I asked.

-

-She nodded almost imperceptibly.

-

-The ocean had turned a deep marine blue, verging on purple, that

-heralded a scorching afternoon. The wind died away; the odour of cedar

-and sweet bay hung heavy in the air.

-

-In the sand at our feet an iridescent flower beetle crawled, its

-metallic green and blue wings burning like a spark. Great gnats, with

-filmy, glittering wings, danced aimlessly above the young golden-rod;

-burnished crickets, inquisitive, timid, ran from under chips of

-driftwood, waved their antennæ at us, and ran back again. One by one

-the marbled tiger beetles tumbled at our feet, dazed from the exertion

-of an aërial flight, then scrambled and ran a little way, or darted

-into the wire grass, where great brilliant spiders eyed them askance

-from their gossamer hammocks.

-

-Far out at sea the white gulls floated and drifted on the water, or

-sailed up into the air to flap lazily for a moment and settle back

-among the waves. Strings of black surf ducks passed, their strong wings

-tipping the surface of the water; single wandering coots whirled from

-the breakers into lonely flight toward the horizon.

-

-We lay and watched the little ring-necks running along the water's

-edge, now backing away from the incoming tide, now boldly wading

-after the undertow. The harmony of silence, the deep perfume, the

-mystery of waiting for that something that all await--what is it?

-love? death? or only the miracle of another morrow?--troubled me with

-vague restfulness. As sunlight casts shadows, happiness, too, throws a

-shadow, and the shadow is sadness.

-

-And so the morning wore away until Freda came with a cool-looking

-hamper. Then delicious cold fowl and lettuce sandwiches and champagne

-cup set our tongues wagging as only very young tongues can wag. Daisy

-went back with Freda after luncheon, leaving me a case of cigars, with

-a bantering smile. I dozed, half awake, keeping a partly closed eye

-on the ocean, where a faint gray streak showed plainly amid the azure

-water all around. That was the Gulf Stream loop.

-

-About four o'clock Frisby appeared with a bamboo shelter tent, for

-which I was unaffectedly grateful.

-

-After he had erected it over me he stopped to chat a bit, but the

-conversation bored me, for he could talk of nothing but bill-posting.

-

-"You wouldn't ruin the landscape here, would you?" I asked.

-

-"Ruin it!" repeated Frisby nervously. "It's ruined now; there ain't a

-place to stick a bill."

-

-"The snipe stick bills--in the sand," I said flippantly.

-

-There was no humour about Frisby. "Do they?" he asked.

-

-I moved with a certain impatience.

-

-"Bills," said Frisby, "give spice an' variety to Nature. They break the

-monotony of the everlastin' green and what-you-may-call-its."

-

-I glared at him.

-

-"Bills," he continued, "are not easy to stick, lemme tell you, sir.

-Sign paintin's a soft snap when it comes to bill-stickin'. Now, I guess

-I've stuck more bills in New York State than ennybody."

-

-"Have you?" I said angrily.

-

-"Yes, siree! I always pick out the purtiest spots--kinder filled chuck

-full of woods and brooks and things; then I h'ist my paste-pot onto a

-rock, and I slather that rock with gum, and whoop she goes!"

-

-"Whoop what goes?"

-

-"The bill. I paste her onto the rock, with one swipe of the brush for

-the edges and a back-handed swipe for the finish--except when a bill is

-folded in two halves."

-

-"And what do you do then?" I asked, disgusted.

-

-"Swipe twice," said Frisby with enthusiasm.

-

-"And you don't think it injures the landscape?"

-

-"Injures it!" he exclaimed, convinced that I was attempting to joke.

-

-I looked wearily out to sea. He also looked at the water and sighed

-sentimentally.

-

-"Floatin' buoys with bills onto 'em is a idea of mine," he observed.

-"That damn ocean is monotonous, ain't it?"

-

-I don't know what I might have done to Frisby--the rifle was so

-convenient--if his mean yellow dog had not waddled up at this juncture.

-

-"Hi, Davy, sic 'em!" said Frisby, expectorating upon a clamshell

-and hurling it seaward. The cur watched the flight of the shell

-apathetically, then squatted in the sand and looked at his master.

-

-"Kinder lost his spirit," said Frisby, "ain't he? I once stuck a bill

-onto Davy, an' it come off, an' the paste sorter sickened him. He was

-hell on rats--once!"

-

-After a moment or two Frisby took himself off, whistling cheerfully

-to Davy, who followed him when he was ready. The rifle burned in my

-fingers.

-

-It was nearly six o'clock when the professor appeared, spade on

-shoulder, boots smeared with mud.

-

-"Well," he said, "nothing to report, Dick, my boy?"

-

-"Nothing, professor."

-

-He wiped his shining face with his handkerchief and stared at the water.

-

-"My calculations lead me to believe," he said, "that our prize may be

-due any day now. This theory I base upon the result of the report from

-the last sea captain I saw. I can not understand why some of these

-captains did not take the carcass in tow. They all say that they tried,

-but that the body sank before they could come within half a mile. The

-truth is, probably, that they did not stir a foot from their course to

-examine the thing."

-

-"Have you ever cruised about for it?" I ventured.

-

-"For two years," he said grimly. "It's no use; it's accident when a

-ship falls in with it. One captain reports it a thousand miles from

-where the last skipper spoke it, and always in the Gulf Stream. They

-think it is a different specimen every time, and the papers are teeming

-with sea-serpent fol-de-rol."

-

-"Are you sure," I asked, "that it will swing in to the coast on this

-Gulf Stream loop?"

-

-"I think I may say that it is certain to do so. I experimented with

-a dead right whale. You may have heard of its coming ashore here last

-summer."

-

-"I think I did," said I with a faint smile. The thing had poisoned the

-air for miles around.

-

-"But," I continued, "suppose it comes in the night?"

-

-He laughed.

-

-"There I am lucky. Every night this month, and every day, too,

-the current of the loop runs inland so far that even a porpoise

-would strand for at least twelve hours. Longer than that I have not

-experimented with, but I know that the shore trend of the loop runs

-across a long spur of the submerged volcanic mountain, and that

-anything heavier than a porpoise would scrape the bottom and be carried

-so slowly that at least twelve hours must elapse before the carcass

-could float again into deep water. There are chances of its stranding

-indefinitely, too, but I don't care to take those chances. That is why

-I have stationed you here, Dick, my boy."

-

-He glanced again at the water, smiling to himself.

-

-"There is another question I want to ask," I said, "if you don't mind."

-

-"Of course not!" he said warmly.

-

-"What are you digging for?"

-

-"Why, simply for exercise. The doctor told me I was killing myself

-with my sedentary habits, so I decided to dig. I don't know a better

-exercise. Do you?"

-

-"I suppose not," I murmured, rather red in the face. I wondered whether

-he'd mention fossils.

-

-"Did Daisy tell you why we are making our papier-maché Thermosaurus?"

-he asked.

-

-I shook my head.

-

-"We constructed that from measurements I took from the fossil remains

-of the Thermosaurus in the Metropolitan Museum. Professor Bruce

-Stoddard made the drawings. We set it up here, all ready to receive the

-skin of the carcass that I am expecting."

-

-We had started toward home, walking slowly across the darkening dunes,

-shoulder to shoulder. The sand was deep, and walking was not easy.

-

-"I wish," said I at last, "that I knew why Miss Holroyd asked me not to

-walk on the beach. It's much less fatiguing."

-

-"That," said the professor, "is a matter that I intend to discuss with

-you to-night." He spoke gravely, almost sadly. I felt that something of

-unparalleled importance was soon to be revealed. So I kept very quiet,

-watching the ocean out of the corners of my eyes.

-

-

-IV.

-

-Dinner was ended. Daisy Holroyd lighted her father's pipe for him, and

-insisted on my smoking as much as I pleased. Then she sat down, and

-folded her hands like a good little girl, waiting for her father to

-make the revelation which I felt in my bones must be something out of

-the ordinary.

-

-The professor smoked for a while, gazing meditatively at his daughter;

-then, fixing his gray eyes on me, he said:

-

-"Have you ever heard of the kree--that Australian bird, half parrot,

-half hawk, that destroys so many sheep in New South Wales?"

-

-I nodded.

-

-"The kree kills a sheep by alighting on its back and tearing away

-the flesh with its hooked beak until a vital part is reached. You

-know that? Well, it has been discovered that the kree had prehistoric

-prototypes. These birds were enormous creatures, who preyed upon

-mammoths and mastodons, and even upon the great saurians. It has

-been conclusively proved that a few saurians have been killed by

-the ancestors of the kree, but the favourite food of these birds was

-undoubtedly the Thermosaurus. It is believed that the birds attacked

-the eyes of the Thermosaurus, and when, as was its habit, the mammoth

-creature turned on its back to claw them, they fell upon the thinner

-scales of its stomach armour and finally killed it. This, of course,

-is a theory, but we have almost absolute proofs of its correctness.

-Now, these two birds are known among scientists as the ekaf-bird and

-the ool-yllik. The names are Australian, in which country most of

-their remains have been unearthed. They lived during the Carboniferous

-period. Now it is not generally known, but the fact is, that in

-1801 Captain Ransom, of the British exploring vessel Gull, purchased

-from the natives of Tasmania the skin of an ekaf-bird that could not

-have been killed more than twenty-four hours previous to its sale. I

-saw this skin in the British Museum. It was labelled "unknown bird,

-probably extinct." It took me exactly a week to satisfy myself that it

-was actually the skin of an ekaf-bird. But that is not all, Dick, my

-boy," continued the professor excitedly. "In 1854, Admiral Stuart, of

-our own navy, saw the carcass of a strange gigantic bird floating along

-the southern coast of Australia. Sharks were after it, and, before a

-boat could be lowered, these miserable fish got it. But the good old

-admiral secured a few feathers and sent them to the Smithsonian. I saw

-them. They were not even labelled, but I knew that they were feathers

-from the ekaf-bird or its near relative, the ool-yllik."

-

-I had grown so interested that I had leaned far across the table.

-Daisy, too, bent forward. It was only when the professor paused for a

-moment that I noticed how close together our heads were--Daisy's and

-mine. I don't think she realized it. She did not move.

-

-"Now comes the important part of this long discourse," said the

-professor, smiling at our eagerness. "Ever since the carcass of our

-derelict Thermosaurus was first noticed, every captain who has seen

-it has also reported the presence of one or more gigantic birds in

-the neighbourhood. These birds, at a great distance, appeared to

-be hovering over the carcass, but on the approach of a vessel they

-disappeared. Even in midocean they were observed. When I heard about it

-I was puzzled. A month later I was satisfied that neither the ekaf-bird

-nor the ool-yllik was extinct. Last Monday I knew that I was right.

-I found forty-eight distinct impressions of the huge seven-toed claw

-of the ekaf-bird on the beach here at Pine Inlet. You may imagine my

-excitement. I succeeded in digging up enough wet sand around one of

-these impressions to preserve its form. I managed to get it into a soap

-box, and now it is there in my shop. The tide rose too rapidly for me

-to save the other footprints."

-

-I shuddered at the possibility of a clumsy misstep on my part

-obliterating the impression of an ool-yllik.

-

-"That is the reason that my daughter warned you off the beach," he said

-mildly.

-

-"Hanging would have been too good for the vandal who destroyed such

-priceless prizes!" I cried out in self-reproach.

-

-Daisy Holroyd turned a flushed face to mine, and impulsively laid her

-hand on my sleeve.

-

-"How could you know?" she said.

-

-"It's all right now," said her father, emphasizing each word with

-a gentle tap of his pipe-bowl on the table edge; "don't be hard on

-yourself, Dick, my boy. You'll do yeoman's service yet."

-

-It was nearly midnight, and still we chatted on about the Thermosaurus,

-the ekaf-bird, and the ool-yllik, eagerly discussing the probability of

-the great reptile's carcass being in the vicinity. That alone seemed to

-explain the presence of these prehistoric birds at Pine Inlet.

-

-"Do they ever attack human beings?" I asked.

-

-The professor looked startled.

-

-"Gracious!" he exclaimed, "I never thought of that. And Daisy running

-about out of doors! Dear me! it takes a scientist to be an unnatural

-parent!"

-

-His alarm was half real, half assumed; but all the same, he glanced

-gravely at us both, shaking his handsome head, absorbed in thought.

-Daisy herself looked a little doubtful. As for me, my sensations were

-distinctly queer.

-

-"It is true," said the professor, frowning at the wall, "that human

-remains have been found associated with the bones of the ekaf-bird--I

-don't know how intimately. It is a matter to be taken into most serious

-consideration."

-

-"The problem can be solved," said I, "in several ways. One is, to keep

-Miss Holroyd in the house----"

-

-"I shall not stay in!" cried Daisy indignantly.

-

-We all laughed, and her father assured her that she should not be

-abused.

-

-"Even if I did stay in," she said, "one of these birds might alight on

-Master Dick."

-

-She looked saucily at me as she spoke, but turned crimson when her

-father observed quietly, "You don't seem to think of me, Daisy."

-

-"Of course I do," she said, getting up and putting both arms around

-her father's neck; "but Dick--as--as you call him--is so helpless and

-timid."

-

-My blissful smile froze on my lips.

-

-"Timid!" I repeated.

-

-She came back to the table, making me a mocking reverence.

-

-"Do you think I am to be laughed at with impunity?" she said.

-

-"What are your other plans, Dick, my boy?" asked the

-professor.--"Daisy, let him alone, you little tease!"

-

-"One is, to haul a lot of cast-iron boilers along the dunes," I said.

-"If these birds come when the carcass floats in, and if they seem

-disposed to trouble us, we could crawl into the boilers and be safe."

-

-"Why, that is really brilliant!" cried Daisy.

-

-"Be quiet, my child! Dick, the plan is sound and sensible and perfectly

-practical. McPeek and Frisby shall go for a dozen loads of boilers

-to-morrow."

-

-"It will spoil the beauty of the landscape," said Daisy, with a

-taunting nod to me.

-

-"And Frisby will probably attempt to cover them with bill-posters," I

-added, laughing.

-

-"That," said Daisy, "I shall prevent, even at the cost of my life." And

-she stood up, looking very determined.

-

-"Children, children," protested the professor, "go to bed--you bother

-me."

-

-Then I turned deliberately to Miss Holroyd.

-

-"Good-night, Daisy," I said.

-

-"Good-night, Dick," she said, very gently.

-

-

-V.

-

-The week passed quickly for me, leaving but few definite impressions.

-As I look back to it now I can see the long stretch of beach burning

-in the fierce sunlight, the endless meadows, with the glimmer of

-water in the distance, the dunes, the twisted cedars, the leagues of

-scintillating ocean, rocking, rocking, always rocking. In the starlit

-nights the curlew came in from the sand-bars by twos and threes; I

-could hear their faint call as I lay in bed thinking. All day long the

-little ring-necks whistled from the shore. The plover answered them

-from distant lonely inland pools. The great white gulls drifted like

-feathers upon the sea.

-

-One morning, toward the end of the week, I, strolling along the dunes,

-came upon Frisby. He was bill-posting. I caught him red-handed.

-

-"This," said I, "must stop. Do you understand, Mr. Frisby?"

-

-He stepped back from his work, laying his head on one side, considering

-first me, then the bill that he had pasted on one of our big boilers.

-

-"Don't like the colour?" he asked. "It goes well on them boilers."

-

-"Colour! No, I don't like the colour either. Can't you understand that

-there are some people in the world who object to seeing patent-medicine

-advertisements scattered over a landscape?"

-

-"Hey?" he said perplexed.

-

-"Will you kindly remove that advertisement?" I persisted.

-

-"Too late," said Frisby; "it's sot."

-

-I was too disgusted to speak, but my disgust turned to anger when

-I perceived that, as far as the eye could reach, our boilers, lying

-from three to four hundred feet apart, were ablaze with yellow and red

-posters, extolling the "Eureka Liver Pill Company."

-

-"It don't cost 'em nothin'," said Frisby cheerfully; "I done it fur the

-fun of it. Purty, ain't it?"

-

-"They are Professor Holroyd's boilers," I said, subduing a desire

-to beat Frisby with my telescope. "Wait until Miss Holroyd sees this

-work."

-

-"Don't she like yeller and red?" he demanded anxiously.

-

-"You'll find out," said I.

-

-Frisby gaped at his handiwork and then at his yellow dog. After a

-moment he mechanically spat on a clamshell and requested Davy to "sic"

-it.

-

-"Can't you comprehend that you have ruined our pleasure in the

-landscape?" I asked more mildly.

-

-"I've got some green bills," said Frisby; "I kin stick 'em over the

-yeller ones----"

-

-"Confound it!" said I, "it isn't the colour!"

-

-"Then," observed Frisby, "you don't like them pills. I've got some

-bills of the 'Cropper Bicycle,' and a few of 'Bagley, the Gents'

-Tailor----'"

-

-"Frisby," said I, "use them all--paste the whole collection over your

-dog and yourself--then walk off the cliff."

-

-He sullenly unfolded a green poster, swabbed the boiler with paste,

-laid the upper section of the bill upon it, and plastered the whole

-bill down with a thwack of his brush. As I walked away I heard him

-muttering.

-

-Next day Daisy was so horrified that I promised to give Frisby an

-ultimatum. I found him with Freda, gazing sentimentally at his work,

-and I sent him back to the shop in a hurry, telling Freda at the same

-time that she could spend her leisure in providing Mr. Frisby with

-sand, soap, and a scrubbing brush. Then I walked on to my post of

-observation.

-

-I watched until sunset. Daisy came with her father to hear my report,

-but there was nothing to tell, and we three walked slowly back to the

-house.

-

-In the evenings the professor worked on his volumes, the click of his

-type-writer sounding faintly behind his closed door. Daisy and I played

-chess sometimes; sometimes we played hearts. I don't remember that we

-ever finished a game of either--we talked too much.

-

-Our discussions covered every topic of interest: we argued

-upon politics; we skimmed over literature and music; we settled

-international differences; we spoke vaguely of human brotherhood. I say

-we slighted no subject of interest--I am wrong; we never spoke of love.

-

-Now, love is a matter of interest to ten people out of ten. Why it was

-that it did not appear to interest us is as interesting a question

-as love itself. We were young, alert, enthusiastic, inquiring. We

-eagerly absorbed theories concerning any curious phenomena in Nature,

-as intellectual cocktails to stimulate discussion. And yet we did not

-discuss love. I do not say that we avoided it. No; the subject was too

-completely ignored for even that. And yet we found it very difficult to

-pass an hour separated. The professor noticed this, and laughed at us.

-We were not even embarrassed.

-

-Sunday passed in pious contemplation of the ocean. Daisy read a little

-in her prayer-book, and the professor threw a cloth over his typewriter

-and strolled up and down the sands. He may have been lost in devout

-abstraction; he may have been looking for footprints. As for me, my

-mind was very serene, and I was more than happy. Daisy read to me a

-little for my soul's sake, and the professor came up and said something

-cheerful. He also examined the magazine of my Winchester.

-

-That night, too, Daisy took her guitar to the sands and sang one or two

-Armenian hymns. Unlike us, the Armenians do not take their pleasures

-sadly. One of their pleasures is evidently religion.

-

-The big moon came up over the dunes and stared at the sea until the

-surface of every wave trembled with radiance. A sudden stillness fell

-across the world; the wind died out; the foam ran noiselessly across

-the beach; the cricket's rune was stilled.

-

-I leaned back, dropping one hand upon the sand. It touched another

-hand, soft and cool.

-

-After a while the other hand moved slightly, and I found that my own

-had closed above it. Presently one finger stirred a little--only a

-little--for our fingers were interlocked.

-

-On the shore the foam-froth bubbled and winked and glimmered in the

-moonlight. A star fell from the zenith, showering the night with

-incandescent dust.

-

-If our fingers lay interlaced beside us, her eyes were calm and serene

-as always, wide open, fixed upon the depths of a dark sky. And when her

-father rose and spoke to us, she did not withdraw her hand.

-

-"Is it late?" she asked dreamily.

-

-"It is midnight, little daughter."

-

-I stood up, still holding her hand, and aided her to rise. And when, at

-the door, I said good-night, she turned and looked at me for a little

-while in silence, then passed into her room slowly, with head still

-turned toward me.

-

-All night long I dreamed of her; and when the east whitened, I sprang

-up, the thunder of the ocean in my ears, the strong sea wind blowing

-into the open window.

-

-"She is asleep," I thought, and I leaned from the window and peered out

-into the east.

-

-The sea called to me, tossing its thousand arms; the soaring gulls,

-dipping, rising, wheeling above the sand-bar, screamed and clamoured

-for a playmate. I slipped into my bathing suit, dropped from the window

-upon the soft sand, and in a moment had plunged head foremost into the

-surf, swimming beneath the waves toward the open sea.

-

-Under the tossing ocean the voice of the waters was in my ears--a low,

-sweet voice, intimate, mysterious. Through singing foam and broad,

-green, glassy depths, by whispering sandy channels atrail with seaweed,

-and on, on, out into the vague, cool sea, I sped, rising to the top,

-sinking, gliding. Then at last I flung myself out of water, hands

-raised, and the clamour of the gulls filled my ears.

-

-As I lay, breathing fast, drifting on the sea, far out beyond the gulls

-I saw a flash of white, and an arm was lifted, signalling me.

-

-"Daisy!" I called.

-

-A clear hail came across the water, distinct on the sea wind, and at

-the same instant we raised our hands and moved toward each other.

-

-How we laughed as we met in the sea! The white dawn came up out of the

-depths, the zenith turned to rose and ashes.

-

-And with the dawn came the wind--a great sea wind, fresh, aromatic,

-that hurled our voices back into our throats and lifted the sheeted

-spray above our heads. Every wave, crowned with mist, caught us in a

-cool embrace, cradled us, and slipped away, only to leave us to another

-wave, higher, stronger, crested with opalescent glory, breathing

-incense.

-

-We turned together up the coast, swimming lightly side by side, but our

-words were caught up by the winds and whirled into the sky.

-

-We looked up at the driving clouds; we looked out upon the pallid waste

-of waters; but it was into each other's eyes we looked, wondering,

-wistful, questioning the reason of sky and sea. And there in each

-other's eyes we read the mystery, and we knew that earth and sky and

-sea were created for us alone.

-

-Drifting on by distant sands and dunes, her white fingers touching

-mine, we spoke, keying our tones to the wind's vast harmony. And we

-spoke of love.

-

-Gray and wide as the limitless span of the sky and the sea, the

-winds gathered from the world's ends to bear us on; but they were

-not familiar winds; for now, along the coast, the breakers curled and

-showed a million fangs, and the ocean stirred to its depths, uneasy,

-ominous, and the menace of its murmur drew us closer as we moved.

-

-Where the dull thunder and the tossing spray warned us from sunken

-reefs, we heard the harsh challenges of gulls; where the pallid surf

-twisted in yellow coils of spume above the bar, the singing sands

-murmured of treachery and secrets of lost souls agasp in the throes of

-silent undertows.

-

-But there was a little stretch of beach glimmering through the

-mountains of water, and toward this we turned, side by side. Around us

-the water grew warmer; the breath of the following waves moistened our

-cheeks; the water itself grew gray and strange about us.

-

-"We have come too far," I said; but she only answered: "Faster, faster!

-I am afraid!" The water was almost hot now; its aromatic odour filled

-our lungs.

-

-"The Gulf loop!" I muttered. "Daisy, shall I help you?"

-

-"No. Swim--close by me! Oh-h! Dick----"

-

-Her startled cry was echoed by another--a shrill scream, unutterably

-horrible--and a great bird flapped from the beach, splashing and

-beating its pinions across the water with a thundering noise.

-

-Out across the waves it blundered, rising little by little from the

-water, and now, to my horror, I saw another monstrous bird swinging in

-the air above it, squealing as it turned on its vast wings. Before I

-could speak we touched the beach, and I half lifted her to the shore.

-

-"Quick!" I repeated. "We must not wait."

-

-Her eyes were dark with fear, but she rested a hand on my shoulder, and

-we crept up among the dune grasses and sank down by the point of sand

-where the rough shelter stood, surrounded by the iron-ringed piles.

-

-She lay there, breathing fast and deep, dripping with spray. I had no

-power of speech left, but when I rose wearily to my knees and looked

-out upon the water my blood ran cold. Above the ocean, on the breast

-of the roaring wind, three enormous birds sailed, turning and wheeling

-among each other; and below, drifting with the gray stream of the Gulf

-loop, a colossal bulk lay half submerged--a gigantic lizard, floating

-belly upward.

-

-Then Daisy crept kneeling to my side and touched me, trembling from

-head to foot.

-

-"I know," I muttered. "I must run back for the rifle."

-

-"And--and leave me?"

-

-I took her by the hand, and we dragged ourselves through the wire grass

-to the open end of a boiler lying in the sand.

-

-She crept in on her hands and knees, and called to me to follow.

-

-"You are safe now," I cried. "I must go back for the rifle."

-

-"The birds may--may attack you."

-

-"If they do I can get into one of the other boilers," I said. "Daisy,

-you must not venture out until I come back. You won't, will you?"

-

-"No-o," she whispered doubtfully.

-

-"Then--good-by."

-

-"Good-by," she answered, but her voice was very small and still.

-

-"Good-by," I said again. I was kneeling at the mouth of the big iron

-tunnel; it was dark inside and I could not see her, but, before I was

-conscious of it, her arms were around my neck and we had kissed each

-other.

-

-I don't remember how I went away. When I came to my proper senses I was

-swimming along the coast at full speed, and over my head wheeled one of

-the birds, screaming at every turn.

-

-The intoxication of that innocent embrace, the close impress of her

-arms around my neck, gave me a strength and recklessness that neither

-fear nor fatigue could subdue. The bird above me did not even frighten

-me; I watched it over my shoulder, swimming strongly, with the tide now

-aiding me, now stemming my course; but I saw the shore passing quickly

-and my strength increased, and I shouted when I came in sight of the

-house, and scrambled up on the sand, dripping and excited. There was

-nobody in sight, and I gave a last glance up into the air where the

-bird wheeled, still screeching, and hastened into the house. Freda

-stared at me in amazement as I seized the rifle and shouted for the

-professor.

-

-"He has just gone to town, with Captain McPeek in his wagon," stammered

-Freda.

-

-"What!" I cried. "Does he know where his daughter is?"

-

-"Miss Holroyd is asleep--not?" gasped Freda.

-

-"Where's Frisby?" I cried impatiently.

-

-"Yimmie?" quavered Freda.

-

-"Yes, Jimmie; isn't there anybody here? Good heavens! where's that man

-in the shop?"

-

-"He also iss gone," said Freda, shedding tears, "to buy papier-maché.

-Yimmie, he iss gone to post bills."

-

-I waited to hear no more, but swung my rifle over my shoulder, and,

-hanging the cartridge belt across my chest, hurried out and up the

-beach. The bird was not in sight.

-

-I had been running for perhaps a minute when, far up on the dunes, I

-saw a yellow dog rush madly through a clump of sweet bay, and at the

-same moment a bird soared past, rose, and hung hovering just above

-the thicket. Suddenly the bird swooped; there was a shriek and a yelp

-from the cur, but the bird gripped it in one claw and beat its wings

-upon the sand, striving to rise. Then I saw Frisby--paste, bucket, and

-brush raised--fall upon the bird, yelling lustily. The fierce creature

-relaxed its talons, and the dog rushed on, squeaking with terror. The

-bird turned on Frisby and sent him sprawling on his face, a sticky

-mass of paste and sand. But this did not end the struggle. The bird,

-croaking wildly, flew at the prostrate billposter, and the sand whirled

-into a pillar above its terrible wings. Scarcely knowing what I was

-about, I raised my rifle and fired twice. A horrid scream echoed each

-shot, and the bird rose heavily in a shower of sand; but two bullets

-were embedded in that mass of foul feathers, and I saw the wires and

-scarlet tape uncoiling on the sand at my feet. In an instant I seized

-them and passed the ends around a cedar tree, hooking the clasps tight.

-Then I cast one swift glance upward, where the bird wheeled screeching,

-anchored like a kite to the pallium wires; and I hurried on across

-the dunes, the shells cutting my feet, and the bushes tearing my wet

-swimming suit, until I dripped with blood from shoulder to ankle. Out

-in the ocean the carcass of the Thermosaurus floated, claws outspread,

-belly glistening in the gray light, and over him circled two birds. As

-I reached the shelter I knelt and fired into the mass of scales, and at

-my first shot a horrible thing occurred: the lizardlike head writhed,

-the slitted yellow eyes sliding open from the film that covered them.

-A shudder passed across the undulating body, the great scaled belly

-heaved, and one leg feebly clawed at the air.

-

-The thing was still alive!

-

-Crushing back the horror that almost paralyzed my hands, I planted shot

-after shot into the quivering reptile, while it writhed and clawed,

-striving to turn over and dive; and at each shot the black blood

-spurted in long, slim jets across the water. And now Daisy was at my

-side, pale and determined, swiftly clasping each tape-marked wire to

-the iron rings in the circle around us. Twice I filled the magazine

-from my belt, and twice I poured streams of steel-tipped bullets into

-the scaled mass, twisting and shuddering on the sea. Suddenly the birds

-steered toward us. I felt the wind from their vast wings. I saw the

-feathers erect, vibrating. I saw the spread claws outstretched, and I

-struck furiously at them, crying to Daisy to run into the iron shelter.

-Backing, swinging my clubbed rifle, I retreated, but I tripped across

-one of the taut pallium wires, and in an instant the hideous birds were

-on me, and the bone in my forearm snapped like a pipestem at a blow

-from their wings. Twice I struggled to my knees, blinded with blood,

-confused, almost fainting; then I fell again, rolling into the mouth of

-the iron boiler.

-

-       *       *       *       *       *

-

-When I struggled back to consciousness Daisy knelt silently beside me,

-while Captain McPeek and Professor Holroyd bound up my shattered arm,

-talking excitedly. The pain made me faint and dizzy. I tried to speak

-and could not. At last they got me to my feet and into the wagon, and

-Daisy came, too, and crouched beside me, wrapped in oilskins to her

-eyes. Fatigue, lack of food, and excitement had combined with wounds

-and broken bones to extinguish the last atom of strength in my body;

-but my mind was clear enough to understand that the trouble was over

-and the Thermosaurus safe.

-

-I heard McPeek say that one of the birds that I had anchored to a cedar

-tree had torn loose from the bullets and winged its way heavily out

-to sea. The professor answered: "Yes, the ekaf-bird; the others were

-ool-ylliks. I'd have given my right arm to have secured them." Then

-for a time I heard no more; but the jolting of the wagon over the dunes

-roused me to keenest pain, and I held out my right hand to Daisy. She

-clasped it in both of hers, and kissed it again and again.

-

-       *       *       *       *       *

-

-There is little more to add, I think. Professor Bruce Stoddard has

-edited this story carefully. His own scientific pamphlet will be

-published soon, to be followed by Professor Holroyd's sixteen volumes.

-In a few days the stuffed and mounted Thermosaurus will be placed on

-free public exhibition in the arena of Madison Square Garden, the only

-building in the city large enough to contain the body of this immense

-winged reptile.

-

-When my arm came out of splints, Daisy and I---- But really that

-has nothing to do with a detailed scientific description of the

-Thermosaurus, which, I think, I shall add as an appendix to the book.

-If you do not find it there it will be because Daisy and I have very

-little time to write about Thermosaurians.

-

-But what I really want to tell you about is the extraordinary

-adventures of Captain McPeek and Frisby--how they produced a specimen

-of Samia Cynthia that dwarfed a hundred of Attacus Atlas, and how the

-American line steamer St. Louis fouled the thing with her screw.

-

-The more I think of it the more determined I am to tell it to you. It

-will be difficult to prevent me. And that is not fiction either.

-

-

-

-

-ENVOI.

-

-

-

-

-_ENVOI._

-

-

- _I._

-

- _When shadows pass across the grass

-  And April breezes stir the sedge,

-  Along the brimming river's edge

-    I trail my line for silver trout,

-  And smoke, and dream of you, my lass,

-    And wonder why we two fell out,

-    And how the deuce it came about._

-

- _II._

-

- _When swallows sheer the meadow-mere

-  And thickets thrill with thrushes' hymns,

-  Along the mill-pond's reedy rims

-    I trail my line for shining dace;

-  But how can finny fishes cheer

-    A fellow, if he find no grace

-    In your sweet eyes and your dear face?_

-

- _III._

-

- _Let thrushes wing their way and sing

-  Where cresses freshen pebbled nooks;

-  By silent rills and singing brooks

-    I pass my way alone, alas!

-  With your dear name the woodlands ring--

-    Your name is murmured by the grass,

-    By earth, by air, all-where I pass._

-

- _IV._

-

- _The painted bream may swim the stream--

-    I'll cast no line to-day, pardi!

-  In vain the river-ripples gleam,

-    In vain the thrushes' minstrelsy.

-  Vain is the wind that whispers, "Lo!

-  Thy fish are waiting--Angler, go!"_

-

- _V._

-

- _Will you forgive if I forgive?

-  Life is too sad, I think, to live

-  Alone, and dream and smoke and fish;

-  I'll say "Forgive" first--if you wish?_

-

- _VI._

-

- _For at that word, the Sorcery

-  Of Love shall change the earth and sky

-  To Paradise, with cherubim

-  Instead of birds on every limb._

-

- _VII._

-

- _Rivers shall sing our rhapsody;

-  The vaulted forest, tree by tree,

-  High hung with tapestry, shall glow

-  With golden pillars all a-row._

-

- _VIII._

-

- _And down the gilded forest aisle

-  Shy throngs of violets shall smile

-  And kiss your feet from tree to tree

-  While blue-bells droop in courtesy._

-

- _IX._

-

- _And if the sun incarnadine

-  The clouds--green leaves shall be your screen;

-  And if the clouds with jealousy

-  Should weep--we'll beg of some kind tree

-  A moment's hospitality._

-

- _X._

-

- _Good cheer is here, if you incline;

-  Moss-hidden springs shall bubble wine

-  While squirrels chuckle, rank on rank,

-  And strawberries from every bank

-  Shall blush to see how deep we drank._

-

- _XI._

-

- _Winds of the West shall cool our eyes

-  While every woodland creature tries

-  His voice a little, so that he

-  May know his notes more perfectly

-  When crickets start the symphony._

-

- _XII._

-

- _Through hazel glade and scented dell

-  Where brooklets ring a tinkling bell,

-  The forest orchestra shall swell,

-  Until the sun-soaked grasses ring

-  With crickets strumming string on string._

-

- _XIII._

-

- _Then, with your white hand daintily

-  Scarce touching mine, we'll leave our tree

-  And ramble slowly toward the West

-  Where our high castle's flaming crest,

-  Towering behind the setting sun,

-  Flings out its banners, one by one,

-  Signals of fire, that day is done._

-

- _XIV._

-

- _Deep in that palace we shall find

-  How blind we are, how blind! how blind!

-  And how he'll laugh, who holds the key

-  To the great portal's mystery!

-  And how his joyous laugh will ring

-  When you and I shall bid him fling

-  The gates ajar for you and me!_

-

- _XV._

-

- _Let shadows flee athwart the lea

-  When dark December strips the hedge

-  Along the icy river's edge;

-    Yet, if you will forgive me, lass,

-  The world shall bloom like spring to me,

-    Snow turn to dew upon the grass

-    And fagots blossom where you pass._

-

- _XVI._

-

- _Swallows shall sheer the frozen mere,

-  Dead reeds along the mill-pond's rims

-  Shall thrill with summer-thrushes' hymns,

-    While summer breezes blow apace,

-  If you will but forgive me, dear,

-    And let me find a moment's grace,

-    In your sweet eyes and your dear face._

-

-                                       _R. W. C._

-

-

-THE END.

-

-

-

-

-CORRECTIONS

-

-

-  page     original text                    correction

-  ix       [missing from contents]          THE KEY TO GRIEF      185

-  13       Yvette has gone to Bannelec.     Yvette has gone to Bannalec.

-  23       It was crowded with Britons,     It was crowded with Bretons,

-  29       doxens of similar red            dozens of similar red

-  93       the great moth dated             the great moth darted

-  103      among the beach trees.           among the beech trees.

-  104      leaves of beach and oak          leaves of beech and oak

-  135      Sacré garce!                     Sacrée garce!

-  167      O frère Jaques,                  O frère Jacques,

-  180      carved from red beach.           carved from red beech.

-  181      their is much lace               there is much lace

-  181      chiselled in red beach.          chiselled in red beech.

-

-

-

-

-

-End of Project Gutenberg's The Mystery of Choice, by Robert William Chambers

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-Project Gutenberg's The Mystery of Choice, by Robert William Chambers

-

-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: The Mystery of Choice

-

-Author: Robert William Chambers

-

-Release Date: August 13, 2014 [EBook #46581]

-

-Language: English

-

-Character set encoding: ASCII

-

-*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MYSTERY OF CHOICE ***

-

-

-

-

-Produced by Robert Cicconetti and the Online Distributed

-Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was

-produced from images generously made available by The

-Internet Archive/American Libraries.)

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:

-

-Italics have been transcribed using _underscores_, small capitals as ALL

-CAPITALS. Inconsistencies in hyphenation and spelling have not been

-corrected. Punctuation has been silently corrected. A list of other

-corrections can be found at the end of the document.

-

-

-

-

-THE MYSTERY OF CHOICE

-

-

-BY ROBERT W. CHAMBERS

-

-AUTHOR OF THE KING IN YELLOW, THE RED REPUBLIC, A KING AND A FEW DUKES,

-THE MAKER OF MOONS, ETC.

-

-

-NEW YORK D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 1897

-

-

-

-

-COPYRIGHT, 1897,

-BY ROBERT W. CHAMBERS.

-

-

-

-

-_DEDICATION._

-

-

- _There is a maid, demure as she is wise,

-  With all of April in her winsome eyes,

-  And to my tales she listens pensively,

-  With slender fingers clasped about her knee,

-  Watching the sparrows on the balcony._

-

-   _Shy eyes that, lifted up to me,

-    Free all my heart of vanity;

-    Clear eyes, that speak all silently,

-    Sweet as the silence of a nunnery--

-    Read, for I write my rede for you alone,

-    Here where the city's mighty monotone

-    Deepens the silence to a symphony--

-    Silence of Saints, and Seers, and Sorcery._

-

- _Arms and the Man! A noble theme, I ween!

-  Alas! I can not sing of these, Eileen--

-  Only of maids and men and meadow-grass,

-  Of sea and fields and woodlands, where I pass;

-  Nothing but these I know, Eileen, alas!_

-

-   _Clear eyes that, lifted up to me,

-    Free all my soul from vanity;

-    Gray eyes, that speak all wistfully--

-    Nothing but these I know, alas!_

-

-                                       _R. W. C._

-

- _April, 1896._

-

-

-

-

-INTRODUCTION.

-

-

- _I._

-

- _Where two fair paths, deep flowered

-                        And leaf-embowered,

-  Creep East and West across a World concealed,

-  Which shall he take who journeys far afield?_

-

- _II._

-

- _Canst thou then say, "I go,"

-                        Or "I forego"?

-  What turns thee East or West, as thistles blow?

-  Is fair more fair than fair--and dost thou know?_

-

- _III._

-

- _Turn to the West, unblessed

-                        And uncaressed;

-  Turn to the East, and, seated at the Feast

-  Thou shalt find Life, or Death from Life released._

-

- _IV._

-

- _And thou who lovest best

-                        A maid dark-tressed,

-  And passest others by with careless eye,

-  Canst thou tell why thou choosest? Tell, then; why?_

-

-  _V._

-

- _So when thy kiss is given

-                        Or half-forgiven,

-  Why should she tremble, with her face flame-hot,

-  Or laugh and whisper, "Love, I tremble not"?_

-

- _VI._

-

- _Or when thy hand may catch

-                        A half-drawn latch,

-  What draws thee from the door, to turn and pass

-  Through streets unknown, dim, still, and choked with grass?_

-

- _VII._

-

- _What! Canst thou not foresee

-                        The Mystery?

-  Heed! For a Voice commands thy every deed!

-  And it hath sounded. And thou needs must heed!_

-

-                                       _R. W. C._

-

- _1896._

-

-

-

-

-CONTENTS.

-

-

-                               PAGE

-

-  THE PURPLE EMPEROR              1

-

-  POMPE FUNEBRE                  39

-

-  THE MESSENGER                  47

-

-  THE WHITE SHADOW              109

-

-  PASSEUR                       175

-

-  THE KEY TO GRIEF              185

-

-  A MATTER OF INTEREST          213

-

-  ENVOI                         283

-

-

-

-

-THE PURPLE EMPEROR.

-

-

-

-

-THE PURPLE EMPEROR.

-

-  Un souvenir heureux est peut-etre, sur terre,

-    Plus vrai que le bonheur.

-

-                                        A. DE MUSSET.

-

-

-I.

-

-The Purple Emperor watched me in silence. I cast again, spinning out

-six feet more of waterproof silk, and, as the line hissed through the

-air far across the pool, I saw my three flies fall on the water like

-drifting thistledown. The Purple Emperor sneered.

-

-"You see," he said, "I am right. There is not a trout in Brittany that

-will rise to a tailed fly."

-

-"They do in America," I replied.

-

-"Zut! for America!" observed the Purple Emperor.

-

-"And trout take a tailed fly in England," I insisted sharply.

-

-"Now do I care what things or people do in England?" demanded the

-Purple Emperor.

-

-"You don't care for anything except yourself and your wriggling

-caterpillars," I said, more annoyed than I had yet been.

-

-The Purple Emperor sniffed. His broad, hairless, sunburnt features bore

-that obstinate expression which always irritated me. Perhaps the manner

-in which he wore his hat intensified the irritation, for the flapping

-brim rested on both ears, and the two little velvet ribbons which

-hung from the silver buckle in front wiggled and fluttered with every

-trivial breeze. His cunning eyes and sharp-pointed nose were out of all

-keeping with his fat red face. When he met my eye, he chuckled.

-

-"I know more about insects than any man in Morbihan--or Finistere

-either, for that matter," he said.

-

-"The Red Admiral knows as much as you do," I retorted.

-

-"He doesn't," replied the Purple Emperor angrily.

-

-"And his collection of butterflies is twice as large as yours," I

-added, moving down the stream to a spot directly opposite him.

-

-"It is, is it?" sneered the Purple Emperor. "Well, let me tell you,

-Monsieur Darrel, in all his collection he hasn't a specimen, a single

-specimen, of that magnificent butterfly, Apatura Iris, commonly known

-as the 'Purple Emperor.'"

-

-"Everybody in Brittany knows that," I said, casting across the

-sparkling water; "but just because you happen to be the only man who

-ever captured a 'Purple Emperor' in Morbihan, it doesn't follow that

-you are an authority on sea-trout flies. Why do you say that a Breton

-sea-trout won't touch a tailed fly?"

-

-"It's so," he replied.

-

-"Why? There are plenty of May-flies about the stream."

-

-"Let 'em fly!" snarled the Purple Emperor, "you won't see a trout touch

-'em."

-

-My arm was aching, but I grasped my split bamboo more firmly, and,

-half turning, waded out into the stream and began to whip the ripples

-at the head of the pool. A great green dragon-fly came drifting by on

-the summer breeze and hung a moment above the pool, glittering like an

-emerald.

-

-"There's a chance! Where is your butterfly net?" I called across the

-stream.

-

-"What for? That dragon-fly? I've got dozens--Anax Junius, Drury,

-characteristic, anal angle of posterior wings, in male, round; thorax

-marked with----"

-

-"That will do," I said fiercely. "Can't I point out an insect in

-the air without this burst of erudition? Can you tell me, in simple

-everyday French, what this little fly is--this one, flitting over the

-eel grass here beside me? See, it has fallen on the water."

-

-"Huh!" sneered the Purple Emperor, "that's a Linnobia annulus."

-

-"What's that?" I demanded.

-

-Before he could answer there came a heavy splash in the pool, and the

-fly disappeared.

-

-"He! he! he!" tittered the Purple Emperor. "Didn't I tell you the fish

-knew their business? That was a sea-trout. I hope you don't get him."

-

-He gathered up his butterfly net, collecting box, chloroform bottle,

-and cyanide jar. Then he rose, swung the box over his shoulder, stuffed

-the poison bottles into the pockets of his silver-buttoned velvet

-coat, and lighted his pipe. This latter operation was a demoralizing

-spectacle, for the Purple Emperor, like all Breton peasants, smoked one

-of those microscopical Breton pipes which requires ten minutes to find,

-ten minutes to fill, ten minutes to light, and ten seconds to finish.

-With true Breton stolidity he went through this solemn rite, blew three

-puffs of smoke into the air, scratched his pointed nose reflectively,

-and waddled away, calling back an ironical "Au revoir, and bad luck to

-all Yankees!"

-

-I watched him out of sight, thinking sadly of the young girl whose life

-he made a hell upon earth--Lys Trevec, his niece. She never admitted

-it, but we all knew what the black-and-blue marks meant on her soft,

-round arm, and it made me sick to see the look of fear come into her

-eyes when the Purple Emperor waddled into the cafe of the Groix Inn.

-

-It was commonly said that he half-starved her. This she denied. Marie

-Joseph and 'Fine Lelocard had seen him strike her the day after the

-Pardon of the Birds because she had liberated three bullfinches which

-he had limed the day before. I asked Lys if this were true, and she

-refused to speak to me for the rest of the week. There was nothing to

-do about it. If the Purple Emperor had not been avaricious, I should

-never have seen Lys at all, but he could not resist the thirty francs

-a week which I offered him; and Lys posed for me all day long, happy

-as a linnet in a pink thorn hedge. Nevertheless, the Purple Emperor

-hated me, and constantly threatened to send Lys back to her dreary

-flax-spinning. He was suspicious, too, and when he had gulped down

-the single glass of cider which proves fatal to the sobriety of most

-Bretons, he would pound the long, discoloured oaken table and roar

-curses on me, on Yves Terrec, and on the Red Admiral. We were the

-three objects in the world which he most hated: me, because I was a

-foreigner, and didn't care a rap for him and his butterflies; and the

-Red Admiral, because he was a rival entomologist.

-

-He had other reasons for hating Terrec.

-

-The Red Admiral, a little wizened wretch, with a badly adjusted

-glass eye and a passion for brandy, took his name from a butterfly

-which predominated in his collection. This butterfly, commonly known

-to amateurs as the "Red Admiral," and to entomologists as Vanessa

-Atalanta, had been the occasion of scandal among the entomologists of

-France and Brittany. For the Red Admiral had taken one of these common

-insects, dyed it a brilliant yellow by the aid of chemicals, and palmed

-it off on a credulous collector as a South African species, absolutely

-unique. The fifty francs which he gained by this rascality were,

-however, absorbed in a suit for damages brought by the outraged amateur

-a month later; and when he had sat in the Quimperle jail for a month,

-he reappeared in the little village of St. Gildas soured, thirsty, and

-burning for revenge. Of course we named him the Red Admiral, and he

-accepted the name with suppressed fury.

-

-The Purple Emperor, on the other hand, had gained his imperial title

-legitimately, for it was an undisputed fact that the only specimen of

-that beautiful butterfly, Apatura Iris, or the Purple Emperor, as it

-is called by amateurs--the only specimen that had ever been taken in

-Finistere or in Morbihan--was captured and brought home alive by Joseph

-Marie Gloanec, ever afterward to be known as the Purple Emperor.

-

-When the capture of this rare butterfly became known the Red Admiral

-nearly went crazy. Every day for a week he trotted over to the Groix

-Inn, where the Purple Emperor lived with his niece, and brought his

-microscope to bear on the rare newly captured butterfly, in hopes of

-detecting a fraud. But this specimen was genuine, and he leered through

-his microscope in vain.

-

-"No chemicals there, Admiral," grinned the Purple Emperor; and the Red

-Admiral chattered with rage.

-

-To the scientific world of Brittany and France the capture of an

-Apatura Iris in Morbihan was of great importance. The Museum of Quimper

-offered to purchase the butterfly, but the Purple Emperor, though a

-hoarder of gold, was a monomaniac on butterflies, and he jeered at the

-Curator of the Museum. From all parts of Brittany and France letters

-of inquiry and congratulation poured in upon him. The French Academy

-of Sciences awarded him a prize, and the Paris Entomological Society

-made him an honorary member. Being a Breton peasant, and a more than

-commonly pig-headed one at that, these honours did not disturb his

-equanimity; but when the little hamlet of St. Gildas elected him mayor,

-and, as is the custom in Brittany under such circumstances, he left his

-thatched house to take up an official life in the little Groix Inn, his

-head became completely turned. To be mayor in a village of nearly one

-hundred and fifty people! It was an empire! So he became unbearable,

-drinking himself viciously drunk every night of his life, maltreating

-his niece, Lys Trevec, like the barbarous old wretch that he was, and

-driving the Red Admiral nearly frantic with his eternal harping on the

-capture of Apatura Iris. Of course he refused to tell where he had

-caught the butterfly. The Red Admiral stalked his footsteps, but in vain.

-

-"He! he! he!" nagged the Purple Emperor, cuddling his chin over a glass

-of cider; "I saw you sneaking about the St. Gildas spinny yesterday

-morning. So you think you can find another Apatura Iris by running

-after me? It won't do, Admiral, it won't do, d'ye see?"

-

-The Red Admiral turned yellow with mortification and envy, but the next

-day he actually took to his bed, for the Purple Emperor had brought

-home not a butterfly but a live chrysalis, which, if successfully

-hatched, would become a perfect specimen of the invaluable Apatura

-Iris. This was the last straw. The Red Admiral shut himself up in

-his little stone cottage, and for weeks now he had been invisible to

-everybody except 'Fine Lelocard who carried him a loaf of bread and a

-mullet or langouste every morning.

-

-The withdrawal of the Red Admiral from the society of St. Gildas

-excited first the derision and finally the suspicion of the Purple

-Emperor. What deviltry could he be hatching? Was he experimenting with

-chemicals again, or was he engaged in some deeper plot, the object

-of which was to discredit the Purple Emperor? Roux, the postman,

-who carried the mail on foot once a day from Bannalec, a distance of

-fifteen miles each way, had brought several suspicious letters, bearing

-English stamps, to the Red Admiral, and the next day the Admiral had

-been observed at his window grinning up into the sky and rubbing his

-hands together. A night or two after this apparition the postman left

-two packages at the Groix Inn for a moment while he ran across the way

-to drink a glass of cider with me. The Purple Emperor, who was roaming

-about the cafe, snooping into everything that did not concern him, came

-upon the packages and examined the postmarks and addresses. One of the

-packages was square and heavy, and felt like a book. The other was also

-square, but very light, and felt like a pasteboard box. They were both

-addressed to the Red Admiral, and they bore English stamps.

-

-When Roux, the postman, came back, the Purple Emperor tried to pump

-him, but the poor little postman knew nothing about the contents of the

-packages, and after he had taken them around the corner to the cottage

-of the Red Admiral the Purple Emperor ordered a glass of cider, and

-deliberately fuddled himself until Lys came in and tearfully supported

-him to his room. Here he became so abusive and brutal that Lys called

-to me, and I went and settled the trouble without wasting any words.

-This also the Purple Emperor remembered, and waited his chance to get

-even with me.

-

-That had happened a week ago, and until to-day he had not deigned to

-speak to me.

-

-Lys had posed for me all the week, and to-day being Saturday, and I

-lazy, we had decided to take a little relaxation, she to visit and

-gossip with her little black-eyed friend Yvette in the neighbouring

-hamlet of St. Julien, and I to try the appetites of the Breton trout

-with the contents of my American fly book.

-

-I had thrashed the stream very conscientiously for three hours, but not

-a trout had risen to my cast, and I was piqued. I had begun to believe

-that there were no trout in the St. Gildas stream, and would probably

-have given up had I not seen the sea trout snap the little fly which

-the Purple Emperor had named so scientifically. That set me thinking.

-Probably the Purple Emperor was right, for he certainly was an expert

-in everything that crawled and wriggled in Brittany. So I matched,

-from my American fly book, the fly that the sea trout had snapped up,

-and withdrawing the cast of three, knotted a new leader to the silk

-and slipped a fly on the loop. It was a queer fly. It was one of those

-unnameable experiments which fascinate anglers in sporting stores and

-which generally prove utterly useless. Moreover, it was a tailed fly,

-but of course I easily remedied that with a stroke of my penknife.

-Then I was all ready, and I stepped out into the hurrying rapids and

-cast straight as an arrow to the spot where the sea trout had risen.

-Lightly as a plume the fly settled on the bosom of the pool; then came

-a startling splash, a gleam of silver, and the line tightened from the

-vibrating rod-tip to the shrieking reel. Almost instantly I checked the

-fish, and as he floundered for a moment, making the water boil along

-his glittering sides, I sprang to the bank again, for I saw that the

-fish was a heavy one and I should probably be in for a long run down

-the stream. The five-ounce rod swept in a splendid circle, quivering

-under the strain. "Oh, for a gaff-hook!" I cried aloud, for I was now

-firmly convinced that I had a salmon to deal with, and no sea trout at

-all.

-

-Then as I stood, bringing every ounce to bear on the sulking fish, a

-lithe, slender girl came hurriedly along the opposite bank calling out

-to me by name.

-

-"Why, Lys!" I said, glancing up for a second, "I thought you were at

-St. Julien with Yvette."

-

-"Yvette has gone to Bannalec. I went home and found an awful fight

-going on at the Groix Inn, and I was so frightened that I came to tell

-you."

-

-The fish dashed off at that moment, carrying all the line my reel held,

-and I was compelled to follow him at a jump. Lys, active and graceful

-as a young deer, in spite of her Pont-Aven sabots, followed along the

-opposite bank until the fish settled in a deep pool, shook the line

-savagely once or twice, and then relapsed into the sulks.

-

-"Fight at the Groix Inn?" I called across the water. "What fight?"

-

-"Not exactly fight," quavered Lys, "but the Red Admiral has come out

-of his house at last, and he and my uncle are drinking together and

-disputing about butterflies. I never saw my uncle so angry, and the Red

-Admiral is sneering and grinning. Oh, it is almost wicked to see such

-a face!"

-

-"But Lys," I said, scarcely able to repress a smile, "your uncle and

-the Red Admiral are always quarrelling and drinking."

-

-"I know--oh, dear me!--but this is different, Monsieur Darrel. The Red

-Admiral has grown old and fierce since he shut himself up three weeks

-ago, and--oh, dear! I never saw such a look in my uncle's eyes before.

-He seemed insane with fury. His eyes--I can't speak of it--and then

-Terrec came in."

-

-"Oh," I said more gravely, "that was unfortunate. What did the Red

-Admiral say to his son?"

-

-Lys sat down on a rock among the ferns, and gave me a mutinous glance

-from her blue eyes.

-

-Yves Terrec, loafer, poacher, and son of Louis Jean Terrec, otherwise

-the Red Admiral, had been kicked out by his father, and had also been

-forbidden the village by the Purple Emperor, in his majestic capacity

-of mayor. Twice the young ruffian had returned: once to rifle the

-bedroom of the Purple Emperor--an unsuccessful enterprise--and another

-time to rob his own father. He succeeded in the latter attempt, but was

-never caught, although he was frequently seen roving about the forests

-and moors with his gun. He openly menaced the Purple Emperor; vowed

-that he would marry Lys in spite of all the gendarmes in Quimperle;

-and these same gendarmes he led many a long chase through brier-filled

-swamps and over miles of yellow gorse.

-

-What he did to the Purple Emperor--what he intended to do--disquieted

-me but little; but I worried over his threat concerning Lys. During

-the last three months this had bothered me a great deal; for when Lys

-came to St. Gildas from the convent the first thing she captured was my

-heart. For a long time I had refused to believe that any tie of blood

-linked this dainty blue-eyed creature with the Purple Emperor. Although

-she dressed in the velvet-laced bodice and blue petticoat of Finistere,

-and wore the bewitching white coiffe of St. Gildas, it seemed like a

-pretty masquerade. To me she was as sweet and as gently bred as many a

-maiden of the noble Faubourg who danced with her cousins at a Louis XV

-fete champetre. So when Lys said that Yves Terrec had returned openly

-to St. Gildas, I felt that I had better be there also.

-

-"What did Terrec say, Lys?" I asked, watching the line vibrating above

-the placid pool.

-

-The wild rose colour crept into her cheeks. "Oh," she answered, with a

-little toss of her chin, "you know what he always says."

-

-"That he will carry you away?"

-

-"Yes."

-

-"In spite of the Purple Emperor, the Red Admiral, and the gendarmes?"

-

-"Yes."

-

-"And what do you say, Lys?"

-

-"I? Oh, nothing."

-

-"Then let me say it for you."

-

-Lys looked at her delicate pointed sabots, the sabots from Pont-Aven,

-made to order. They fitted her little foot. They were her only luxury.

-

-"Will you let me answer for you, Lys?" I asked.

-

-"You, Monsieur Darrel?"

-

-"Yes. Will you let me give him his answer?"

-

-"Mon Dieu, why should you concern yourself, Monsieur Darrel?"

-

-The fish lay very quiet, but the rod in my hand trembled.

-

-"Because I love you, Lys."

-

-The wild rose colour in her cheeks deepened; she gave a gentle gasp,

-then hid her curly head in her hands.

-

-"I love you, Lys."

-

-"Do you know what you say?" she stammered.

-

-"Yes, I love you."

-

-She raised her sweet face and looked at me across the pool.

-

-"I love you," she said, while the tears stood like stars in her eyes.

-"Shall I come over the brook to you?"

-

-

-II.

-

-That night Yves Terrec left the village of St. Gildas vowing vengeance

-against his father, who refused him shelter.

-

-I can see him now, standing in the road, his bare legs rising like

-pillars of bronze from his straw-stuffed sabots, his short velvet

-jacket torn and soiled by exposure and dissipation, and his eyes,

-fierce, roving, bloodshot--while the Red Admiral squeaked curses on

-him, and hobbled away into his little stone cottage.

-

-"I will not forget you!" cried Yves Terrec, and stretched out his hand

-toward his father with a terrible gesture. Then he whipped his gun to

-his cheek and took a short step forward, but I caught him by the throat

-before he could fire, and a second later we were rolling in the dust

-of the Bannalec road. I had to hit him a heavy blow behind the ear

-before he would let go, and then, rising and shaking myself, I dashed

-his muzzle-loading fowling piece to bits against a wall, and threw his

-knife into the river. The Purple Emperor was looking on with a queer

-light in his eyes. It was plain that he was sorry Terrec had not choked

-me to death.

-

-"He would have killed his father," I said, as I passed him, going

-toward the Groix Inn.

-

-"That's his business," snarled the Purple Emperor. There was a deadly

-light in his eyes. For a moment I thought he was going to attack me;

-but he was merely viciously drunk, so I shoved him out of my way and

-went to bed, tired and disgusted.

-

-The worst of it was I couldn't sleep, for I feared that the Purple

-Emperor might begin to abuse Lys. I lay restlessly tossing among the

-sheets until I could stay there no longer. I did not dress entirely;

-I merely slipped on a pair of chaussons and sabots, a pair of

-knickerbockers, a jersey, and a cap. Then, loosely tying a handkerchief

-about my throat, I went down the worm-eaten stairs and out into the

-moonlit road. There was a candle flaring in the Purple Emperor's

-window, but I could not see him.

-

-"He's probably dead drunk," I thought, and looked up at the window

-where, three years before, I had first seen Lys.

-

-"Asleep, thank Heaven!" I muttered, and wandered out along the road.

-Passing the small cottage of the Red Admiral, I saw that it was dark,

-but the door was open. I stepped inside the hedge to shut it, thinking,

-in case Yves Terrec should be roving about, his father would lose

-whatever he had left.

-

-Then, after fastening the door with a stone, I wandered on through the

-dazzling Breton moonlight. A nightingale was singing in a willow swamp

-below, and from the edge of the mere, among the tall swamp grasses,

-myriads of frogs chanted a bass chorus.

-

-When I returned, the eastern sky was beginning to lighten, and across

-the meadows on the cliffs, outlined against the paling horizon, I saw

-a seaweed gatherer going to his work among the curling breakers on the

-coast. His long rake was balanced on his shoulder, and the sea wind

-carried his song across the meadows to me:

-

-    St. Gildas!

-    St. Gildas!

-    Pray for us,

-    Shelter us,

-  Us who toil in the sea.

-

-Passing the shrine at the entrance of the village, I took off my cap

-and knelt in prayer to Our Lady of Faoeuet; and if I neglected myself

-in that prayer, surely I believed Our Lady of Faoeuet would be kinder to

-Lys. It is said that the shrine casts white shadows. I looked, but saw

-only the moonlight. Then very peacefully I went to bed again, and was

-only awakened by the clank of sabres and the trample of horses in the

-road below my window.

-

-"Good gracious!" I thought, "it must be eleven o'clock, for there are

-the gendarmes from Quimperle."

-

-I looked at my watch; it was only half-past eight, and as the gendarmes

-made their rounds every Thursday at eleven, I wondered what had brought

-them out so early to St. Gildas.

-

-"Of course," I grumbled, rubbing my eyes, "they are after Terrec," and

-I jumped into my limited bath.

-

-Before I was completely dressed I heard a timid knock, and opening my

-door, razor in hand, stood astonished and silent. Lys, her blue eyes

-wide with terror, leaned on the threshold.

-

-"My darling!" I cried, "what on earth is the matter?" But she

-only clung to me, panting like a wounded sea gull. At last, when I

-drew her into the room and raised her face to mine, she spoke in a

-heart-breaking voice:

-

-"Oh, Dick! they are going to arrest you, but I will die before I

-believe one word of what they say. No, don't ask me," and she began to

-sob desperately.

-

-When I found that something really serious was the matter, I flung

-on my coat and cap, and, slipping one arm about her waist, went down

-the stairs and out into the road. Four gendarmes sat on their horses

-in front of the cafe door; beyond them, the entire population of St.

-Gildas gaped, ten deep.

-

-"Hello, Durand!" I said to the brigadier, "what the devil is this I

-hear about arresting me?"

-

-"It's true, mon ami," replied Durand with sepulchral sympathy. I looked

-him over from the tip of his spurred boots to his sulphur-yellow sabre

-belt, then upward, button by button, to his disconcerted face.

-

-"What for?" I said scornfully. "Don't try any cheap sleuth work on me!

-Speak up, man, what's the trouble?"

-

-The Purple Emperor, who sat in the doorway staring at me, started to

-speak, but thought better of it and got up and went into the house. The

-gendarmes rolled their eyes mysteriously and looked wise.

-

-"Come, Durand," I said impatiently, "what's the charge?"

-

-"Murder," he said in a faint voice.

-

-"What!" I cried incredulously. "Nonsense! Do I look like a murderer?

-Get off your horse, you stupid, and tell me who's murdered."

-

-Durand got down, looking very silly, and came up to me, offering his

-hand with a propitiatory grin.

-

-"It was the Purple Emperor who denounced you! See, they found your

-handkerchief at his door----"

-

-"Whose door, for Heaven's sake?" I cried.

-

-"Why, the Red Admiral's!"

-

-"The Red Admiral's? What has he done?"

-

-"Nothing--he's only been murdered."

-

-I could scarcely believe my senses, although they took me over to the

-little stone cottage and pointed out the blood-spattered room. But

-the horror of the thing was that the corpse of the murdered man had

-disappeared, and there only remained a nauseating lake of blood on

-the stone floor, in the centre of which lay a human hand. There was

-no doubt as to whom the hand belonged, for everybody who had ever seen

-the Red Admiral knew that the shrivelled bit of flesh which lay in the

-thickening blood was the hand of the Red Admiral. To me it looked like

-the severed claw of some gigantic bird.

-

-"Well," I said, "there's been murder committed. Why don't you do

-something?"

-

-"What?" asked Durand.

-

-"I don't know. Send for the Commissaire."

-

-"He's at Quimperle. I telegraphed."

-

-"Then send for a doctor, and find out how long this blood has been

-coagulating."

-

-"The chemist from Quimperle is here; he's a doctor."

-

-"What does he say?"

-

-"He says that he doesn't know."

-

-"And who are you going to arrest?" I inquired, turning away from the

-spectacle on the floor.

-

-"I don't know," said the brigadier solemnly; "you are denounced by the

-Purple Emperor, because he found your handkerchief at the door when he

-went out this morning."

-

-"Just like a pig-headed Breton!" I exclaimed, thoroughly angry. "Did he

-not mention Yves Terrec?"

-

-"No."

-

-"Of course not," I said. "He overlooked the fact that Terrec tried to

-shoot his father last night, and that I took away his gun. All that

-counts for nothing when he finds my handkerchief at the murdered man's

-door."

-

-"Come into the cafe," said Durand, much disturbed, "we can talk it

-over, there. Of course, Monsieur Darrel, I have never had the faintest

-idea that you were the murderer!"

-

-The four gendarmes and I walked across the road to the Groix Inn and

-entered the cafe. It was crowded with Bretons, smoking, drinking,

-and jabbering in half a dozen dialects, all equally unsatisfactory to

-a civilized ear; and I pushed through the crowd to where little Max

-Fortin, the chemist of Quimperle, stood smoking a vile cigar.

-

-"This is a bad business," he said, shaking hands and offering me the

-mate to his cigar, which I politely declined.

-

-"Now, Monsieur Fortin," I said, "it appears that the Purple Emperor

-found my handkerchief near the murdered man's door this morning, and

-so he concludes"--here I glared at the Purple Emperor--"that I am the

-assassin. I will now ask him a question," and turning on him suddenly,

-I shouted, "What were you doing at the Red Admiral's door?"

-

-The Purple Emperor started and turned pale, and I pointed at him

-triumphantly.

-

-"See what a sudden question will do. Look how embarrassed he is,

-and yet I do not charge him with murder; and I tell you, gentlemen,

-that man there knows as well as I do who was the murderer of the Red

-Admiral!"

-

-"I don't!" bawled the Purple Emperor.

-

-"You do," I said. "It was Yves Terrec."

-

-"I don't believe it," he said obstinately, dropping his voice.

-

-"Of course not, being pig-headed."

-

-"I am not pig-headed," he roared again, "but I am mayor of St. Gildas,

-and I do not believe that Yves Terrec killed his father."

-

-"You saw him try to kill him last night?"

-

-The mayor grunted.

-

-"And you saw what I did."

-

-He grunted again.

-

-"And," I went on, "you heard Yves Terrec threaten to kill his father.

-You heard him curse the Red Admiral and swear to kill him. Now the

-father is murdered and his body is gone."

-

-"And your handkerchief?" sneered the Purple Emperor.

-

-"I dropped it, of course."

-

-"And the seaweed gatherer who saw you last night lurking about the Red

-Admiral's cottage," grinned the Purple Emperor.

-

-I was startled at the man's malice.

-

-"That will do," I said. "It is perfectly true that I was walking on the

-Bannalec road last night, and that I stopped to close the Red Admiral's

-door, which was ajar, although his light was not burning. After that

-I went up the road to the Dinez Woods, and then walked over by St.

-Julien, whence I saw the seaweed gatherer on the cliffs. He was near

-enough for me to hear what he sang. What of that?"

-

-"What did you do then?"

-

-"Then I stopped at the shrine and said a prayer, and then I went to

-bed and slept until Brigadier Durand's gendarmes awoke me with their

-clatter."

-

-"Now, Monsieur Darrel," said the Purple Emperor, lifting a fat finger

-and shooting a wicked glance at me, "Now, Monsieur Darrel, which did

-you wear last night on your midnight stroll--sabots or shoes?"

-

-I thought a moment. "Shoes--no, sabots. I just slipped on my chaussons

-and went out in my sabots."

-

-"Which was it, shoes or sabots?" snarled the Purple Emperor.

-

-"Sabots, you fool."

-

-"Are these your sabots?" he asked, lifting up a wooden shoe with my

-initials cut on the instep.

-

-"Yes," I replied.

-

-"Then how did this blood come on the other one?" he shouted, and

-held up a sabot, the mate to the first, on which a drop of blood had

-spattered.

-

-"I haven't the least idea," I said calmly; but my heart was beating

-very fast and I was furiously angry.

-

-"You blockhead!" I said, controlling my rage, "I'll make you pay for

-this when they catch Yves Terrec and convict him. Brigadier Durand, do

-your duty if you think I am under suspicion. Arrest me, but grant me

-one favour. Put me in the Red Admiral's cottage, and I'll see whether

-I can't find some clew that you have overlooked. Of course, I won't

-disturb anything until the Commissaire arrives. Bah! You all make me

-very ill."

-

-"He's hardened," observed the Purple Emperor, wagging his head.

-

-"What motive had I to kill the Red Admiral?" I asked them all

-scornfully. And they all cried:

-

-"None! Yves Terrec is the man!"

-

-Passing out of the door I swung around and shook my finger at the

-Purple Emperor.

-

-"Oh, I'll make you dance for this, my friend," I said; and I followed

-Brigadier Durand across the street to the cottage of the murdered man.

-

-

-III.

-

-They took me at my word and placed a gendarme with a bared sabre at the

-gateway by the hedge.

-

-"Give me your parole," said poor Durand, "and I will let you go

-where you wish." But I refused, and began prowling about the cottage

-looking for clews. I found lots of things that some people would have

-considered most important, such as ashes from the Red Admiral's pipe,

-footprints in a dusty vegetable bin, bottles smelling of Pouldu cider,

-and dust--oh, lots of dust!--but I was not an expert, only a stupid,

-everyday amateur; so I defaced the footprints with my thick shooting

-boots, and I declined to examine the pipe ashes through a microscope,

-although the Red Admiral's microscope stood on the table close at hand.

-

-At last I found what I had been looking for, some long wisps of straw,

-curiously depressed and flattened in the middle, and I was certain

-I had found the evidence that would settle Yves Terrec for the rest

-of his life. It was plain as the nose on your face. The straws were

-sabot straws, flattened where the foot had pressed them, and sticking

-straight out where they projected beyond the sabot. Now nobody in

-St. Gildas used straw in sabots except a fisherman who lived near St.

-Julien, and the straw in his sabots was ordinary yellow wheat straw!

-This straw, or rather these straws, were from the stalks of the red

-wheat which only grows inland, and which, everybody in St. Gildas

-knew, Yves Terrec wore in his sabots. I was perfectly satisfied; and

-when, three hours later, a hoarse shouting from the Bannalec Road

-brought me to the window, I was not surprised to see Yves Terrec,

-bloody, dishevelled, hatless, with his strong arms bound behind him,

-walking with bent head between two mounted gendarmes. The crowd around

-him swelled every minute, crying: "Parricide! parricide! Death to the

-murderer!" As he passed my window I saw great clots of mud on his dusty

-sabots, from the heels of which projected wisps of red wheat straw.

-Then I walked back into the Red Admiral's study, determined to find

-what the microscope would show on the wheat straws. I examined each

-one very carefully, and then, my eyes aching, I rested my chin on my

-hand and leaned back in the chair. I had not been as fortunate as some

-detectives, for there was no evidence that the straws had ever been

-used in a sabot at all. Furthermore, directly across the hallway stood

-a carved Breton chest, and now I noticed for the first time that, from

-beneath the closed lid, dozens of similar red wheat straws projected,

-bent exactly as mine were bent by the weight of the lid.

-

-I yawned in disgust. It was apparent that I was not cut out for a

-detective, and I bitterly pondered over the difference between clews in

-real life and clews in a detective story. After a while I rose, walked

-over to the chest and opened the lid. The interior was wadded with

-the red wheat straws, and on this wadding lay two curious glass jars,

-two or three small vials, several empty bottles labelled chloroform, a

-collecting jar of cyanide of potassium, and a book. In a farther corner

-of the chest were some letters bearing English stamps, and also the

-torn coverings of two parcels, all from England, and all directed to

-the Red Admiral under his proper name of "Sieur Louis Jean Terrec, St.

-Gildas, par Moelan, Finistere."

-

-All these traps I carried over to the desk, shut the lid of the chest,

-and sat down to read the letters. They were written in commercial

-French, evidently by an Englishman.

-

-Freely translated, the contents of the first letter were as follows:

-

-                                        "LONDON, _June 12, 1894_.

-

-     "DEAR MONSIEUR (_sic_): Your kind favour of the 19th inst.

-     received and contents noted. The latest work on the

-     Lepidoptera of England is Blowzer's How to catch British

-     Butterflies, with notes and tables, and an introduction by

-     Sir Thomas Sniffer. The price of this work (in one volume,

-     calf) is L5 or 125 francs of French money. A post-office

-     order will receive our prompt attention. We beg to remain,

-

-                               "Yours, etc.,

-                                      "FRADLEY & TOOMER,

-                               "470 Regent Square, London, S. W."

-

-The next letter was even less interesting. It merely stated that the

-money had been received and the book would be forwarded. The third

-engaged my attention, and I shall quote it, the translation being a

-free one:

-

-     "DEAR SIR: Your letter of the 1st of July was duly received,

-     and we at once referred it to Mr. Fradley himself. Mr. Fradley

-     being much interested in your question, sent your letter to

-     Professor Schweineri, of the Berlin Entomological Society,

-     whose note Blowzer refers to on page 630, in his How to catch

-     British Butterflies. We have just received an answer from

-     Professor Schweineri, which we translate into French--(see

-     inclosed slip). Professor Schweineri begs to present to you

-     two jars of cythyl, prepared under his own supervision. We

-     forward the same to you. Trusting that you will find

-     everything satisfactory, we remain,

-

-                                        "Yours sincerely,

-                                              "FRADLEY & TOOMER."

-

-The inclosed slip read as follows:

-

-     "Messrs. FRADLEY & TOOMER,

-

-     "GENTLEMEN: Cythaline, a complex hydrocarbon, was first used

-     by Professor Schnoot, of Antwerp, a year ago. I discovered

-     an analogous formula about the same time and named it cythyl.

-     I have used it with great success everywhere. It is as

-     certain as a magnet. I beg to present you three small jars,

-     and would be pleased to have you forward two of them to your

-     correspondent in St. Gildas with my compliments. Blowzer's

-     quotation of me, on page 630 of his glorious work, How to

-     catch British Butterflies, is correct.

-

-                               "Yours, etc.,

-                                      "HEINRICH SCHWEINERI,

-                                        P.H.D., D.D., D.S., M.S."

-

-When I had finished this letter I folded it up and put it into my

-pocket with the others. Then I opened Blowzer's valuable work, How to

-catch British Butterflies, and turned to page 630.

-

-Now, although the Red Admiral could only have acquired the book very

-recently, and although all the other pages were perfectly clean, this

-particular page was thumbed black, and heavy pencil marks inclosed a

-paragraph at the bottom of the page. This is the paragraph:

-

-     "Professor Schweineri says: 'Of the two old methods used by

-     collectors for the capture of the swift-winged, high-flying

-     Apatura Iris, or Purple Emperor, the first, which was using a

-     long-handled net, proved successful once in a thousand times;

-     and the second, the placing of bait upon the ground, such as

-     decayed meat, dead cats, rats, etc., was not only disagreeable,

-     even for an enthusiastic collector, but also very uncertain.

-     Once in five hundred times would the splendid butterfly leave

-     the tops of his favourite oak trees to circle about the fetid

-     bait offered. I have found cythyl a perfectly sure bait to

-     draw this beautiful butterfly to the ground, where it can be

-     easily captured. An ounce of cythyl placed in a yellow saucer

-     under an oak tree, will draw to it every Apatura Iris within

-     a radius of twenty miles. So, if any collector who possesses

-     a little cythyl, even though it be in a sealed bottle in his

-     pocket--if such a collector does not find a single Apatura

-     Iris fluttering close about him within an hour, let him be

-     satisfied that the Apatura Iris does not inhabit his country.'"

-

-When I had finished reading this note I sat for a long while thinking

-hard. Then I examined the two jars. They were labelled "_Cythyl_." One

-was full, the other _nearly full_. "The rest must be on the corpse

-of the Red Admiral," I thought, "no matter if it is in a corked

-bottle----"

-

-I took all the things back to the chest, laid them carefully on the

-straw, and closed the lid. The gendarme sentinel at the gate saluted me

-respectfully as I crossed over to the Groix Inn. The Inn was surrounded

-by an excited crowd, and the hallway was choked with gendarmes and

-peasants. On every side they greeted me cordially, announcing that the

-real murderer was caught; but I pushed by them without a word and ran

-upstairs to find Lys. She opened her door when I knocked and threw both

-arms about my neck. I took her to my breast and kissed her. After a

-moment I asked her if she would obey me no matter what I commanded, and

-she said she would, with a proud humility that touched me.

-

-"Then go at once to Yvette in St. Julien," I said. "Ask her to harness

-the dog-cart and drive you to the convent in Quimperle. Wait for me

-there. Will you do this without questioning me, my darling?"

-

-She raised her face to mine. "Kiss me," she said innocently; the next

-moment she had vanished.

-

-I walked deliberately into the Purple Emperor's room and peered into

-the gauze-covered box which had held the chrysalis of Apatura Iris. It

-was as I expected. The chrysalis was empty and transparent, and a great

-crack ran down the middle of its back, but, on the netting inside the

-box, a magnificent butterfly slowly waved its burnished purple wings;

-for the chrysalis had given up its silent tenant, the butterfly symbol

-of immortality. Then a great fear fell upon me. I know now that it was

-the fear of the Black Priest, but neither then nor for years after did

-I know that the Black Priest had ever lived on earth. As I bent over

-the box I heard a confused murmur outside the house which ended in

-a furious shout of "Parricide!" and I heard the gendarmes ride away

-behind a wagon which rattled sharply on the flinty highway. I went

-to the window. In the wagon sat Yves Terrec, bound and wild-eyed, two

-gendarmes at either side of him, and all around the wagon rode mounted

-gendarmes whose bared sabres scarcely kept the crowd away.

-

-"Parricide!" they howled. "Let him die!"

-

-I stepped back and opened the gauze-covered box. Very gently but firmly

-I took the splendid butterfly by its closed fore wings and lifted it

-unharmed between my thumb and forefinger. Then, holding it concealed

-behind my back, I went down into the cafe.

-

-Of all the crowd that had filled it, shouting for the death of Yves

-Terrec, only three persons remained seated in front of the huge empty

-fireplace. They were the Brigadier Durand, Max Fortin, the chemist

-of Quimperle, and the Purple Emperor. The latter looked abashed when

-I entered, but I paid no attention to him and walked straight to the

-chemist.

-

-"Monsieur Fortin," I said, "do you know much about hydrocarbons?"

-

-"They are my specialty," he said astonished.

-

-"Have you ever heard of such a thing as cythyl?"

-

-"Schweineri's cythyl? Oh, yes! We use it in perfumery."

-

-"Good!" I said. "Has it an odour?"

-

-"No--and, yes. One is always aware of its presence, but really nobody

-can affirm it has an odour. It is curious," he continued, looking at

-me, "it is very curious you should have asked me that, for all day I

-have been imagining I detected the presence of cythyl."

-

-"Do you imagine so now?" I asked.

-

-"Yes, more than ever."

-

-I sprang to the front door and tossed out the butterfly. The splendid

-creature beat the air for a moment, flitted uncertainly hither

-and thither, and then, to my astonishment, sailed majestically

-back into the cafe and alighted on the hearthstone. For a moment

-I was nonplussed, but when my eyes rested on the Purple Emperor I

-comprehended in a flash.

-

-"Lift that hearthstone!" I cried to the Brigadier Durand; "pry it up

-with your scabbard!"

-

-The Purple Emperor suddenly fell forward in his chair, his face ghastly

-white, his jaw loose with terror.

-

-"What is cythyl?" I shouted, seizing him by the arm; but he plunged

-heavily from his chair, face downward on the floor, and at the same

-moment a cry from the chemist made me turn. There stood the Brigadier

-Durand, one hand supporting the hearthstone, one hand raised in horror.

-There stood Max Fortin, the chemist, rigid with excitement, and below,

-in the hollow bed where the hearthstone had rested, lay a crushed mass

-of bleeding human flesh, from the midst of which stared a cheap glass

-eye. I seized the Purple Emperor and dragged him to his feet.

-

-"Look!" I cried; "look at your old friend, the Red Admiral!" but he

-only smiled in a vacant way, and rolled his head muttering; "Bait for

-butterflies! Cythyl! Oh, no, no, no! You can't do it, Admiral, d'ye

-see. I alone own the Purple Emperor! I alone am the Purple Emperor!"

-

-And the same carriage that bore me to Quimperle to claim my bride,

-carried him to Quimper, gagged and bound, a foaming, howling lunatic.

-

-       *       *       *       *       *

-

-This, then, is the story of the Purple Emperor. I might tell you a

-pleasanter story if I chose; but concerning the fish that I had hold

-of, whether it was a salmon, a grilse, or a sea trout, I may not say,

-because I have promised Lys, and she has promised me, that no power on

-earth shall wring from our lips the mortifying confession that the fish

-escaped.

-

-

-

-

-POMPE FUNEBRE.

-

-

-            A wind-swept sky,

-  The waste of moorland stretching to the west;

-  The sea, low moaning in a strange unrest--

-            A seagull's cry.

-

-            Washed by the tide,

-  The rocks lie sullen in the waning light;

-  The foam breaks in long strips of hungry white,

-            Dissatisfied.

-

-                                        BATEMAN.

-

-

-

-

-POMPE FUNEBRE.

-

-  In the days when the keepers of the house shall tremble.

-

-

-When I first saw the sexton he was standing motionless behind a stone.

-Presently he moved on again, pausing at times, and turning right and

-left with that nervous, jerky motion that always chills me.

-

-His path lay across the blighted moss and withered leaves scattered

-in moist layers along the bank of the little brown stream, and I,

-wondering what his errand might be, followed, passing silently over the

-rotting forest mould. Once or twice he heard me, for I saw him stop

-short, a blot of black and orange in the sombre woods; but he always

-started on again, hurrying at times as though the dead might grow

-impatient.

-

-For the sexton that I followed through the November forest was one

-of those small creatures that God has sent to bury little things that

-die alone in the world. Undertaker, sexton, mute, and gravedigger in

-one, this thing, robed in black and orange, buries all things that die

-unheeded by the world. And so they call it--this little beetle in black

-and orange--the "sexton."

-

-How he hurried! I looked up into the gray sky where ashen branches,

-interlaced, swayed in unfelt winds, and I heard the dry leaves rattle

-in the tree tops, and the thud of acorns on the mould. A sombre bird

-peered at me from a heap of brush, then ran pattering over the leaves.

-

-The sexton had reached a bit of broken ground, and was scuffling over

-sticks and gulleys toward a brown tuft of withered grass above. I dared

-not help him; besides, I could not bring myself to touch him, he was so

-horribly absorbed in his errand.

-

-I halted for a moment. The eagerness of this live creature to find his

-dead and handle it; the odour of death and decay in this little forest

-world, where I had waited for spring when Lys moved among the flowering

-gorse, singing like a throstle in the wind--all this troubled me, and

-I lagged behind.

-

-The sexton scrambled over the dead grass, raising his seared eyes at

-every wave of wind. The wind brought sadness with it, the scent of

-lifeless trees, the vague rustle of gorse buds, yellow and dry as paper

-flowers.

-

-Along the stream, rotting water plants, scorched and frost-blighted,

-lay massed above the mud. I saw their pallid stems swaying like worms

-in the listless current.

-

-The sexton had reached a mouldering stump, and now he seemed undecided.

-I sat down on a fallen tree, moist and bleached, that crumbled under

-my touch, leaving a stale odour in the air. Overhead a crow rose

-heavily and flapped out into the moorland; the wind rattled the stark

-blackthorns; a single drop of rain touched my cheek. I looked into the

-stream for some sign of life; there was nothing, except a shapeless

-creature that might have been a blindworm, lying belly upward on the

-mud bottom. I touched it with a stick. It was stiff and dead.

-

-The wind among the sham paperlike gorse buds filled the woods with a

-silken rustle. I put out my hand and touched a yellow blossom; it felt

-like an immortelle on a funeral pillow.

-

-The sexton had moved on again; something, perhaps a musty spider's web,

-had stuck to one leg, and he dragged it as he laboured on through the

-wood. Some little field mouse torn by weasel or kestrel, some crushed

-mole, some tiny dead pile of fur or feather, lay not far off, stricken

-by God or man or brother creature. And the sexton knew it--how, God

-knows! But he knew it, and hurried on to his tryst with the dead.

-

-His path now lay along the edge of a tidal inlet from the Groix River.

-I looked down at the gray water through the leafless branches, and I

-saw a small snake, head raised, swim from a submerged clot of weeds

-into the shadow of a rock. There was a curlew, too, somewhere in the

-black swamp, whose dreary, persistent call cursed the silence.

-

-I wondered when the sexton would fly; for he could fly if he chose; it

-is only when the dead are near, very near, that he creeps. The soiled

-mess of cobweb still stuck to him, and his progress was impeded by

-it. Once I saw a small brown and white spider, striped like a zebra,

-running swiftly in his tracks, but the sexton turned and raised his

-two clubbed forelegs in a horrid imploring attitude that still had

-something of menace under it. The spider backed away and sidled under

-a stone.

-

-When anything that is dying--sick and close to death--falls upon the

-face of the earth, something moves in the blue above, floating like

-a moat; then another, then others. These specks that grow out of the

-fathomless azure vault are jewelled flies. They come to wait for Death.

-

-The sexton also arranges rendezvous with Death, but never waits; Death

-must arrive the first.

-

-When the heavy clover is ablaze with painted wings, when bees hum and

-blunder among the white-thorn, or pass by like swift singing bullets,

-the sexton snaps open his black and orange wings and hums across the

-clover with the bees. Death in a scented garden, the tokens of the

-plague on a fair young breast, the gray flag of fear in the face of

-one who reels into the arms of Destruction, the sexton scrambling in

-the lap of spring, folding his sleek wings, unfolding them to ape the

-buzz of bees, passing over sweet clover tops to the putrid flesh that

-summons him--these things must be and will be to the end.

-

-The sexton was running now--running fast, trailing the cobweb over

-twigs and mud. The edge of the wood was near, for I could see the

-winter wheat, like green scenery in a theatre, stretching for miles

-across the cliffs, crude as painted grass. And as I crept through

-the brittle forest fringe, I saw a figure lying face downward in the

-wheat--a girl's slender form, limp, motionless.

-

-The sexton darted under her breast.

-

-Then I threw myself down beside her, crying, "Lys! Lys!" And as I

-cried, the icy rain burst out across the moors, and the trees dashed

-their stark limbs together till the whole spectral forest tossed and

-danced, and the wind roared among the cliffs.

-

-And through the Dance of Death Lys trembled in my arms, and sobbed and

-clung to me, murmuring that the Purple Emperor was dead; but the wind

-tore the words from her white lips, and flung them out across the sea,

-where the winter lightning lashed the stark heights of Groix.

-

-Then the fear of death was stilled in my soul, and I raised her from

-the ground, holding her close.

-

-And I saw the sexton, just beyond us, hurry across the ground and seek

-shelter under a little dead skylark, stiff-winged, muddy, lying alone

-in the rain.

-

-       *       *       *       *       *

-

-In the storm, above us, a bird hovered singing through the rain. It

-passed us twice, still singing, and as it passed again we saw the

-shadow it cast upon the world was whiter than snow.

-

-

-

-

-THE MESSENGER.

-

-

-  Little gray messenger,

-  Robed like painted Death,

-  Your robe is dust.

-  Whom do you seek

-  Among lilies and closed buds

-      At dusk?

-

-  Among lilies and closed buds

-      At dusk,

-  Whom do you seek,

-  Little gray messenger,

-  Robed in the awful panoply

-  Of painted Death?

-

-                                        R. W. C.

-

-

-

-

-THE MESSENGER.

-

-                All-wise,

-  Hast thou seen all there is to see with thy two eyes?

-    Dost thou know all there is to know, and so,

-                Omniscient,

-  Darest thou still to say thy brother lies?

-

-                                        R. W. C.

-

-"The bullet entered here," said Max Fortin, and he placed his middle

-finger over a smooth hole exactly in the centre of the forehead.

-

-I sat down upon a mound of dry seaweed and unslung my fowling piece.

-

-The little chemist cautiously felt the edges of the shot-hole, first

-with his middle finger, then with his thumb.

-

-"Let me see the skull again," said I.

-

-Max Fortin picked it up from the sod.

-

-"It's like all the others," he observed. I nodded, without offering to

-take it from him. After a moment he thoughtfully replaced it upon the

-grass at my feet.

-

-"It's like all the others," he repeated, wiping his glasses on his

-handkerchief. "I thought you might care to see one of the skulls, so

-I brought this over from the gravel pit. The men from Bannalec are

-digging yet. They ought to stop."

-

-"How many skulls are there altogether?" I inquired.

-

-"They found thirty-eight skulls; there are thirty-nine noted in the

-list. They lie piled up in the gravel pit on the edge of Le Bihan's

-wheat field. The men are at work yet. Le Bihan is going to stop them."

-

-"Let's go over," said I; and I picked up my gun and started across the

-cliffs, Fortin on one side, Mome on the other.

-

-"Who has the list?" I asked, lighting my pipe. "You say there is a

-list?"

-

-"The list was found rolled up in a brass cylinder," said the little

-chemist. He added: "You should not smoke here. You know that if a

-single spark drifted into the wheat----"

-

-"Ah, but I have a cover to my pipe," said I, smiling.

-

-Fortin watched me as I closed the pepper-box arrangement over the

-glowing bowl of the pipe. Then he continued:

-

-"The list was made out on thick yellow paper; the brass tube has

-preserved it. It is as fresh to-day as it was in 1760. You shall see

-it."

-

-"Is that the date?"

-

-"The list is dated 'April, 1760.' The Brigadier Durand has it. It is

-not written in French."

-

-"Not written in French!" I exclaimed.

-

-"No," replied Fortin solemnly, "it is written in Breton."

-

-"But," I protested, "the Breton language was never written or printed

-in 1760."

-

-"Except by priests," said the chemist.

-

-"I have heard of but one priest who ever wrote the Breton language," I

-began.

-

-Fortin stole a glance at my face.

-

-"You mean--the Black Priest?" he asked.

-

-I nodded.

-

-Fortin opened his mouth to speak again, hesitated, and finally shut his

-teeth obstinately over the wheat stem that he was chewing.

-

-"And the Black Priest?" I suggested encouragingly. But I knew it was

-useless; for it is easier to move the stars from their courses than

-to make an obstinate Breton talk. We walked on for a minute or two in

-silence.

-

-"Where is the Brigadier Durand?" I asked, motioning Mome to come out of

-the wheat, which he was trampling as though it were heather. As I spoke

-we came in sight of the farther edge of the wheat field and the dark,

-wet mass of cliffs beyond.

-

-"Durand is down there--you can see him; he stands just behind the Mayor

-of St. Gildas."

-

-"I see," said I; and we struck straight down, following a sun-baked

-cattle path across the heather.

-

-When we reached the edge of the wheat field, Le Bihan, the Mayor of St.

-Gildas, called to me, and I tucked my gun under my arm and skirted the

-wheat to where he stood.

-

-"Thirty-eight skulls," he said in his thin, high-pitched voice; "there

-is but one more, and I am opposed to further search. I suppose Fortin

-told you?"

-

-I shook hands with him, and returned the salute of the Brigadier Durand.

-

-"I am opposed to further search," repeated Le Bihan, nervously picking

-at the mass of silver buttons which covered the front of his velvet and

-broadcloth jacket like a breastplate of scale armour.

-

-Durand pursed up his lips, twisted his tremendous mustache, and hooked

-his thumbs in his sabre belt.

-

-"As for me," he said, "I am in favour of further search."

-

-"Further search for what--for the thirty-ninth skull?" I asked.

-

-Le Bihan nodded. Durand frowned at the sunlit sea, rocking like a bowl

-of molten gold from the cliffs to the horizon. I followed his eyes. On

-the dark glistening cliffs, silhouetted against the glare of the sea,

-sat a cormorant, black, motionless, its horrible head raised toward

-heaven.

-

-"Where is that list, Durand?" I asked.

-

-The gendarme rummaged in his despatch pouch and produced a brass

-cylinder about a foot long. Very gravely he unscrewed the head and

-dumped out a scroll of thick yellow paper closely covered with writing

-on both sides. At a nod from Le Bihan he handed me the scroll. But I

-could make nothing of the coarse writing, now faded to a dull brown.

-

-"Come, come, Le Bihan," I said impatiently, "translate it, won't you?

-You and Max Fortin make a lot of mystery out of nothing, it seems."

-

-Le Bihan went to the edge of the pit where the three Bannalec men were

-digging, gave an order or two in Breton, and turned to me.

-

-As I came to the edge of the pit the Bannalec men were removing

-a square piece of sail-cloth from what appeared to be a pile of

-cobblestones.

-

-"Look!" said Le Bihan shrilly. I looked. The pile below was a heap of

-skulls. After a moment I clambered down the gravel sides of the pit and

-walked over to the men of Bannalec. They saluted me gravely, leaning on

-their picks and shovels, and wiping their sweating faces with sunburned

-hands.

-

-"How many?" said I in Breton.

-

-"Thirty-eight," they replied.

-

-I glanced around. Beyond the heap of skulls lay two piles of human

-bones. Beside these was a mound of broken, rusted bits of iron and

-steel. Looking closer, I saw that this mound was composed of rusty

-bayonets, sabre blades, scythe blades, with here and there a tarnished

-buckle attached to a bit of leather hard as iron.

-

-I picked up a couple of buttons and a belt plate. The buttons bore the

-royal arms of England; the belt plate was emblazoned with the English

-arms, and also with the number "27."

-

-"I have heard my grandfather speak of the terrible English regiment,

-the 27th Foot, which landed and stormed the fort up there," said one of

-the Bannalec men.

-

-"Oh!" said I; "then these are the bones of English soldiers?"

-

-"Yes," said the men of Bannalec.

-

-Le Bihan was calling to me from the edge of the pit above, and I handed

-the belt plate and buttons to the men and climbed the side of the

-excavation.

-

-"Well," said I, trying to prevent Mome from leaping up and licking my

-face as I emerged from the pit, "I suppose you know what these bones

-are. What are you going to do with them?"

-

-"There was a man," said Le Bihan angrily, "an Englishman, who passed

-here in a dog-cart on his way to Quimper about an hour ago, and what do

-you suppose he wished to do?"

-

-"Buy the relics?" I asked, smiling.

-

-"Exactly--the pig!" piped the mayor of St. Gildas. "Jean Marie Tregunc,

-who found the bones, was standing there where Max Fortin stands, and do

-you know what he answered? He spat upon the ground, and said: 'Pig of

-an Englishman, do you take me for a desecrator of graves?'"

-

-I knew Tregunc, a sober, blue-eyed Breton, who lived from one year's

-end to the other without being able to afford a single bit of meat for

-a meal.

-

-"How much did the Englishman offer Tregunc?" I asked.

-

-"Two hundred francs for the skulls alone."

-

-I thought of the relic hunters and the relic buyers on the battlefields

-of our civil war.

-

-"Seventeen hundred and sixty is long ago," I said.

-

-"Respect for the dead can never die," said Fortin.

-

-"And the English soldiers came here to kill your fathers and burn your

-homes," I continued.

-

-"They were murderers and thieves, but--they are dead," said Tregunc,

-coming up from the beach below, his long sea rake balanced on his

-dripping jersey.

-

-"How much do you earn every year, Jean Marie?" I asked, turning to

-shake hands with him.

-

-"Two hundred and twenty francs, monsieur."

-

-"Forty-five dollars a year," I said. "Bah! you are worth more, Jean.

-Will you take care of my garden for me? My wife wished me to ask you.

-I think it would be worth one hundred francs a month to you and to me.

-Come on, Le Bihan--come along, Fortin--and you, Durand. I want somebody

-to translate that list into French for me."

-

-Tregunc stood gazing at me, his blue eyes dilated.

-

-"You may begin at once," I said, smiling, "if the salary suits you?"

-

-"It suits," said Tregunc, fumbling for his pipe in a silly way that

-annoyed Le Bihan.

-

-"Then go and begin your work," cried the mayor impatiently; and

-Tregunc started across the moors toward St. Gildas, taking off his

-velvet-ribboned cap to me and gripping his sea rake very hard.

-

-"You offer him more than my salary," said the mayor, after a moment's

-contemplation of his silver buttons.

-

-"Pooh!" said I, "what do you do for your salary except play dominoes

-with Max Fortin at the Groix Inn?"

-

-Le Bihan turned red, but Durand rattled his sabre and winked at Max

-Fortin, and I slipped my arm through the arm of the sulky magistrate,

-laughing.

-

-"There's a shady spot under the cliff," I said; "come on, Le Bihan, and

-read me what is in the scroll."

-

-In a few moments we reached the shadow of the cliff, and I threw myself

-upon the turf, chin on hand, to listen.

-

-The gendarme, Durand, also sat down, twisting his mustache into

-needlelike points. Fortin leaned against the cliff, polishing his

-glasses and examining us with vague, near-sighted eyes; and Le Bihan,

-the mayor, planted himself in our midst, rolling up the scroll and

-tucking it under his arm.

-

-"First of all," he began in a shrill voice, "I am going to light my

-pipe, and while lighting it I shall tell you what I have heard about

-the attack on the fort yonder. My father told me; his father told him."

-

-He jerked his head in the direction of the ruined fort, a small, square

-stone structure on the sea cliff, now nothing but crumbling walls. Then

-he slowly produced a tobacco pouch, a bit of flint and tinder, and a

-long-stemmed pipe fitted with a microscopical bowl of baked clay. To

-fill such a pipe requires ten minutes' close attention. To smoke it to

-a finish takes but four puffs. It is very Breton, this Breton pipe. It

-is the crystallization of everything Breton.

-

-"Go on," said I, lighting a cigarette.

-

-"The fort," said the mayor, "was built by Louis XIV, and was dismantled

-twice by the English. Louis XV restored it in 1739. In 1760 it was

-carried by assault by the English. They came across from the island

-of Groix--three shiploads--and they stormed the fort and sacked St.

-Julien yonder, and they started to burn St. Gildas--you can see the

-marks of their bullets on my house yet; but the men of Bannalec and the

-men of Lorient fell upon them with pike and scythe and blunderbuss,

-and those who did not run away lie there below in the gravel pit

-now--thirty-eight of them."

-

-"And the thirty-ninth skull?" I asked, finishing my cigarette.

-

-The mayor had succeeded in filling his pipe, and now he began to put

-his tobacco pouch away.

-

-"The thirty-ninth skull," he mumbled, holding the pipestem between his

-defective teeth--"the thirty-ninth skull is no business of mine. I have

-told the Bannalec men to cease digging."

-

-"But what is--whose is the missing skull?" I persisted curiously.

-

-The mayor was busy trying to strike a spark to his tinder. Presently he

-set it aglow, applied it to his pipe, took the prescribed four puffs,

-knocked the ashes out of the bowl, and gravely replaced the pipe in his

-pocket.

-

-"The missing skull?" he asked.

-

-"Yes," said I impatiently.

-

-The mayor slowly unrolled the scroll and began to read, translating

-from the Breton into French. And this is what he read:

-

-                                     "ON THE CLIFFS OF ST. GILDAS,

-

-                                            "_April 13, 1760_.

-

-     "On this day, by order of the Count of Soisic, general in

-     chief of the Breton forces now lying in Kerselec Forest, the

-     bodies of thirty-eight English soldiers of the 27th, 50th,

-     and 72d regiments of Foot were buried in this spot, together

-     with their arms and equipments."

-

-The mayor paused and glanced at me reflectively.

-

-"Go on, Le Bihan," I said.

-

-"With them," continued the mayor, turning the scroll and reading on the

-other side, "was buried the body of that vile traitor who betrayed the

-fort to the English. The manner of his death was as follows: By order

-of the most noble Count of Soisic, the traitor was first branded upon

-the forehead with the brand of an arrowhead. The iron burned through

-the flesh, and was pressed heavily so that the brand should even burn

-into the bone of the skull. The traitor was then led out and bidden to

-kneel. He admitted having guided the English from the island of Groix.

-Although a priest and a Frenchman, he had violated his priestly office

-to aid him in discovering the password to the fort. This password he

-extorted during confession from a young Breton girl who was in the

-habit of rowing across from the island of Groix to visit her husband

-in the fort. When the fort fell, this young girl, crazed by the death

-of her husband, sought the Count of Soisic and told how the priest had

-forced her to confess to him all she knew about the fort. The priest

-was arrested at St. Gildas as he was about to cross the river to

-Lorient. When arrested he cursed the girl, Marie Trevec----"

-

-"What!" I exclaimed, "Marie Trevec!"

-

-"Marie Trevec," repeated Le Bihan; "the priest cursed Marie Trevec, and

-all her family and descendants. He was shot as he knelt, having a mask

-of leather over his face, because the Bretons who composed the squad of

-execution refused to fire at a priest unless his face was concealed.

-The priest was l'Abbe Sorgue, commonly known as the Black Priest on

-account of his dark face and swarthy eyebrows. He was buried with a

-stake through his heart."

-

-Le Bihan paused, hesitated, looked at me, and handed the manuscript

-back to Durand. The gendarme took it and slipped it into the brass

-cylinder.

-

-"So," said I, "the thirty-ninth skull is the skull of the Black Priest."

-

-"Yes," said Fortin. "I hope they won't find it."

-

-"I have forbidden them to proceed," said the mayor querulously. "You

-heard me, Max Fortin."

-

-I rose and picked up my gun. Mome came and pushed his head into my hand.

-

-"That's a fine dog," observed Durand, also rising.

-

-"Why don't you wish to find his skull?" I asked Le Bihan. "It would be

-curious to see whether the arrow brand really burned into the bone."

-

-"There is something in that scroll that I didn't read to you," said the

-mayor grimly. "Do you wish to know what it is?"

-

-"Of course," I replied in surprise.

-

-"Give me the scroll again, Durand," he said; then he read from

-the bottom: "I, l'Abbe Sorgue, forced to write the above by my

-executioners, have written it in my own blood; and with it I leave my

-curse. My curse on St. Gildas, on Marie Trevec, and on her descendants.

-I will come back to St. Gildas when my remains are disturbed. Woe to

-that Englishman whom my branded skull shall touch!"

-

-"What rot!" I said. "Do you believe it was really written in his own

-blood?"

-

-"I am going to test it," said Fortin, "at the request of Monsieur le

-Maire. I am not anxious for the job, however."

-

-"See," said Le Bihan, holding out the scroll to me, "it is signed,

-'l'Abbe Sorgue.'"

-

-I glanced curiously over the paper.

-

-"It must be the Black Priest," I said. "He was the only man who wrote

-in the Breton language. This is a wonderfully interesting discovery,

-for now, at last, the mystery of the Black Priest's disappearance is

-cleared up. You will, of course, send this scroll to Paris, Le Bihan?"

-

-"No," said the mayor obstinately, "it shall be buried in the pit below

-where the rest of the Black Priest lies."

-

-I looked at him and recognised that argument would be useless. But

-still I said, "It will be a loss to history, Monsieur Le Bihan."

-

-"All the worse for history, then," said the enlightened Mayor of St.

-Gildas.

-

-We had sauntered back to the gravel pit while speaking. The men of

-Bannalec were carrying the bones of the English soldiers toward the

-St. Gildas cemetery, on the cliffs to the east, where already a knot of

-white-coiffed women stood in attitudes of prayer; and I saw the sombre

-robe of a priest among the crosses of the little graveyard.

-

-"They were thieves and assassins; they are dead now," muttered Max

-Fortin.

-

-"Respect the dead," repeated the Mayor of St. Gildas, looking after the

-Bannalec men.

-

-"It was written in that scroll that Marie Trevec, of Groix Island, was

-cursed by the priest--she and her descendants," I said, touching Le

-Bihan on the arm. "There was a Marie Trevec who married an Yves Trevec

-of St. Gildas----"

-

-"It is the same," said Le Bihan, looking at me obliquely.

-

-"Oh!" said I; "then they were ancestors of my wife."

-

-"Do you fear the curse?" asked Le Bihan.

-

-"What?" I laughed.

-

-"There was the case of the Purple Emperor," said Max Fortin timidly.

-

-Startled for a moment, I faced him, then shrugged my shoulders and

-kicked at a smooth bit of rock which lay near the edge of the pit,

-almost embedded in gravel.

-

-"Do you suppose the Purple Emperor drank himself crazy because he was

-descended from Marie Trevec?" I asked contemptuously.

-

-"Of course not," said Max Fortin hastily.

-

-"Of course not," piped the mayor. "I only---- Hello! what's that you're

-kicking?"

-

-"What?" said I, glancing down, at the same time involuntarily giving

-another kick. The smooth bit of rock dislodged itself and rolled out of

-the loosened gravel at my feet.

-

-"The thirty-ninth skull!" I exclaimed. "By jingo, its the noddle of the

-Black Priest! See! there is the arrowhead branded on the front!"

-

-The mayor stepped back. Max Fortin also retreated. There was a pause,

-during which I looked at them, and they looked anywhere but at me.

-

-"I don't like it," said the mayor at last, in a husky, high voice. "I

-don't like it! The scroll says he will come back to St. Gildas when his

-remains are disturbed. I--I don't like it, Monsieur Darrel----"

-

-"Bosh!" said I; "the poor wicked devil is where he can't get out. For

-Heaven's sake, Le Bihan, what is this stuff you are talking in the year

-of grace 1896?"

-

-The mayor gave me a look.

-

-"And he says 'Englishman.' You are an Englishman, Monsieur Darrel," he

-announced.

-

-"You know better. You know I'm an American."

-

-"It's all the same," said the Mayor of St. Gildas, obstinately.

-

-"No, it isn't!" I answered, much exasperated, and deliberately pushed

-the skull till it rolled into the bottom of the gravel pit below.

-

-"Cover it up," said I; "bury the scroll with it too, if you insist, but

-I think you ought to send it to Paris. Don't look so gloomy, Fortin,

-unless you believe in were-wolves and ghosts. Hey! what the--what

-the devil's the matter with you, anyway? What are you staring at, Le

-Bihan?"

-

-"Come, come," muttered the mayor in a low, tremulous voice, "it's time

-we got out of this. Did you see? Did you see, Fortin?"

-

-"I saw," whispered Max Fortin, pallid with fright.

-

-The two men were almost running across the sunny pasture now, and I

-hastened after them, demanding to know what was the matter.

-

-"Matter!" chattered the mayor, gasping with exasperation and terror.

-"The skull is rolling uphill again!" and he burst into a terrified

-gallop. Max Fortin followed close behind.

-

-I watched them stampeding across the pasture, then turned toward the

-gravel pit, mystified, incredulous. The skull was lying on the edge

-of the pit, exactly where it had been before I pushed it over the

-edge. For a second I stared at it; a singular chilly feeling crept up

-my spinal column, and I turned and walked away, sweat starting from

-the root of every hair on my head. Before I had gone twenty paces the

-absurdity of the whole thing struck me. I halted, hot with shame and

-annoyance, and retraced my steps.

-

-There lay the skull.

-

-"I rolled a stone down instead of the skull," I muttered to myself.

-Then with the butt of my gun I pushed the skull over the edge of the

-pit and watched it roll to the bottom; and as it struck the bottom

-of the pit, Mome, my dog, suddenly whipped his tail between his legs,

-whimpered, and made off across the moor.

-

-"Mome!" I shouted, angry and astonished; but the dog only fled the

-faster, and I ceased calling from sheer surprise.

-

-"What the mischief is the matter with that dog!" I thought. He had

-never before played me such a trick.

-

-Mechanically I glanced into the pit, but I could not see the skull. I

-looked down. The skull lay at my feet again, touching them.

-

-"Good heavens!" I stammered, and struck at it blindly with my gunstock.

-The ghastly thing flew into the air, whirling over and over, and rolled

-again down the sides of the pit to the bottom. Breathlessly I stared at

-it, then, confused and scarcely comprehending, I stepped back from the

-pit, still facing it, one, ten, twenty paces, my eyes almost starting

-from my head, as though I expected to see the thing roll up from the

-bottom of the pit under my very gaze. At last I turned my back to the

-pit and strode out across the gorse-covered moorland toward my home. As

-I reached the road that winds from St. Gildas to St. Julien I gave one

-hasty glance at the pit over my shoulder. The sun shone hot on the sod

-about the excavation. There was something white and bare and round on

-the turf at the edge of the pit. It might have been a stone; there were

-plenty of them lying about.

-

-

-II.

-

-When I entered my garden I saw Mome sprawling on the stone doorstep. He

-eyed me sideways and flopped his tail.

-

-"Are you not mortified, you idiot dog?" I said, looking about the upper

-windows for Lys.

-

-Mome rolled over on his back and raised one deprecating forepaw, as

-though to ward off calamity.

-

-"Don't act as though I was in the habit of beating you to death," I

-said, disgusted. I had never in my life raised whip to the brute. "But

-you are a fool dog," I continued. "No, you needn't come to be babied

-and wept over; Lys can do that, if she insists, but I am ashamed of

-you, and you can go to the devil."

-

-Mome slunk off into the house, and I followed, mounting directly to my

-wife's boudoir. It was empty.

-

-"Where has she gone?" I said, looking hard at Mome, who had followed

-me. "Oh! I see you don't know. Don't pretend you do. Come off that

-lounge! Do you think Lys wants tan-coloured hairs all over her lounge?"

-

-I rang the bell for Catherine and 'Fine, but they didn't know where

-"madame" had gone; so I went into my room, bathed, exchanged my

-somewhat grimy shooting clothes for a suit of warm, soft knickerbockers,

-and, after lingering some extra moments over my toilet--for I was

-particular, now that I had married Lys--I went down to the garden and

-took a chair out under the fig-trees.

-

-"Where can she be?" I wondered. Mome came sneaking out to be comforted,

-and I forgave him for Lys's sake, whereupon he frisked.

-

-"You bounding cur," said I, "now what on earth started you off across

-the moor? If you do it again I'll push you along with a charge of dust

-shot."

-

-As yet I had scarcely dared think about the ghastly hallucination of

-which I had been a victim, but now I faced it squarely, flushing a

-little with mortification at the thought of my hasty retreat from the

-gravel pit.

-

-"To think," I said aloud, "that those old woman's tales of Max Fortin

-and Le Bihan should have actually made me see what didn't exist at all!

-I lost my nerve like a schoolboy in a dark bedroom." For I knew now

-that I had mistaken a round stone for a skull each time, and had pushed

-a couple of big pebbles into the pit instead of the skull itself.

-

-"By jingo!" said I, "I'm nervous; my liver must be in a devil of a

-condition if I see such things when I'm awake! Lys will know what to

-give me."

-

-I felt mortified and irritated and sulky, and thought disgustedly of Le

-Bihan and Max Fortin.

-

-But after a while I ceased speculating, dismissed the mayor, the

-chemist, and the skull from my mind, and smoked pensively, watching the

-sun low dipping in the western ocean. As the twilight fell for a moment

-over ocean and moorland, a wistful, restless happiness filled my heart,

-the happiness that all men know--all men who have loved.

-

-Slowly the purple mist crept out over the sea; the cliffs darkened; the

-forest was shrouded.

-

-Suddenly the sky above burned with the afterglow, and the world was

-alight again.

-

-Cloud after cloud caught the rose dye; the cliffs were tinted with

-it; moor and pasture, heather and forest burned and pulsated with the

-gentle flush. I saw the gulls turning and tossing above the sand bar,

-their snowy wings tipped with pink; I saw the sea swallows sheering

-the surface of the still river, stained to its placid depths with warm

-reflections of the clouds. The twitter of drowsy hedge birds broke out

-in the stillness; a salmon rolled its shining side above tide-water.

-

-The interminable monotone of the ocean intensified the silence. I

-sat motionless, holding my breath as one who listens to the first low

-rumour of an organ. All at once the pure whistle of a nightingale cut

-the silence, and the first moonbeam silvered the wastes of mist-hung

-waters.

-

-I raised my head.

-

-Lys stood before me in the garden.

-

-When we had kissed each other, we linked arms and moved up and down

-the gravel walks, watching the moonbeams sparkle on the sand bar as

-the tide ebbed and ebbed. The broad beds of white pinks about us were

-atremble with hovering white moths; the October roses hung all abloom,

-perfuming the salt wind.

-

-"Sweetheart," I said, "where is Yvonne? Has she promised to spend

-Christmas with us?"

-

-"Yes, Dick; she drove me down from Plougat this afternoon. She sent her

-love to you. I am not jealous. What did you shoot?"

-

-"A hare and four partridges. They are in the gun room. I told Catherine

-not to touch them until you had seen them."

-

-Now I suppose I knew that Lys could not be particularly enthusiastic

-over game or guns; but she pretended she was, and always scornfully

-denied that it was for my sake and not for the pure love of sport. So

-she dragged me off to inspect the rather meagre game bag, and she paid

-me pretty compliments and gave a little cry of delight and pity as I

-lifted the enormous hare out of the sack by his ears.

-

-"He'll eat no more of our lettuce," I said, attempting to justify the

-assassination.

-

-"Unhappy little bunny--and what a beauty! O Dick, you are a splendid

-shot, are you not?"

-

-I evaded the question and hauled out a partridge.

-

-"Poor little dead things!" said Lys in a whisper; "it seems a

-pity--doesn't it, Dick? But then you are so clever----"

-

-"We'll have them broiled," I said guardedly; "tell Catherine."

-

-Catherine came in to take away the game, and presently 'Fine Lelocard,

-Lys's maid, announced dinner, and Lys tripped away to her boudoir.

-

-I stood an instant contemplating her blissfully, thinking, "My boy,

-you're the happiest fellow in the world--you're in love with your

-wife!"

-

-I walked into the dining room, beamed at the plates, walked out again;

-met Tregunc in the hallway, beamed on him; glanced into the kitchen,

-beamed at Catherine, and went up stairs, still beaming.

-

-Before I could knock at Lys's door it opened, and Lys came hastily out.

-When she saw me she gave a little cry of relief, and nestled close to

-my breast.

-

-"There is something peering in at my window," she said.

-

-"What!" I cried angrily.

-

-"A man, I think, disguised as a priest, and he has a mask on. He must

-have climbed up by the bay tree."

-

-I was down the stairs and out of doors in no time. The moonlit garden

-was absolutely deserted. Tregunc came up, and together we searched the

-hedge and shrubbery around the house and out to the road.

-

-"Jean Marie," said I at length, "loose my bulldog--he knows you--and

-take your supper on the porch where you can watch. My wife says the

-fellow is disguised as a priest, and wears a mask."

-

-Tregunc showed his white teeth in a smile. "He will not care to venture

-in here again, I think, Monsieur Darrel."

-

-I went back and found Lys seated quietly at the table.

-

-"The soup is ready, dear," she said. "Don't worry; it was only some

-foolish lout from Bannalec. No one in St. Gildas or St. Julien would do

-such a thing."

-

-I was too much exasperated to reply at first, but Lys treated it as a

-stupid joke, and after a while I began to look at it in that light.

-

-Lys told me about Yvonne, and reminded me of my promise to have Herbert

-Stuart down to meet her.

-

-"You wicked diplomat!" I protested. "Herbert is in Paris, and hard at

-work for the Salon."

-

-"Don't you think he might spare a week to flirt with the prettiest girl

-in Finistere?" inquired Lys innocently.

-

-"Prettiest girl! Not much!" I said.

-

-"Who is, then?" urged Lys.

-

-I laughed a trifle sheepishly.

-

-"I suppose you mean me, Dick," said Lys, colouring up.

-

-"Now I bore you, don't I?"

-

-"Bore me? Ah, no, Dick."

-

-After coffee and cigarettes were served I spoke about Tregunc, and Lys

-approved.

-

-"Poor Jean! he will be glad, won't he? What a dear fellow you are!"

-

-"Nonsense," said I; "we need a gardener; you said so yourself, Lys."

-

-But Lys leaned over and kissed me, and then bent down and hugged Mome,

-who whistled through his nose in sentimental appreciation.

-

-"I am a very happy woman," said Lys.

-

-"Mome was a very bad dog to-day," I observed.

-

-"Poor Mome!" said Lys, smiling.

-

-When dinner was over and Mome lay snoring before the blaze--for the

-October nights are often chilly in Finistere--Lys curled up in the

-chimney corner with her embroidery, and gave me a swift glance from

-under her drooping lashes.

-

-"You look like a schoolgirl, Lys," I said teasingly. "I don't believe

-you are sixteen yet."

-

-She pushed back her heavy burnished hair thoughtfully. Her wrist was as

-white as surf foam.

-

-"Have we been married four years? I don't believe it," I said.

-

-She gave me another swift glance and touched the embroidery on her

-knee, smiling faintly.

-

-"I see," said I, also smiling at the embroidered garment. "Do you think

-it will fit?"

-

-"Fit?" repeated Lys. Then she laughed.

-

-"And," I persisted, "are you perfectly sure that you--er--we shall need

-it?"

-

-"Perfectly," said Lys. A delicate colour touched her cheeks and neck.

-She held up the little garment, all fluffy with misty lace and wrought

-with quaint embroidery.

-

-"It is very gorgeous," said I; "don't use your eyes too much, dearest.

-May I smoke a pipe?"

-

-"Of course," she said, selecting a skein of pale blue silk.

-

-For a while I sat and smoked in silence, watching her slender fingers

-among the tinted silks and thread of gold.

-

-Presently she spoke: "What did you say your crest is, Dick?"

-

-"My crest? Oh, something or other rampant on a something or other----"

-

-"Dick!"

-

-"Dearest?"

-

-"Don't be flippant."

-

-"But I really forget. It's an ordinary crest; everybody in New York has

-them. No family should be without 'em."

-

-"You are disagreeable, Dick. Send Josephine upstairs for my album."

-

-"Are you going to put that crest on the--the--whatever it is?"

-

-"I am; and my own crest, too."

-

-I thought of the Purple Emperor and wondered a little.

-

-"You didn't know I had one, did you?" she smiled.

-

-"What is it?" I replied evasively.

-

-"You shall see. Ring for Josephine."

-

-I rang, and, when 'Fine appeared, Lys gave her some orders in a low

-voice, and Josephine trotted away, bobbing her white-coiffed head with

-a "Bien, madame!"

-

-After a few minutes she returned, bearing a tattered, musty volume,

-from which the gold and blue had mostly disappeared.

-

-I took the book in my hands and examined the ancient emblazoned covers.

-

-"Lilies!" I exclaimed.

-

-"Fleur-de-lis," said my wife demurely.

-

-"Oh!" said I, astonished, and opened the book.

-

-"You have never before seen this book?" asked Lys, with a touch of

-malice in her eyes.

-

-"You know I haven't. Hello! what's this? Oho! So there should be a

-_de_ before Trevec? Lys de Trevec? Then why in the world did the Purple

-Emperor----"

-

-"Dick!" cried Lys.

-

-"All right," said I. "Shall I read about the Sieur de Trevec who

-rode to Saladin's tent alone to seek for medicine for St. Louis? or

-shall I read about--what is it? Oh, here it is, all down in black and

-white--about the Marquis de Trevec who drowned himself before Alva's

-eyes rather than surrender the banner of the fleur-de-lis to Spain?

-It's all written here. But, dear, how about that soldier named Trevec

-who was killed in the old fort on the cliff yonder?"

-

-"He dropped the _de_, and the Trevecs since then have been

-Republicans," said Lys--"all except me."

-

-"That's quite right," said I; "it is time that we Republicans should

-agree upon some feudal system. My dear, I drink to the king!" and I

-raised my wine-glass and looked at Lys.

-

-"To the king," said Lys, flushing. She smoothed out the tiny garment

-on her knees; she touched the glass with her lips; her eyes were very

-sweet. I drained the glass to the king.

-

-After a silence I said: "I will tell the king stories. His Majesty

-shall be amused."

-

-"His Majesty," repeated Lys softly.

-

-"Or hers," I laughed. "Who knows?"

-

-"Who knows?" murmured Lys, with a gentle sigh.

-

-"I know some stories about Jack the Giant-Killer," I announced. "Do

-you, Lys?"

-

-"I? No, not about a giant-killer, but I know all about the were-wolf,

-and Jeanne-la-Flamme, and the Man in Purple Tatters, and--O dear me! I

-know lots more."

-

-"You are very wise," said I. "I shall teach his Majesty English."

-

-"And I Breton," cried Lys jealously.

-

-"I shall bring playthings to the king," said I--"big green lizards from

-the gorse, little gray mullets to swim in glass globes, baby rabbits

-from the forest of Kerselec----"

-

-"And I," said Lys, "will bring the first primrose, the first branch of

-aubepine, the first jonquil, to the king--my king."

-

-"Our king," said I; and there was peace in Finistere.

-

-I lay back, idly turning the leaves of the curious old volume.

-

-"I am looking," said I, "for the crest."

-

-"The crest, dear? It is a priest's head with an arrow-shaped mark on

-the forehead, on a field----"

-

-I sat up and stared at my wife.

-

-"Dick, whatever is the matter?" she smiled. "The story is there in that

-book. Do you care to read it? No? Shall I tell it to you? Well, then:

-It happened in the third crusade. There was a monk whom men called the

-Black Priest. He turned apostate, and sold himself to the enemies of

-Christ. A Sieur de Trevec burst into the Saracen camp, at the head of

-only one hundred lances, and carried the Black Priest away out of the

-very midst of their army."

-

-"So that is how you come by the crest," I said quietly; but I thought

-of the branded skull in the gravel pit, and wondered.

-

-"Yes," said Lys. "The Sieur de Trevec cut the Black Priest's head off,

-but first he branded him with an arrow mark on the forehead. The book

-says it was a pious action, and the Sieur de Trevec got great merit by

-it. But I think it was cruel, the branding," she sighed.

-

-"Did you ever hear of any other Black Priest?"

-

-"Yes. There was one in the last century, here in St. Gildas. He cast a

-white shadow in the sun. He wrote in the Breton language. Chronicles,

-too, I believe. I never saw them. His name was the same as that of

-the old chronicler, and of the other priest, Jacques Sorgue. Some said

-he was a lineal descendant of the traitor. Of course the first Black

-Priest was bad enough for anything. But if he did have a child, it need

-not have been the ancestor of the last Jacques Sorgue. They say this

-one was a holy man. They say he was so good he was not allowed to die,

-but was caught up to heaven one day," added Lys, with believing eyes.

-

-I smiled.

-

-"But he disappeared," persisted Lys.

-

-"I'm afraid his journey was in another direction," I said jestingly,

-and thoughtlessly told her the story of the morning. I had utterly

-forgotten the masked man at her window, but before I finished I

-remembered him fast enough, and realized what I had done as I saw her

-face whiten.

-

-"Lys," I urged tenderly, "that was only some clumsy clown's trick. You

-said so yourself. You are not superstitious, my dear?"

-

-Her eyes were on mine. She slowly drew the little gold cross from her

-bosom and kissed it. But her lips trembled as they pressed the symbol

-of faith.

-

-

-III.

-

-About nine o'clock the next morning I walked into the Groix Inn and sat

-down at the long discoloured oaken table, nodding good-day to Marianne

-Bruyere, who in turn bobbed her white coiffe at me.

-

-"My clever Bannalec maid," said I, "what is good for a stirrup-cup at

-the Groix Inn?"

-

-"Schist?" she inquired in Breton.

-

-"With a dash of red wine, then," I replied.

-

-She brought the delicious Quimperle cider, and I poured a little

-Bordeaux into it. Marianne watched me with laughing black eyes.

-

-"What makes your cheeks so red, Marianne?" I asked. "Has Jean Marie

-been here?"

-

-"We are to be married, Monsieur Darrel," she laughed.

-

-"Ah! Since when has Jean Marie Tregunc lost his head?"

-

-"His head? Oh, Monsieur Darrel--his heart, you mean!"

-

-"So I do," said I. "Jean Marie is a practical fellow."

-

-"It is all due to your kindness----" began the girl, but I raised my

-hand and held up the glass.

-

-"It's due to himself. To your happiness, Marianne;" and I took a hearty

-draught of the schist. "Now," said I, "tell me where I can find Le

-Bihan and Max Fortin."

-

-"Monsieur Le Bihan and Monsieur Fortin are above in the broad room. I

-believe they are examining the Red Admiral's effects."

-

-"To send them to Paris? Oh, I know. May I go up, Marianne?"

-

-"And God go with you," smiled the girl.

-

-When I knocked at the door of the broad room above little Max Fortin

-opened it. Dust covered his spectacles and nose; his hat, with the tiny

-velvet ribbons fluttering, was all awry.

-

-"Come in, Monsieur Darrel," he said; "the mayor and I are packing up

-the effects of the Purple Emperor and of the poor Red Admiral."

-

-"The collections?" I asked, entering the room. "You must be very

-careful in packing those butterfly cases; the slightest jar might break

-wings and antennae, you know."

-

-Le Bihan shook hands with me and pointed to the great pile of boxes.

-

-"They're all cork lined," he said, "but Fortin and I are putting felt

-around each box. The Entomological Society of Paris pays the freight."

-

-The combined collections of the Red Admiral and the Purple Emperor made

-a magnificent display.

-

-I lifted and inspected case after case set with gorgeous butterflies

-and moths, each specimen carefully labelled with the name in Latin.

-There were cases filled with crimson tiger moths all aflame with

-colour; cases devoted to the common yellow butterflies; symphonies in

-orange and pale yellow; cases of soft gray and dun-coloured sphinx

-moths; and cases of garish nettle-bred butterflies of the numerous

-family of _Vanessa_.

-

-All alone in a great case by itself was pinned the purple emperor, the

-Apatura Iris, that fatal specimen that had given the Purple Emperor his

-name and quietus.

-

-I remembered the butterfly, and stood looking at it with bent eyebrows.

-

-Le Bihan glanced up from the floor where he was nailing down the lid of

-a box full of cases.

-

-"It is settled, then," said he, "that madame, your wife, gives the

-Purple Emperor's entire collection to the city of Paris?"

-

-I nodded.

-

-"Without accepting anything for it?"

-

-"It is a gift," I said.

-

-"Including the purple emperor there in the case? That butterfly is

-worth a great deal of money," persisted Le Bihan.

-

-"You don't suppose that we would wish to sell that specimen, do you?"

-I answered a trifle sharply.

-

-"If I were you I should destroy it," said the mayor in his high-pitched

-voice.

-

-"That would be nonsense," said I--"like your burying the brass cylinder

-and scroll yesterday."

-

-"It was not nonsense," said Le Bihan doggedly, "and I should prefer not

-to discuss the subject of the scroll."

-

-I looked at Max Fortin, who immediately avoided my eyes.

-

-"You are a pair of superstitious old women," said I, digging my hands

-into my pockets; "you swallow every nursery tale that is invented."

-

-"What of it?" said Le Bihan sulkily; "there's more truth than lies in

-most of 'em."

-

-"Oh!" I sneered, "does the Mayor of St. Gildas and St. Julien believe

-in the Loup-garou?"

-

-"No, not in the Loup-garou."

-

-"In what, then--Jeanne-la-Flamme?"

-

-"That," said Le Bihan with conviction, "is history."

-

-"The devil it is!" said I; "and perhaps, monsieur the mayor, your faith

-in giants is unimpaired?"

-

-"There were giants--everybody knows it," growled Max Fortin.

-

-"And you a chemist!" I observed scornfully.

-

-"Listen, Monsieur Darrel," squeaked Le Bihan; "you know yourself that

-the Purple Emperor was a scientific man. Now suppose I should tell

-you that he always refused to include in his collection a Death's

-Messenger?"

-

-"A what?" I exclaimed.

-

-"You know what I mean--that moth that flies by night; some call it the

-Death's Head, but in St. Gildas we call it 'Death's Messenger.'"

-

-"Oh!" said I, "you mean that big sphinx moth that is commonly known as

-the 'death's-head moth.' Why the mischief should the people here call

-it death's messenger?"

-

-"For hundreds of years it has been known as death's messenger in

-St. Gildas," said Max Fortin. "Even Froissart speaks of it in his

-commentaries on Jacques Sorgue's Chronicles. The book is in your

-library."

-

-"Sorgue? And who was Jacques Sorgue? I never read his book."

-

-"Jacques Sorgue was the son of some unfrocked priest--I forget. It was

-during the crusades."

-

-"Good Heavens!" I burst out, "I've been hearing of nothing but crusades

-and priests and death and sorcery ever since I kicked that skull into

-the gravel pit, and I am tired of it, I tell you frankly. One would

-think we lived in the dark ages. Do you know what year of our Lord it

-is, Le Bihan?"

-

-"Eighteen hundred and ninety-six," replied the mayor.

-

-"And yet you two hulking men are afraid of a death's-head moth."

-

-"I don't care to have one fly into the window," said Max Fortin; "it

-means evil to the house and the people in it."

-

-"God alone knows why he marked one of his creatures with a yellow

-death's head on the back," observed Le Bihan piously, "but I take it

-that he meant it as a warning; and I propose to profit by it," he added

-triumphantly.

-

-"See here, Le Bihan," I said; "by a stretch of imagination one can make

-out a skull on the thorax of a certain big sphinx moth. What of it?"

-

-"It is a bad thing to touch," said the mayor, wagging his head.

-

-"It squeaks when handled," added Max Fortin.

-

-"Some creatures squeak all the time," I observed, looking hard at Le

-Bihan.

-

-"Pigs," added the mayor.

-

-"Yes, and asses," I replied. "Listen, Le Bihan: do you mean to tell me

-that you saw that skull roll uphill yesterday?"

-

-The mayor shut his mouth tightly and picked up his hammer.

-

-"Don't be obstinate," I said; "I asked you a question."

-

-"And I refuse to answer," snapped Le Bihan. "Fortin saw what I saw; let

-him talk about it."

-

-I looked searchingly at the little chemist.

-

-"I don't say that I saw it actually roll up out of the pit, all by

-itself," said Fortin with a shiver, "but--but then, how did it come up

-out of the pit, if it didn't roll up all by itself?"

-

-"It didn't come up at all; that was a yellow cobblestone that you

-mistook for the skull again," I replied. "You were nervous, Max."

-

-"A--a very curious cobblestone, Monsieur Darrel," said Fortin.

-

-"I also was a victim to the same hallucination," I continued, "and I

-regret to say that I took the trouble to roll two innocent cobblestones

-into the gravel pit, imagining each time that it was the skull I was

-rolling."

-

-"It was," observed Le Bihan with a morose shrug.

-

-"It just shows," said I, ignoring the mayor's remark, "how easy it is

-to fix up a train of coincidences so that the result seems to savour

-of the supernatural. Now, last night my wife imagined that she saw a

-priest in a mask peer in at her window----"

-

-Fortin and Le Bihan scrambled hastily from their knees, dropping hammer

-and nails.

-

-"W-h-a-t--what's that?" demanded the mayor.

-

-I repeated what I had said. Max Fortin turned livid.

-

-"My God!" muttered Le Bihan, "the Black Priest is in St. Gildas!"

-

-"D-don't you--you know the old prophecy?" stammered Fortin; "Froissart

-quotes it from Jacques Sorgue:

-

-  'When the Black Priest rises from the dead,

-  St. Gildas folk shall shriek in bed;

-  When the Black Priest rises from his grave,

-  May the good God St. Gildas save!'"

-

-"Aristide Le Bihan," I said angrily, "and you, Max Fortin, I've got

-enough of this nonsense! Some foolish lout from Bannalec has been in

-St. Gildas playing tricks to frighten old fools like you. If you have

-nothing better to talk about than nursery legends I'll wait until you

-come to your senses. Good-morning." And I walked out, more disturbed

-than I cared to acknowledge to myself.

-

-The day had become misty and overcast. Heavy, wet clouds hung in the

-east. I heard the surf thundering against the cliffs, and the gray

-gulls squealed as they tossed and turned high in the sky. The tide

-was creeping across the river sands, higher, higher, and I saw the

-seaweed floating on the beach, and the _lancons_ springing from the

-foam, silvery thread-like flashes in the gloom. Curlew were flying up

-the river in twos and threes; the timid sea swallows skimmed across the

-moors toward some quiet, lonely pool, safe from the coming tempest. In

-every hedge field birds were gathering, huddling together, twittering

-restlessly.

-

-When I reached the cliffs I sat down, resting my chin on my clenched

-hands. Already a vast curtain of rain, sweeping across the ocean miles

-away, hid the island of Groix. To the east, behind the white semaphore

-on the hills, black clouds crowded up over the horizon. After a little

-the thunder boomed, dull, distant, and slender skeins of lightning

-unravelled across the crest of the coming storm. Under the cliff at my

-feet the surf rushed foaming over the shore, and the _lancons_ jumped

-and skipped and quivered until they seemed to be but the reflections of

-the meshed lightning.

-

-I turned to the east. It was raining over Groix, it was raining at

-Sainte Barbe, it was raining now at the semaphore. High in the storm

-whirl a few gulls pitched; a nearer cloud trailed veils of rain in its

-wake; the sky was spattered with lightning; the thunder boomed.

-

-As I rose to go, a cold raindrop fell upon the back of my hand, and

-another, and yet another on my face. I gave a last glance at the sea,

-where the waves were bursting into strange white shapes that seemed to

-fling out menacing arms toward me. Then something moved on the cliff,

-something black as the black rock it clutched--a filthy cormorant,

-craning its hideous head at the sky.

-

-Slowly I plodded homeward across the sombre moorland, where the

-gorse stems glimmered with a dull metallic green, and the heather,

-no longer violet and purple, hung drenched and dun-coloured among

-the dreary rocks. The wet turf creaked under my heavy boots, the

-black-thorn scraped and grated against knee and elbow. Over all lay

-a strange light, pallid, ghastly, where the sea spray whirled across

-the landscape and drove into my face until it grew numb with the cold.

-In broad bands, rank after rank, billow on billow, the rain burst out

-across the endless moors, and yet there was no wind to drive it at such

-a pace.

-

-Lys stood at the door as I turned into the garden, motioning me to

-hasten; and then for the first time I became conscious that I was

-soaked to the skin.

-

-"How ever in the world did you come to stay out when such a storm

-threatened?" she said. "Oh, you are dripping! Go quickly and change; I

-have laid your warm underwear on the bed, Dick."

-

-I kissed my wife, and went upstairs to change my dripping clothes for

-something more comfortable.

-

-When I returned to the morning room there was a driftwood fire on the

-hearth, and Lys sat in the chimney corner embroidering.

-

-"Catherine tells me that the fishing fleet from Lorient is out. Do you

-think they are in danger, dear?" asked Lys, raising her blue eyes to

-mine as I entered.

-

-"There is no wind, and there will be no sea," said I, looking out of

-the window. Far across the moor I could see the black cliffs looming in

-the mist.

-

-"How it rains!" murmured Lys; "come to the fire, Dick."

-

-I threw myself on the fur rug, my hands in my pockets, my head on Lys's

-knees.

-

-"Tell me a story," I said. "I feel like a boy of ten."

-

-Lys raised a finger to her scarlet lips. I always waited for her to do

-that.

-

-"Will you be very still, then?" she said.

-

-"Still as death."

-

-"Death," echoed a voice, very softly.

-

-"Did you speak, Lys?" I asked, turning so that I could see her face.

-

-"No; did you, Dick?"

-

-"Who said 'death'?" I asked, startled.

-

-"Death," echoed a voice, softly.

-

-I sprang up and looked about. Lys rose too, her needles and embroidery

-falling to the floor. She seemed about to faint, leaning heavily on me,

-and I led her to the window and opened it a little way to give her air.

-As I did so the chain lightning split the zenith, the thunder crashed,

-and a sheet of rain swept into the room, driving with it something that

-fluttered--something that flapped, and squeaked, and beat upon the rug

-with soft, moist wings.

-

-We bent over it together, Lys clinging to me, and we saw that it was a

-death's-head moth drenched with rain.

-

-The dark day passed slowly as we sat beside the fire, hand in hand,

-her head against my breast, speaking of sorrow and mystery and death.

-For Lys believed that there were things on earth that none might

-understand, things that must be nameless forever and ever, until God

-rolls up the scroll of life and all is ended. We spoke of hope and fear

-and faith, and the mystery of the saints; we spoke of the beginning and

-the end, of the shadow of sin, of omens, and of love. The moth still

-lay on the floor, quivering its sombre wings in the warmth of the fire,

-the skull and ribs clearly etched upon its neck and body.

-

-"If it is a messenger of death to this house," I said, "why should we

-fear, Lys?"

-

-"Death should be welcome to those who love God," murmured Lys, and she

-drew the cross from her breast and kissed it.

-

-"The moth might die if I threw it out into the storm," I said after a

-silence.

-

-"Let it remain," sighed Lys.

-

-Late that night my wife lay sleeping, and I sat beside her bed and read

-in the Chronicle of Jacques Sorgue. I shaded the candle, but Lys grew

-restless, and finally I took the book down into the morning room, where

-the ashes of the fire rustled and whitened on the hearth.

-

-The death's-head moth lay on the rug before the fire where I had left

-it. At first I thought it was dead, but, when I looked closer I saw

-a lambent fire in its amber eyes. The straight white shadow it cast

-across the floor wavered as the candle flickered.

-

-The pages of the Chronicle of Jacques Sorgue were damp and sticky; the

-illuminated gold and blue initials left flakes of azure and gilt where

-my hand brushed them.

-

-"It is not paper at all; it is thin parchment," I said to myself;

-and I held the discoloured page close to the candle flame and read,

-translating laboriously:

-

-"I, Jacques Sorgue, saw all these things. And I saw the Black Mass

-celebrated in the chapel of St. Gildas-on-the-Cliff. And it was said by

-the Abbe Sorgue, my kinsman: for which deadly sin the apostate priest

-was seized by the most noble Marquis of Plougastel and by him condemned

-to be burned with hot irons, until his seared soul quit its body and

-fly to its master the devil. But when the Black Priest lay in the crypt

-of Plougastel, his master Satan came at night and set him free, and

-carried him across land and sea to Mahmoud, which is Soldan or Saladin.

-And I, Jacques Sorgue, travelling afterward by sea, beheld with my own

-eyes my kinsman, the Black Priest of St. Gildas, borne along in the

-air upon a vast black wing, which was the wing of his master Satan. And

-this was seen also by two men of the crew."

-

-I turned the page. The wings of the moth on the floor began to quiver.

-I read on and on, my eyes blurring under the shifting candle flame.

-I read of battles and of saints, and I learned how the great Soldan

-made his pact with Satan, and then I came to the Sieur de Trevec, and

-read how he seized the Black Priest in the midst of Saladin's tents

-and carried him away and cut off his head, first branding him on the

-forehead. "And before he suffered," said the Chronicle, "he cursed the

-Sieur de Trevec and his descendants, and he said he would surely return

-to St. Gildas. 'For the violence you do to me, I will do violence to

-you. For the evil I suffer at your hands, I will work evil on you and

-your descendants. Woe to your children, Sieur de Trevec!'" There was

-a whirr, a beating of strong wings, and my candle flashed up as in a

-sudden breeze. A humming filled the room; the great moth darted hither

-and thither, beating, buzzing, on ceiling and wall. I flung down my

-book and stepped forward. Now it lay fluttering upon the window sill,

-and for a moment I had it under my hand, but the thing squeaked and

-I shrank back. Then suddenly it darted across the candle flame; the

-light flared and went out, and at the same moment a shadow moved in

-the darkness outside. I raised my eyes to the window. A masked face was

-peering in at me.

-

-Quick as thought I whipped out my revolver and fired every cartridge,

-but the face advanced beyond the window, the glass melting away before

-it like mist, and through the smoke of my revolver I saw something

-creep swiftly into the room. Then I tried to cry out, but the thing was

-at my throat, and I fell backward among the ashes of the hearth.

-

-       *       *       *       *       *

-

-When my eyes unclosed I was lying on the hearth, my head among the cold

-ashes. Slowly I got on my knees, rose painfully, and groped my way

-to a chair. On the floor lay my revolver, shining in the pale light

-of early morning. My mind clearing by degrees, I looked, shuddering,

-at the window. The glass was unbroken. I stooped stiffly, picked up

-my revolver and opened the cylinder. Every cartridge had been fired.

-Mechanically I closed the cylinder and placed the revolver in my

-pocket. The book, the Chronicles of Jacques Sorgue, lay on the table

-beside me, and as I started to close it I glanced at the page. It was

-all splashed with rain, and the lettering had run, so that the page was

-merely a confused blur of gold and red and black. As I stumbled toward

-the door I cast a fearful glance over my shoulder. The death's-head

-moth crawled shivering on the rug.

-

-

-IV.

-

-The sun was about three hours high. I must have slept, for I was

-aroused by the sudden gallop of horses under our window. People were

-shouting and calling in the road. I sprang up and opened the sash.

-Le Bihan was there, an image of helplessness, and Max Fortin stood

-beside him, polishing his glasses. Some gendarmes had just arrived

-from Quimperle, and I could hear them around the corner of the house,

-stamping, and rattling their sabres and carbines, as they led their

-horses into my stable.

-

-Lys sat up, murmuring half-sleepy, half-anxious questions.

-

-"I don't know," I answered. "I am going out to see what it means."

-

-"It is like the day they came to arrest you," Lys said, giving me a

-troubled look. But I kissed her, and laughed at her until she smiled

-too. Then I flung on coat and cap and hurried down the stairs.

-

-The first person I saw standing in the road was the Brigadier Durand.

-

-"Hello!" said I, "have you come to arrest me again? What the devil is

-all this fuss about, anyway?"

-

-"We were telegraphed for an hour ago," said Durand briskly, "and for a

-sufficient reason, I think. Look there, Monsieur Darrel!"

-

-He pointed to the ground almost under my feet.

-

-"Good heavens!" I cried, "where did that puddle of blood come from?"

-

-"That's what I want to know, Monsieur Darrel. Max Fortin found it at

-daybreak. See, it's splashed all over the grass, too. A trail of it

-leads into your garden, across the flower beds to your very window, the

-one that opens from the morning room. There is another trail leading

-from this spot across the road to the cliffs, then to the gravel pit,

-and thence across the moor to the forest of Kerselec. We are going to

-mount in a minute and search the bosquets. Will you join us? Bon Dieu!

-but the fellow bled like an ox. Max Fortin says it's human blood, or I

-should not have believed it."

-

-The little chemist of Quimperle came up at that moment, rubbing his

-glasses with a coloured handkerchief.

-

-"Yes, it is human blood," he said, "but one thing puzzles me: the

-corpuscles are yellow. I never saw any human blood before with yellow

-corpuscles. But your English Doctor Thompson asserts that he has----"

-

-"Well, it's human blood, anyway--isn't it?" insisted Durand,

-impatiently.

-

-"Ye-es," admitted Max Fortin.

-

-"Then it's my business to trail it," said the big gendarme, and he

-called his men and gave the order to mount.

-

-"Did you hear anything last night?" asked Durand of me.

-

-"I heard the rain. I wonder the rain did not wash away these traces."

-

-"They must have come after the rain ceased. See this thick splash, how

-it lies over and weighs down the wet grass blades. Pah!"

-

-It was a heavy, evil-looking clot, and I stepped back from it, my

-throat closing in disgust.

-

-"My theory," said the brigadier, "is this: Some of those Biribi

-fishermen, probably the Icelanders, got an extra glass of cognac into

-their hides and quarrelled on the road. Some of them were slashed, and

-staggered to your house. But there is only one trail, and yet--and yet,

-how could all that blood come from only one person? Well, the wounded

-man, let us say, staggered first to your house and then back here, and

-he wandered off, drunk and dying, God knows where. That's my theory."

-

-"A very good one," said I calmly. "And you are going to trail him?"

-

-"Yes."

-

-"When?"

-

-"At once. Will you come?"

-

-"Not now. I'll gallop over by-and-bye. You are going to the edge of the

-Kerselec forest?"

-

-"Yes; you will hear us calling. Are you coming, Max Fortin? And you, Le

-Bihan? Good; take the dog-cart."

-

-The big gendarme tramped around the corner to the stable and presently

-returned mounted on a strong gray horse; his sabre shone on his saddle;

-his pale yellow and white facings were spotless. The little crowd of

-white-coiffed women with their children fell back, as Durand touched

-spurs and clattered away followed by his two troopers. Soon after Le

-Bihan and Max Fortin also departed in the mayor's dingy dog-cart.

-

-"Are you coming?" piped Le Bihan shrilly.

-

-"In a quarter of an hour," I replied, and went back to the house.

-

-When I opened the door of the morning room the death's-head moth was

-beating its strong wings against the window. For a second I hesitated,

-then walked over and opened the sash. The creature fluttered out,

-whirred over the flower beds a moment, then darted across the moorland

-toward the sea. I called the servants together and questioned them.

-Josephine, Catherine, Jean Marie Tregunc, not one of them had heard

-the slightest disturbance during the night. Then I told Jean Marie to

-saddle my horse, and while I was speaking Lys came down.

-

-"Dearest," I began, going to her.

-

-"You must tell me everything you know, Dick," she interrupted, looking

-me earnestly in the face.

-

-"But there is nothing to tell--only a drunken brawl, and some one

-wounded."

-

-"And you are going to ride--where, Dick?"

-

-"Well, over to the edge of Kerselec forest. Durand and the mayor, and

-Max Fortin, have gone on, following a--a trail."

-

-"What trail?"

-

-"Some blood."

-

-"Where did they find it?"

-

-"Out in the road there." Lys crossed herself.

-

-"Does it come near our house?"

-

-"Yes."

-

-"How near?"

-

-"It comes up to the morning-room window," said I, giving in.

-

-Her hand on my arm grew heavy. "I dreamed last night----"

-

-"So did I----" but I thought of the empty cartridges in my revolver,

-and stopped.

-

-"I dreamed that you were in great danger, and I could not move hand or

-foot to save you; but you had your revolver, and I called out to you to

-fire----"

-

-"I did fire!" I cried excitedly.

-

-"You--you fired?"

-

-I took her in my arms. "My darling," I said, "something strange has

-happened--something that I can not understand as yet. But, of course,

-there is an explanation. Last night I thought I fired at the Black

-Priest."

-

-"Ah!" gasped Lys.

-

-"Is that what you dreamed?"

-

-"Yes, yes, that was it! I begged you to fire----"

-

-"And I did."

-

-Her heart was beating against my breast. I held her close in silence.

-

-"Dick," she said at length, "perhaps you killed the--the thing."

-

-"If it was human I did not miss," I answered grimly. "And it was

-human," I went on, pulling myself together, ashamed of having so nearly

-gone to pieces. "Of course it was human! The whole affair is plain

-enough. Not a drunken brawl, as Durand thinks; it was a drunken lout's

-practical joke, for which he has suffered. I suppose I must have filled

-him pretty full of bullets, and he has crawled away to die in Kerselec

-forest. It's a terrible affair; I'm sorry I fired so hastily; but that

-idiot Le Bihan and Max Fortin have been working on my nerves till I am

-as hysterical as a schoolgirl," I ended angrily.

-

-"You fired--but the window glass was not shattered," said Lys in a low

-voice.

-

-"Well, the window was open, then. And as for the--the rest--I've got

-nervous indigestion, and a doctor will settle the Black Priest for me,

-Lys."

-

-I glanced out of the window at Tregunc waiting with my horse at the

-gate.

-

-"Dearest, I think I had better go to join Durand and the others."

-

-"I will go too."

-

-"Oh, no!"

-

-"Yes, Dick."

-

-"Don't, Lys."

-

-"I shall suffer every moment you are away."

-

-"The ride is too fatiguing, and we can't tell what unpleasant sight

-you may come upon. Lys, you don't really think there is anything

-supernatural in this affair?"

-

-"Dick," she answered gently, "I am a Bretonne." With both arms around

-my neck, my wife said, "Death is the gift of God. I do not fear it when

-we are together. But alone--oh, my husband, I should fear a God who

-could take you away from me!"

-

-We kissed each other soberly, simply, like two children. Then Lys

-hurried away to change her gown, and I paced up and down the garden

-waiting for her.

-

-She came, drawing on her slender gauntlets. I swung her into the

-saddle, gave a hasty order to Jean Marie, and mounted.

-

-Now, to quail under thoughts of terror on a morning like this, with Lys

-in the saddle beside me, no matter what had happened or might happen,

-was impossible. Moreover, Mome came sneaking after us. I asked Tregunc

-to catch him, for I was afraid he might be brained by our horses' hoofs

-if he followed, but the wily puppy dodged and bolted after Lys, who

-was trotting along the high-road. "Never mind," I thought; "if he's hit

-he'll live, for he has no brains to lose."

-

-Lys was waiting for me in the road beside the Shrine of Our Lady of St.

-Gildas when I joined her. She crossed herself, I doffed my cap, then we

-shook out our bridles and galloped toward the forest of Kerselec.

-

-We said very little as we rode. I always loved to watch Lys in the

-saddle. Her exquisite figure and lovely face were the incarnation of

-youth and grace; her curling hair glistened like threaded gold.

-

-Out of the corner of my eye I saw the spoiled puppy Mome come bounding

-cheerfully alongside, oblivious of our horses' heels. Our road swung

-close to the cliffs. A filthy cormorant rose from the black rocks and

-flapped heavily across our path. Lys's horse reared, but she pulled him

-down, and pointed at the bird with her riding crop.

-

-"I see," said I; "it seems to be going our way. Curious to see a

-cormorant in a forest, isn't it?"

-

-"It is a bad sign," said Lys. "You know the Morbihan proverb: 'When

-the cormorant turns from the sea, Death laughs in the forest, and wise

-woodsmen build boats.'"

-

-"I wish," said I sincerely, "that there were fewer proverbs in

-Brittany."

-

-We were in sight of the forest now; across the gorse I could see

-the sparkle of gendarmes' trappings, and the glitter of Le Bihan's

-silver-buttoned jacket. The hedge was low and we took it without

-difficulty, and trotted across the moor to where Le Bihan and Durand

-stood gesticulating.

-

-They bowed ceremoniously to Lys as we rode up.

-

-"The trail is horrible--it is a river," said the mayor in his squeaky

-voice. "Monsieur Darrel, I think perhaps madame would scarcely care to

-come any nearer."

-

-Lys drew bridle and looked at me.

-

-"It is horrible!" said Durand, walking up beside me; "it looks as

-though a bleeding regiment had passed this way. The trail winds and

-winds about there in the thickets; we lose it at times, but we always

-find it again. I can't understand how one man--no, nor twenty--could

-bleed like that!"

-

-A halloo, answered by another, sounded from the depths of the forest.

-

-"It's my men; they are following the trail," muttered the brigadier.

-"God alone knows what is at the end!"

-

-"Shall we gallop back, Lys?" I asked.

-

-"No; let us ride along the western edge of the woods and dismount. The

-sun is so hot now, and I should like to rest for a moment," she said.

-

-"The western forest is clear of anything disagreeable," said Durand.

-

-"Very well," I answered; "call me, Le Bihan, if you find anything."

-

-Lys wheeled her mare, and I followed across the springy heather, Mome

-trotting cheerfully in the rear.

-

-We entered the sunny woods about a quarter of a kilometre from where

-we left Durand. I took Lys from her horse, flung both bridles over a

-limb, and, giving my wife my arm, aided her to a flat mossy rock which

-overhung a shallow brook gurgling among the beech trees. Lys sat down

-and drew off her gauntlets. Mome pushed his head into her lap, received

-an undeserved caress, and came doubtfully toward me. I was weak enough

-to condone his offence, but I made him lie down at my feet, greatly to

-his disgust.

-

-I rested my head on Lys's knees, looking up at the sky through the

-crossed branches of the trees.

-

-"I suppose I have killed him," I said. "It shocks me terribly, Lys."

-

-"You could not have known, dear. He may have been a robber,

-and--if--not---- Did--have you ever fired your revolver since that day

-four years ago, when the Red Admiral's son tried to kill you? But I

-know you have not."

-

-"No," said I, wondering. "It's a fact, I have not. Why?"

-

-"And don't you remember that I asked you to let me load it for you the

-day when Yves went off, swearing to kill you and his father?"

-

-"Yes, I do remember. Well?"

-

-"Well, I--I took the cartridges first to St. Gildas chapel and dipped

-them in holy water. You must not laugh, Dick," said Lys gently, laying

-her cool hands on my lips.

-

-"Laugh, my darling!"

-

-Overhead the October sky was pale amethyst, and the sunlight burned

-like orange flame through the yellow leaves of beech and oak. Gnats

-and midges danced and wavered overhead; a spider dropped from a twig

-halfway to the ground and hung suspended on the end of his gossamer

-thread.

-

-"Are you sleepy, dear?" asked Lys, bending over me.

-

-"I am--a little; I scarcely slept two hours last night," I answered.

-

-"You may sleep, if you wish," said Lys, and touched my eyes caressingly.

-

-"Is my head heavy on your knees?"

-

-"No, Dick."

-

-I was already in a half doze; still I heard the brook babbling under

-the beeches and the humming of forest flies overhead. Presently even

-these were stilled.

-

-The next thing I knew I was sitting bolt upright, my ears ringing with

-a scream, and I saw Lys cowering beside me, covering her white face

-with both hands.

-

-As I sprang to my feet she cried again and clung to my knees. I saw my

-dog rush growling into a thicket, then I heard him whimper, and he came

-backing out, whining, ears flat, tail down. I stooped and disengaged

-Lys's hand.

-

-"Don't go, Dick!" she cried. "O God, it's the Black Priest!"

-

-In a moment I had leaped across the brook and pushed my way into the

-thicket. It was empty. I stared about me; I scanned every tree trunk,

-every bush. Suddenly I saw him. He was seated on a fallen log, his head

-resting in his hands, his rusty black robe gathered around him. For

-a moment my hair stirred under my cap; sweat started on forehead and

-cheek-bone; then I recovered my reason, and understood that the man was

-human and was probably wounded to death. Ay, to death; for there, at my

-feet, lay the wet trail of blood, over leaves and stones, down into the

-little hollow, across to the figure in black resting silently under the

-trees.

-

-I saw that he could not escape even if he had the strength, for before

-him, almost at his very feet, lay a deep, shining swamp.

-

-As I stepped forward my foot broke a twig. At the sound the figure

-started a little, then its head fell forward again. Its face was

-masked. Walking up to the man, I bade him tell where he was wounded.

-Durand and the others broke through the thicket at the same moment and

-hurried to my side.

-

-"Who are you who hide a masked face in a priest's robe?" said the

-gendarme loudly.

-

-There was no answer.

-

-"See--see the stiff blood all over his robe!" muttered Le Bihan to

-Fortin.

-

-"He will not speak," said I.

-

-"He may be too badly wounded," whispered Le Bihan.

-

-"I saw him raise his head," I said; "my wife saw him creep up here."

-

-Durand stepped forward and touched the figure.

-

-"Speak!" he said.

-

-"Speak!" quavered Fortin.

-

-Durand waited a moment, then with a sudden upward movement he stripped

-off the mask and threw back the man's head. We were looking into the

-eye sockets of a skull. Durand stood rigid; the mayor shrieked. The

-skeleton burst out from its rotting robes and collapsed on the ground

-before us. From between the staring ribs and the grinning teeth spurted

-a torrent of black blood, showering the shrinking grasses; then the

-thing shuddered, and fell over into the black ooze of the bog. Little

-bubbles of iridescent air appeared from the mud; the bones were slowly

-engulfed, and, as the last fragments sank out of sight, up from the

-depths and along the bank crept a creature, shiny, shivering, quivering

-its wings.

-

-It was a death's-head moth.

-

-       *       *       *       *       *

-

-I wish I had time to tell you how Lys outgrew superstitions--for she

-never knew the truth about the affair, and she never will know, since

-she has promised not to read this book. I wish I might tell you about

-the king and his coronation, and how the coronation robe fitted. I wish

-that I were able to write how Yvonne and Herbert Stuart rode to a boar

-hunt in Quimperle, and how the hounds raced the quarry right through

-the town, overturning three gendarmes, the notary, and an old woman.

-But I am becoming garrulous, and Lys is calling me to come and hear the

-king say that he is sleepy. And his Highness shall not be kept waiting.

-

-       *       *       *       *       *

-

-  THE KING'S CRADLE SONG.

-

-      Seal with a seal of gold

-      The scroll of a life unrolled;

-    Swathe him deep in his purple stole;

-    Ashes of diamonds, crystalled coal,

-      Drops of gold in each scented fold.

-

-    Crimson wings of the Little Death,

-    Stir his hair with your silken breath;

-    Flaming wings of sins to be,

-    Splendid pinions of prophecy,

-      Smother his eyes with hues and dyes,

-  While the white moon spins and the winds arise,

-      And the stars drip through the skies.

-

-      Wave, O wings of the Little Death!

-      Seal his sight and stifle his breath,

-    Cover his breast with the gemmed shroud pressed;

-    From north to north, from west to west,

-      Wave, O wings of the Little Death!

-  Till the white moon reels in the cracking skies,

-      And the ghosts of God arise.

-

-

-

-

-THE WHITE SHADOW.

-

-

-  We are no other than a moving row

-  Of magic shadow-shapes, that come and go

-    Round with this sun-illumined lantern, held

-  In midnight by the master of the show.

-

-  A moment's halt--a momentary taste

-  Of being from the well amid the waste--

-    And lo! the phantom caravan has reached

-  The nothing it set out from. Oh, make haste!

-

-  Ah, Love! could you and I with him conspire

-  To grasp this sorry scheme of things entire,

-    Would not we shatter it to bits--and then

-  Remould it nearer to the heart's desire!

-

-                                        FITZGERALD.

-

-

-

-

-THE WHITE SHADOW.

-

-  Listen, then, love, and with your white hand clear

-  Your forehead from its cloudy hair.

-

-

-I.

-

-"Three great hulking cousins," said she, closing her gray eyes

-disdainfully.

-

-We accepted the rebuke in astonished silence. Presently she opened her

-eyes, and seemed surprised to see us there yet.

-

-"O," she said, "if you think I am going to stay here until you make up

-your minds----"

-

-"I've made up mine," said Donald. "We will go to the links. You may

-come."

-

-"I shall not," she announced. "Walter, what do you propose?"

-

-Walter looked at his cartridge belt and then at the little

-breech-loader standing in a corner of the arbour.

-

-"Oh, I know," she said, "but I won't! I won't! I won't!"

-

-The uncles and aunts on the piazza turned to look at us; her mother

-arose from a steamer-chair and came across the lawn.

-

-"Won't what, Sweetheart?" she asked, placing both hands on her

-daughter's shoulders.

-

-"Mamma, Walter wants me to shoot, and Don wants me to play golf, and

-I--won't!"

-

-"She doesn't know what she wants," said I.

-

-"Don't I?" she said, flushing with displeasure.

-

-"Her mother might suggest something," hazarded Donald. We looked at our

-aunt.

-

-"Sweetheart is spoiled," said that lady decisively. "If you children

-don't go away at once and have a good time, I shall find employment for

-her."

-

-"Algebra?" I asked maliciously.

-

-"How dare you!" cried Sweetheart, sitting up. "Oh, isn't he mean! isn't

-he ignoble!--and I've done my algebra; haven't I, mamma?"

-

-"But your French?" I began.

-

-Donald laughed, and so did Walter. As for Sweetheart, she arose in all

-the dignity of sixteen years, closed her eyes with superb insolence,

-and, clasping her mother's waist with one round white arm, marched out

-of the arbour.

-

-"We tease her too much," said Donald.

-

-"She's growing up fast; we ought not to call her 'Sweetheart' when she

-puts her hair up," added Walter.

-

-"She's going to put it up in October, when she goes back to school,"

-said Donald. "Jack, she will hate you if you keep reminding her of her

-algebra and French."

-

-"Then I'll stop," said I, suddenly conscious what an awful thing it

-would be if she hated me.

-

-Donald's two pointers came frisking across the lawn from the kennels,

-and Donald picked up his gun.

-

-"Here we go again," said I. "Donny's going to the coverts after grouse,

-Walter's going up on the hill with his dust-shot and arsenic, and I'm

-going across the fields after butterflies. Why the deuce can't we all

-go together, just for once?"

-

-"And take Sweetheart? She would like it if we all went together," said

-Walter; "she is tired of seeing Jack net butterflies."

-

-"Collecting birds and shooting grouse are two different things," began

-Donald. "You spoil my dogs by shooting your confounded owls and humming

-birds."

-

-"Oh, your precious dogs!" I cried. "Shut up, Donny, and give Sweetheart

-a good day's tramp. It's a pity if three cousins can't pool their

-pleasures for once."

-

-Donald nodded uncertainly.

-

-"Come on," said Walter, "we'll find Sweetheart. Jack, you get your

-butterfly togs and come back here."

-

-I nodded, and watched my two cousins sauntering across the lawn--big,

-clean-cut fellows, resembling each other enough to be brothers instead

-of cousins.

-

-We all resembled each other more or less, Donald, Walter, and I. As for

-Sweetheart, she looked like none of us.

-

-It was all very well for her mother to call her Sweetheart, and for

-her aunts to echo it in chorus, but the time was coming when we saw we

-should have to stop. A girl of sixteen with such a name is ridiculous,

-and Sweetheart was nearly seventeen; and her hair was "going up" and

-her gowns were "coming down" in October.

-

-Her own name was pretty enough. I don't know that I ought to tell it,

-but I will: it was the same as her mother's. We called her Sweetheart

-sometimes, sometimes "The Aspen Beauty." Donald had given her that name

-from a butterfly in my collection, the Vanessa Pandora, commonly known

-as the Aspen beauty, from its never having been captured in America

-except in our village of Aspen.

-

-Here, in the north of New York State, we four cousins spent our summers

-in the family house. There was not much to do in Aspen. We used the

-links, we galloped over the sandy roads, we also trotted our several

-hobbies, Donald, Walter, and I. Sweetheart had no hobby; to make up for

-this, however, she owned a magnificent team of betes-noires--Algebra

-and French.

-

-As for me, my butterfly collection languished. I had specimens of

-nearly every butterfly in New York State, and I rather longed for new

-states to conquer. Anyway, there were plenty of Aspen beauties--I mean

-the butterflies--flying about the roads and balm-of-Gilead trees, and

-perhaps that is why I lingered there long enough to collect hundreds of

-duplicates for exchange. And perhaps it wasn't.

-

-I thought of these things as I sat in the sun-flecked arbour, watching

-the yellow elm leaves flutter down from the branches. I thought, too,

-of Sweetheart, and wondered how she would look with her hair up. And

-while I sat there smoking, watching the yellow leaves drifting across

-the lawn, a sharp explosion startled me and I raised my head.

-

-Sweetheart was standing on the lawn, gazing dreamily at the smoking

-debris of a large firecracker.

-

-"What's that for?" I asked.

-

-"It proclaims my independence," said Sweetheart--"my independence

-forever. Hereafter my cousins will ask to accompany me on my walks;

-they need no longer charitably permit me to accompany them. Are you

-three boys going to ride your hobbies?"

-

-"We are," I said.

-

-"Then good-bye. I am going to walk."

-

-"Can't we come too?" I asked, laughing.

-

-"Oh," she said graciously, "if you put it in that way I could not

-refuse."

-

-"May we bring our guns?" asked Donald from the piazza.

-

-"May I bring my net?" I added, half amused, half annoyed.

-

-She made a gesture, indifferent, condescending.

-

-"Dear me!" murmured the aunts in chorus from the piazza as we trooped

-after the Aspen beauty, "Sweetheart is growing very fast."

-

-I smiled vaguely at Sweetheart. I was wondering how she would look in

-long frocks and coiled hair.

-

-

-II.

-

-In the fall of the year the meadows of Aspen glimmer in the sunlight

-like crumpled sheets of beaten gold; for Aspen is the land of

-golden-rod, of yellow earth and gilded fern.

-

-There the crisp oaks rustle, every leaf a blot of yellow; there the

-burnished pines sound, sound, tremble, and resound, like gilt-stringed

-harps aquiver in the wind.

-

-Sweet fern, sun-dried, bronzed, fills all the hills with incense, vague

-and delicate as the white down drifting from the frothy milkweed.

-

-And where the meadow brook prattled, limpid, filtered with sunlight,

-Sweetheart stood knee-deep in fragrant mint, watching the aimless

-minnows swimming in circles. On a distant hill, dark against the blue,

-Donald moved with his dogs, and I saw the sun-glint on his gun, and I

-heard the distant "Hi--on! Hi--on!" long after he disappeared below the

-brown hill's brow.

-

-Walter, too, had gone, leaving us there by the brook together,

-Sweetheart and I; and I saw the crows flapping and circling far over

-the woods, and I heard the soft report of his dust-shot shells among

-the trees.

-

-"The ruling passion, Sweetheart," I said. "Donny chases the phantom of

-pleasure with his dogs. The phantom flies from Walter, and he follows

-with his dust-shot."

-

-"Then," said Sweetheart, "follow your phantom also; there are

-butterflies everywhere." She raised both arms and turned from the

-brook. "Everywhere flying I see butterflies--phantoms of pleasure; and,

-Jack, you do not follow with your net."

-

-"No," said I, "the world to-day is too fair to--slay in. I even doubt

-that the happiness of empires hinges on the discovery of a new species

-of anything. Do I bore you?"

-

-"A little," said Sweetheart, touching the powdered gold of the blossoms

-about her. She laid the tip of her third finger on her lips and then

-on the golden-rod. "I shall not pick it; the world is too fair to-day,"

-she said. "What are you going to do, Jack?"

-

-"I could doze," I said. "Could you?"

-

-"Yes--if you told me stories."

-

-I contemplated her in silence for a moment. After a while she sat down

-under an oak and clasped her hands.

-

-"I am growing so old," she sighed, "I no longer take pleasure

-in childish things--Donald's dogs, Walter's humming birds, your

-butterflies. Jack?"

-

-"What?"

-

-"Sit down on the grass."

-

-"What for?"

-

-"Because I ask you."

-

-I sat down.

-

-Presently she said: "I am as tall as mamma. Why should I study algebra?"

-

-"Because," I answered evasively.

-

-"Your answer is as rude as though I were twenty, instead of sixteen,"

-said Sweetheart. "If you treat me as a child from this moment, I shall

-hate you."

-

-"Me--Sweetheart?"

-

-"And that name!--it is good for children and kittens."

-

-I looked at her seriously. "It is good for women, too--when it is

-time," I said. "I prophesy that one day you will hear it again. As for

-me, I shall not call you by that name if you dislike it."

-

-"I am a woman--now," she said.

-

-"Oh! at sixteen."

-

-"To-morrow I am to be seventeen."

-

-Presently, looking off at the blue hills, I said: "For a long time

-I have recognised that that subtle, indefinable attitude--we call

-it deference--due from men to women is due from us to you. Donny and

-Walter are slower to accept this. You know what you have been to us

-as a child; we can't bear to lose you--to meet you in another way--to

-reckon with you as we reckon with a woman. But it is true: our little

-Sweetheart has vanished, and--_you_ are here!"

-

-The oak leaves began to rustle in the hill winds; the crows cawed from

-the woods.

-

-"Oui c'est moi," she said at length.

-

-"I shall never call you Sweetheart again," I said, smiling.

-

-"Who knows?" she laughed, and leaned over to pick a blade of wild

-wheat. She coloured faintly a moment later, and said: "I didn't mean

-that, Jack."

-

-And so Sweetheart took her first step across that threshold of mystery,

-the Temple of Idols. And of the gilded idols within the temple, one

-shall turn to living flesh at the sound of a voice. And lo! where

-a child had entered, a woman returned with the key to the Temple of

-Gilded Idols.

-

-"Jack," said Sweetheart, "you are wrong. No day is too fair to kill in.

-I shall pick my arms full--full of flowers."

-

-Over the yellow fields, red with the stalks of the buckwheat, crowned

-with a glimmering cloud of the dusty gold of the golden-rod, Sweetheart

-passed, pensive, sedate, awed by the burden of sixteen years.

-

-I followed.

-

-Over the curling fern and wind-stirred grasses the silken milkweed

-seeds sailed, sailed, and the great red-brown butterflies drifted

-above, ruddy as autumn leaves aglow in the sun.

-

-"On the sand-cliff there are marigolds," said Sweetheart.

-

-I looked at the mass of wild flowers in her arms; her white polished

-skin reflected the blaze of colour, warming like ivory under their

-glow.

-

-"Marigolds," I repeated; "we will get some."

-

-"The sand slides on the face of the cliff; you must be careful," she

-said.

-

-"And I may see one of those rare cliff butterflies. I haven't any good

-examples."

-

-I fancy she was not listening; the crows were clamouring above the

-beech woods; the hill winds filled our ears with a sound like the sound

-of the sea on shoals. Her gray eyes, touched with the sky's deep blue

-and the blue of the misty hills, looked out across the miles of woods

-and fields, and saw a world; not a world old, scarred, rock-ribbed, and

-salt with tears, but a new world, youthful, ripe, sunny, hazy with the

-splendour of wonders hidden behind the horizon--a world jewelled with

-gems, spanned by rose-mist rainbows--a world of sixteen years.

-

-"We are already at the cliff's edge," I said.

-

-She stepped to the edge and looked over. I drew her back. The sand

-started among the rocks, running, running with a sound like silver

-water.

-

-"Then you shall not go either," she said. "I do not care for marigolds."

-

-But I was already on the edge, stooping for a blossom. The next instant

-I fell.

-

-There was a whistle of sand, a flurry and a rush of wind, a blur of

-rock, fern, dead grasses--a cry!

-

-For I remember as I fell, falling I called, "Sweetheart!" and again

-"Sweetheart!" Then my body struck the rocks below.

-

-

-III.

-

-Of all the seconds that tick the whole year through, of all the seconds

-that have slipped onward marking the beat of time since time was

-loosed, there is one, one brief moment, steeped in magic and heavy with

-oblivion, that sometimes lingers in the soul of man, annihilating space

-and time. If, at the feet of God, a year is a second passed unnoted,

-this magic second, afloat on the tide of time, moves on and on till,

-caught in the vortex of some life's whirl, it sinks into the soul of a

-being near to death.

-

-And in that soul the magic second glows and lingers, stretching into

-minutes, hours, days--aye, days and days, till, if the magic hold, the

-calm years crowd on one by one; and yet it all is but a second--that

-magic moment that comes on the tide of time--that came to me and was

-caught up in my life's whirl as I fell, dropping there between sky and

-earth.

-

-And so that magic moment grew to minutes, to hours; and when my body,

-whirling, pitching, struck and lay flung out on the earth, the magic

-second grew until the crystal days fell from my life, as beads, one by

-one, fall from the rosaries that saints tell kneeling.

-

-Those days of a life that I have lived, those years that linger still

-aglow in the sun behind me, dim yet splendid as dust-dimmed jewels,

-they also have ended, not in vague night, but in the sunburst of

-another second--such a second as ticks from my watch as I write, quick,

-sharp, joyous, irrevocable! So, of that magic second, or day, or year,

-I shall tell--I, as I was, standing beside my body flung there across

-the earth.

-

-I looked at my body, lying in a heap, then turned to the sand cliff

-smiling.

-

-"Sweetheart!" I called.

-

-But she was already at my side.

-

-We walked on through fragrant pastures, watching the long shadows

-stretch from field to field, speaking of what had been and of all that

-was to be. It was so simple--everything was clear before us. Had there

-been doubts, fears, sudden alarms, startled heartbeats?

-

-If there had been, now they were ended forever.

-

-"Not forever," said Sweetheart; "who knows how long the magic second

-may last?"

-

-"But we--what difference can that make?" I asked.

-

-"To us?"

-

-"Yes."

-

-"None," said Sweetheart decisively.

-

-We looked out into the west. The sun turned to a mound of cinders; the

-hills loomed in opalescent steam.

-

-"But--but--your shadow!" said Sweetheart.

-

-I bent my head, thrilled with happiness.

-

-"And yours," I whispered.

-

-The shadows we cast were whiter than snow.

-

-I still heard the hill winds, soft in my ears as breaking surf; a

-bird-note came from the dusky woodland; a star broke out overhead.

-

-"What is your pleasure, Sweetheart, now all is said?" I asked.

-

-"The world is all so fair," she sighed; "is it fairer beyond the hills,

-Jack?"

-

-"It is fair where you pass by, north, south, and from west to west

-again. In France the poplars are as yellow as our oaks. In Morbihan the

-gorse gilds all the hills, yellow as golden-rod. Shall we go?"

-

-"But in the spring--let us wait until spring."

-

-"Where?"

-

-"Here."

-

-"Until spring?"

-

-"It is written that Time shall pass as a shadow across the sea. What

-is that book there under your feet--that iron-bound book, half embedded

-like a stone in the grass."

-

-"I did not see it!"

-

-"Bring it to me."

-

-I raised the book; it left a bare mark in the sod as a stone that is

-turned. Then, holding it on my knees, I opened it, and Sweetheart,

-leaning on my shoulder, read. The tall stars flared like candles,

-flooding the page with diamond light; the earth, perfumed with

-blossoms, stirred with the vague vibration of countless sounds, tiny

-voices swaying breathless in the hidden surge of an endless harmony.

-

-"The white shadow is the shadow of the soul," she read. Even the winds

-were hushed as her sweet lips moved.

-

-"And what shall make thee to understand what hell is?... When the

-sun shall be folded up as a garment that is laid away; when the stars

-fall, and the seas boil, and when souls shall be joined again to their

-bodies; and when the girl who hath been buried alive shall be asked

-for what crime; when books shall be laid open, when hell shall burn

-fiercely, and when paradise shall be brought very near:

-

-"Every soul shall know what it hath wrought!"

-

-I closed my eyes; the splendour of the starlight on the page was more

-than my eyes could bear.

-

-But she read on; for what can dim her eyes?

-

-"O man, verily, labouring, thou labourest to meet thy LORD.

-

-"And thou shalt meet HIM!

-

-"When the earth shall be stretched like a skin, and shall cast forth

-that which is therein;

-

-"By the heaven adorned with signs, by the witness and the witnessed;

-

-"By that which appeareth by night; by the daybreak and the ten

-nights--the ten nights;

-

-"The night of Al Kadr is better than a thousand months.

-

-"Praise be to God, the Lord of all creatures; the Most Merciful, the

-King of the Day of Judgment. Thee do we worship, and of thee do we beg

-assistance. Direct us in the right way, in the way of those to whom

-thou hast been gracious; not of those against whom thou art incensed,

-nor of those who go astray!"

-

-       *       *       *       *       *

-

-In the sudden silence that spread across earth and heaven I heard the

-sound of a voice under the earth, calling, calling, calling.

-

-"It is already spring," said Sweetheart; and she rose, placing her

-white hands in mine. "Shall we go?"

-

-"But we are already there," I stammered, turning my eyes fearfully; for

-the tall pines dwindled and clustered and rose again cool and gray in

-the morning air, all turned to stone, fretted and carved like lacework;

-and where the pines had faded, the twin towers of a cathedral loomed;

-and where the hills swept across the horizon, the roofs of a white city

-glimmered in the morning sun. Bridges and quays and streets and domes

-and the hum of traffic and rattle of arms; and over all, the veil of

-haze and the twin gray towers of Notre Dame!

-

-"Sweetheart!" I faltered.

-

-But we were already in my studio.

-

-

-IV.

-

-The studio had not changed. The sun flooded it.

-

-Sweetheart sat in the broken armchair and watched me struggle with the

-packing. Every now and then she made an impulsive movement toward the

-heap of clothes on the floor, which I checked with a "Thanks! I can fix

-it all alone, Sweetheart."

-

-Clifford seemed to extract amusement from it all, and said as much to

-Rowden, who was as usual ruining my zitherine by trying to play it like

-a banjo.

-

-Elliott, knowing he could be of no use to us, had the decency to

-sit outside the studio on one of the garden benches. He appeared at

-intervals at the studio door, saying, "Come along, Clifford; they don't

-want you messing about. Drop that banjo, Rowden, or Jack will break

-your head with it--won't you, Jack?"

-

-I said I would, but not with the zitherine.

-

-Clifford flatly refused to move unless Sweetheart would take him

-out into our garden and show him the solitary goldfish which lurked

-in the fountain under the almond trees. But Sweetheart, apparently

-fascinated by the mysteries of packing, turned a deaf ear to Clifford's

-blandishments and Rowden's discords.

-

-"I imagined," said Clifford, somewhat hurt, "that you would delight in

-taking upon yourself the duties of a hostess. I should be pleased to

-believe that I am not an unwelcome guest."

-

-"So should I," echoed Rowden; "I'd be pleased too."

-

-"What a shame for you to bother, Jack!" she said. "Mr. Clifford shall

-go and make some tea directly. Mr. Rowden, you may take a table out by

-the fountain--and stay there."

-

-Clifford, motioning Elliott to take the other end of the Japanese

-table, backed with it through the hallway and out to the gravel walk,

-expostulating.

-

-"The sugar is there in that tin box by the model stand," she said, when

-he reappeared, "and the extra spoons are lying in a long box on Jack's

-big easel."

-

-When Rowden, reluctantly relinquishing the zitherine, followed

-Clifford, bearing the cups and alcohol lamp, I raised my head and

-wiped the dust from my forehead. I believe I swore a little in French.

-Sweetheart looked startled. She knew more French than I supposed she

-did.

-

-"What is it, Jack?"

-

-"Mais--rien, ca m'embete--cette espece de malle----"

-

-"Then why won't you let me help you, Jack? I can at least put in my

-gowns."

-

-"But I must pack my colour box first, and the gun case, and the

-box of reels, and the pastel case, and our shooting boots, and the

-water-colour box, and the cartridge belt, and your golf shoes, and----"

-

-"O dear!" said Sweetheart with a shudder.

-

-I stood up and scowled at the trunk.

-

-"To look at you, Jack," murmured Sweetheart, "one might think you

-unhappy."

-

-Unhappy! At the thought our eyes met across the table.

-

-"Unhappy!" I whispered.

-

-Then Clifford came stumbling in, wearing a pair of Joseph's sabots,

-and, imitating that faithful domestic in voice and manner, invited us

-to tea under the lilacs and almond blossoms.

-

-"In a moment," cried Sweetheart impatiently. "Go and pour the tea."

-

-Clifford looked aghast. "No, no!" he cried; "it's impossible--I won't

-believe that you two are deliberately getting rid of me so you can be

-alone to spoon! And your honeymoon already a year old, and----"

-

-Sweetheart frowned, and tapped her foot.

-

-Clifford retired indignant.

-

-Then she raised her eyes to mine, and a delicate colour stained her

-cheeks and neck.

-

-"Yes," I said, "we have been married nearly a year, Sweetheart."

-

-We looked at our white shadows on the floor.

-

-

-V.

-

-Sweetheart sat under the lilac blossoms pouring out tea for Clifford,

-Elliott, and Rowden. She was gracious to Clifford, gentle to Elliott,

-and she took Rowden under her wing in the sweetest way possible, to

-which Clifford stated his objections.

-

-"Mr. Rowden is younger than you are," she said gravely. "Monsieur

-Clifford, I do not wish you to torment him."

-

-"Rowden's no baby; he's as old as Jack is, and Jack doesn't murder

-music."

-

-"I am glad to see you acknowledge Jack's superiority in all matters,"

-said Sweetheart with a dangerous smile.

-

-"I don't," cried Clifford laughing; "and I don't see what you find

-to care about in a man who clips his hair like a gendarme and paints

-everything purple."

-

-"Everything is purple--if Jack paints it so," said Sweetheart, smiling

-at her reflected face in the water. She stood at the rim of the little

-stone fountain with her hands clasped behind her back. Elliott and

-Clifford were poking about in the water plants to dislodge the solitary

-goldfish, while Rowden gathered dewy clusters of lilacs as an offering.

-

-"There he goes!" said Elliott.

-

-"Poor fellow, living there all alone!" said Sweetheart. "Jack must

-leave word with Joseph to get him a little lady fish to pay his court

-to."

-

-"Better put in another gentleman fish, then, if you're following

-Nature," said Clifford, with an attempt at cynicism which drew the

-merriest laugh from Sweetheart.

-

-"Oh, how funny is Monsieur Clifford when he wants to be like

-Frenchmen!" she murmured.

-

-"Jack," said Elliott, as I came from the studio and picked up a cup of

-tea grown cold, "Clifford's doing the world-worn disenchanted roue."

-

-"And--and I fear he will next make love to me!" cried Sweetheart.

-

-"You'd better look out, Jack," said Clifford darkly, and pretended to

-sulk until Sweetheart sent him off to buy the bonbons she would need

-for the train.

-

-"They're packed," I said, "every trunk of them!"

-

-Sweetheart was enchanted. "All my new gowns, and the shoes

-from Rix's--O Jack, you didn't forget the shoes--and the bath

-robes--and----"

-

-"All packed," I said, swallowing the tea with a wry face.

-

-"Oh," she cried reproachfully, "don't drink that! Here, I will have

-some hot tea in a moment," and she ran over and perched on the arm of

-the garden bench while I lighted the alcohol lamp and then a cigarette.

-

-Rowden came up with his offering of lilacs, and she decorated each of

-us with a spray.

-

-It was growing late. The long shadows fell across the gravel walks and

-flecked the white walls of the sculptor's studio opposite.

-

-"It's the nine-o'clock train, isn't it?" said Elliott.

-

-"We will meet you at the station at eight-thirty," added Rowden.

-

-"You don't mind, do you, our dining alone?" said Sweetheart shyly;

-"it's our last day--Jack's and mine--in the old studio."

-

-"Not the last, I hope," said Elliott sincerely.

-

-We all sat silent for a moment.

-

-"O Paris, Paris--how I fear it!" murmured Sweetheart to me; and in the

-same breath, "No, no, we must love it, you and I."

-

-Then Elliott said aloud, "I suppose you have no idea when you will

-return?"

-

-"No," I replied, thinking of the magic second that had become a year.

-

-And so we dined alone, Sweetheart and I, in the old studio.

-

-At half-past eight o'clock the cab stood at the gate with all our traps

-piled on top, and Joseph and his wife and the two brats were crying,

-"Au revoir, madame! au revoir, monsieur! We will keep the studio well

-dusted. Bon voyage! bon voyage!" and all of a sudden my arm was caught

-by Sweetheart's little gloved hand, and she drew me back through

-the long ivy-covered alley to the garden where the studio stood, its

-doorway closed and silent, the hollow windows black and grim. Truly the

-light had passed away with the passing of Sweetheart. Her hand slipped

-from my arm, and she went and knelt down at the threshold and kissed

-it.

-

-"I first knew happiness when I first crossed it," she said; "it breaks

-my heart to leave it. Only that magic second! but it seems years that

-we have lived here."

-

-"It was you who brought happiness to it," I said.

-

-"Good-bye! good-bye, dear, dear, old studio!" she cried. "Oh, if Jack

-is always the same to me as he has been here--if he will be faithful

-and true in that new home!"

-

-The new home was to be in a strange land. Sweetheart was a little

-frightened, but was dying to go there. Sweetheart had never seen the

-golden gorse ablaze on the moors of Morbihan.

-

-

-VI.

-

-I went inside the brass railing and waited my turn to buy the tickets.

-When it came, I took two first class to Quimperle, for it was to be

-an all-night ride, and there was no sleeping car. Clifford had taken

-charge of the baggage, and I went with him to have it registered,

-leaving Sweetheart with Elliott and Rowden. All the traps were

-there--the big trunks, the big valises, my sketching kit, the zitherine

-in a leather case, two handbags, a bundle of umbrellas and canes, and a

-huge package of canvases. The toilet case and the rugs and waterproofs

-we took with us into the compartment.

-

-The compartment was empty. Sweetheart nestled into one corner, and

-when I had placed our traps in the racks overhead I sat down opposite,

-while Clifford handed in our sandwiches, a bottle of red wine, and

-Sweetheart's box of bonbons.

-

-We didn't say much; most had been said before starting. Clifford was

-more affected than he cared to show--I know by the way he grasped my

-hand. They are dear fellows, every one. We did not realize that we were

-actually going--going, perhaps, forever. She laughed, and chatted, and

-made fun of Clifford, and teased Rowden, aided and abetted by Elliott,

-until the starting gong clanged and a warning whistle sounded along the

-gaslit platform.

-

-"Jack," cried Clifford, leaning in the window, "God bless you! God

-bless you both!"

-

-Elliott touched her hand and wrung mine, and Rowden risked his neck to

-give us both one last cordial grasp.

-

-"Count on me--on us," cried Clifford, speaking in English, "if you

-are--troubled!"

-

-By what, my poor Clifford? Can you, with all your gay courage, turn

-back the hands of the dials? Can you, with all your warm devotion, add

-one second to the magic second and make it two? The shadows we cast are

-white.

-

-The train stole out into the night, and I saw them grouped on the

-platform, silhouettes in the glare of the yellow signals. I drew in my

-head and shut the window. Sweetheart's face had grown very serious, but

-now she smiled across from her corner.

-

-"Aren't you coming over by me, Jack?"

-

-

-VII.

-

-We must have been moving very swiftly, for the car rocked and trembled,

-and it was probably that which awoke me. I looked across at Sweetheart.

-She was lying on her side, one cheek resting on her gloved hand, her

-travelling cap pushed back, her eyes shut. I smoothed away the curly

-strands of hair which straggled across her cheeks, and tucked another

-rug well about her feet. Her feet were small as a child's. I speak as

-if she were not a child. She was eighteen then.

-

-The next time I awoke we lay in a long gaslit station. Some soldiers

-were disembarking from the forward carriages, and a gendarme stalked up

-and down the platform.

-

-I looked sleepily about for the name of the station. It was painted

-in blue over the buffet--"Petit St. Yves." "Is it possible we are in

-Brittany?" I thought. Then the voices of the station hands, who were

-hoisting a small boat upon the forward carriage, settled my doubts.

-"Allons! tire hardiment, Jean Louis! mets le cannotte deboutte."

-

-"Arrete toi Yves! doucement! doucement! Sacree garce!"

-

-Somewhere in the darkness a mellow bell tolled. I settled back to

-slumber, my eyes on Sweetheart.

-

-She slept.

-

-

-VIII.

-

-I awoke in a flood of brightest sunshine. From our window I could look

-into the centre of a most enchanting little town, all built of white

-limestone and granite. The June sunshine slanted on thatched roof and

-painted gable, and fairly blazed on the little river slipping by under

-the stone bridge in the square.

-

-The streets and the square were alive with rosy-faced women in white

-head-dresses. Everywhere the constant motion of blue skirts and

-spotless coiffes, the twinkle of varnished socks, the clump! clump! of

-sabots.

-

-Like a black shadow a priest stole across the square. Above him the

-cross on the church glowed like a live cinder, flashing its reflection

-along the purple-slated roof from the eaves of which a cloud of

-ash-gray pigeons drifted into the gutter below. I turned from the

-window to encounter Sweetheart's eyes. Her lips moved a little, her

-long lashes heavy with slumber drooped lower, then with a little sigh

-she sat bolt upright. When I laughed, as I always did, she smiled,

-a little confused, a little ashamed, murmuring: "Bonjour, mon cheri!

-Quelle heure est-il?" That was always the way Sweetheart awoke.

-

-"O dear, I am so rumpled!" she said. "Jack, get me the satchel this

-minute, and don't look at me until I ask you to."

-

-I unlocked the satchel, and then turning to the window again threw it

-wide open. Oh, how sweet came the morning air from the meadows! Some

-young fellows below on the bank of the stream were poking long cane

-fishing-rods under the arches of the bridge.

-

-"Sweetheart," I said over my shoulder, "I believe there are trout in

-this stream."

-

-"Mr. Elliott says that whenever you see a puddle you always say that,"

-she replied.

-

-"What does he know about it?" I answered, for I am touchy on the

-subject; "he doesn't know a catfish from a--a dogfish."

-

-"Neither do I, Jack dear, but I'm going to learn. Don't be cross."

-

-She had finished her toilet and came over to the window, leaning out

-over my shoulder.

-

-"Where are we?" she cried in startled wonder at the little white town

-and the acres of swaying clover. "Oh, Jack, is--is this the country?"

-

-A man in uniform passing under our window looked up surprised.

-

-"What are you doing here?" he demanded; then, seeing Sweetheart, he

-took off his gold-laced cap, and added, with a bow: "This carriage goes

-no farther, monsieur--madame----"

-

-"Merci!" exclaimed Sweetheart, "we wish to go to Quimperle!"

-

-"And we have tickets for Quimperle," I insisted.

-

-"But," smiled the official, "this is Quimperle."

-

-It was true. There was the name written over the end of the station;

-and, looking ahead, I saw that our car had been detached and was

-standing in stately seclusion under the freight shed. How long it had

-been standing so Heaven alone knows; but they evidently had neglected

-to call us, and there we were inhabiting a detached carriage in the

-heart of Quimperle. I managed to get a couple of porters, and presently

-we found all our traps piled up on the platform, and a lumbering

-vehicle with a Breton driver waiting to convey us to the hotel.

-

-"Which," said I to the docile Breton, "is the best hotel in Quimperle?"

-

-"The Hotel Lion d'Or," he replied.

-

-"How do you know?" I demanded.

-

-"Because," said he mildly, "it is the only hotel in Quimperle."

-

-Sweetheart observed that this ought to be convincing, even to me,

-and she tormented me all the way to the square, where I got even by

-pretending to be horrified at her dishevelled condition incident to a

-night's railway ride in a stuffy compartment.

-

-"Don't, Jack! people will look at us."

-

-"Let 'em."

-

-"Oh, this is cruel! Oh, I'll pay you for this!"

-

-And they did look at us--or rather at her; for from the time Sweetheart

-and I had cast our lots together, I noticed that I seemed to escape the

-observation of passers-by. When I lived alone in Paris I attracted a

-fair share of observation from the world as it wagged on its Parisian

-way. It was pleasant to meet a pretty girl's eyes now and then in the

-throng which flowed through the park and boulevard. I really never

-flattered myself that it was because of my personal beauty; but in

-Paris, any young fellow who is dressed in the manner of Albion, hatted

-and gloved in the same style, is not entirely a cipher. But now it was

-not the same, by a long shot.

-

-Sweetheart's beauty simply put me in my place as an unnoticed but

-perhaps correct supplement to her.

-

-She knew she was a beauty, and was delighted when she looked into her

-mirror. Nothing escaped her. The soft hair threaded with sunshine,

-which, when loosened, curled to her knees; the clear white forehead and

-straight brows; the nose delicate and a trifle upturned; the scarlet

-lips and fine cut chin--she knew the value of each of these. She was

-pleased with the soft, full curve of her throat, the little ears, and

-the colour which came and went in her cheeks.

-

-But her eyes were the first thing one noticed. They were the most

-beautiful gray eyes that ever opened under silken lashes. She approved

-of my telling her this, which duty I fulfilled daily. Perhaps it may be

-superfluous to say that we were very much in love. Did I say _were_?

-

-I think that, as I am chanting the graces of Sweetheart, it might not

-be amiss to say that she is just an inch shorter than I am, and that

-no Parisienne carried a pretty gown with more perfection than she

-did. I have seen gowns that looked like the devil on the manikin, but

-when Sweetheart wore them they were the astonishment and admiration of

-myself. And I do know when a woman is well dressed, though I am an art

-critic.

-

-Sweetheart regarded her beauty as an intimate affair between ourselves,

-a precious gift for our mutual benefit, to be carefully treasured and

-petted. Her attitude toward the world was unmistakable. The world might

-look--she was indifferent. With our intimate friends she was above

-being flattered. Clifford said to me once: "She carries her beauty as

-a princess would carry the Koh-i-noor--she knows she is worthy of it,

-and hopes it is worthy of her."

-

-"We ought to be so happy that I am beautiful!" she would say to me.

-"Just think, supposing I were not!"

-

-I used to try to make her believe that it would have made no difference.

-

-"Oh, not now," she would say gravely. "I know that if I lost it it

-would be the same to us both, now; but you can't make me believe that,

-at first, when you used to lean over the terrace of the Luxembourg and

-wait patiently for hours just to see me walk out of the Odeon."

-

-"I didn't," I would always explain; "I was there by accident."

-

-"Oh, what a funny accident to happen every day for two months!"

-

-"Stop teasing! Of course, after the first week----"

-

-"And what a funny accident that I should pass the same way every day

-for two months, when before I always went by the Rue de Seine!"

-

-There was once such an accident, and such a girl. I never knew her; she

-is dead. I wondered sometimes that Sweetheart knew, and believed it was

-she herself. Yet the other woman's shadow was black.

-

-Sweetheart had a most peculiar and unworldly habit of not embellishing

-facts. She presently displayed it when we arrived at the Hotel Lion

-d'Or.

-

-"Jack," said she nervously, "the cinders have made your face

-unpleasant. I am ashamed. They may not believe you are my husband."

-

-"As monsieur and madame," I said, "we may have dirty faces and be

-honest."

-

-"Do you suppose they--they will believe it? These queer people----"

-

-"They'd better!" I said fiercely.

-

-"I--I hadn't thought of that," she said. "You see, in our own little

-place in Paris everybody knew it, but here----"

-

-I said, "Dearest, what nonsense!" and we marched unceremoniously up

-to the register, where I wrote our names. Then, with a hasty little

-squeeze of her gloved hand, she turned to the maid and tripped off to

-inspect our quarters. While I was pumping the fat-headed old proprietor

-about the trout fishing in the vicinity, the maid returned with the

-request that I mount to the room above. I followed her along the tiled

-passages and found Sweetheart sitting on a trunk.

-

-"It's charming! charming!" she said. "Just look at the roses outside,

-and the square, and the river! and oh, Jack, the funny little Breton

-cattle, and the old man with knee-breeches! It's charming! and"--here

-she caught sight of the enraptured and fascinated maid--"and you are

-charming, with your red cheeks and white coiffe," she said. "Oh, how

-pretty!"

-

-"Oh, madame!" murmured the servant in dire confusion.

-

-I said, "Dearest, that will do. Nobody speaks of my peculiar charms,

-and I wish to be noticed."

-

-The presence of the maid prevented Sweetheart from making amends, so we

-told her we were satisfied, and we would spare her life if she prepared

-breakfast in seventeen seconds.

-

-She accepted the gift of existence with a dazed courtsey, and vanished.

-

-It was refreshing to get hold of a sponge and cold water after fourteen

-hours in a cramped compartment. Hunger drove us to hurry--a thing we

-rarely did in the morning--and the way we splashed cold water about

-would have been fatal to any but a tiled floor.

-

-"Dear," I said, "you have not yet seen me in my Tyrolese knickerbockers

-and beautiful shooting jacket. You have never beheld my legs clothed in

-Tyrolese stockings, at twenty francs a pair."

-

-"The legs?" she inquired from the depths of a bath robe.

-

-I ignored the question, and parted my hair with care. Then I sat down

-on the window and whistled.

-

-Of course I was ready first. Sweetheart's hair had got into a tangle

-and needed to be all combed out.

-

-"Oh, I know you are impatient, because you're whistling the Chant du

-Depart," she said from the door of her toilet room.

-

-"As usual," I said, "I am ready first."

-

-"If you say that again----" she threatened.

-

-I said it, and dodged a sponge. Presently I was requested to open the

-trunk and select a gown for her. Dear little Sweetheart! she loved

-to pretend that she had so many it needed long consultation to decide

-which.

-

-"The dark blue?" I inquired.

-

-"Don't you think it is too warm?"

-

-"The pale blue, then--or the pink and white?"

-

-"Why not the white, with the cuffs a l'Anglaise, and the canoe hat?"

-

-I hauled it out.

-

-Then, of course, she changed her mind.

-

-"I think the gray is better for the morning; then I can wear the big

-chip hat."

-

-I fished up the gray. It was light, almost silvery, and had white spots

-on it.

-

-"Jack, dear," she said, coming out with her hair tucked up in a knot,

-drawing the bath robe up to her chin with both hands, "I think that the

-white cloth would be better, and that I can wear the beret."

-

-By this time the trunk was in a pretty mess, which amused her; but at

-last I ferreted out the white cloth dress, and, refusing to listen to

-further discussion, sat down on the window seat. Sweetheart enjoyed it.

-

-"Stop telling me to hurry," she said; "I can't, if you keep saying it

-all the time."

-

-After a while she called me to fasten her corsage, which hooked with

-about ten hundred hooks along the side and collar. I hated to do it,

-and my finger ends stung for hours after, but, as Sweetheart very

-rightly says, "When we are rich enough to have a maid you needn't," I

-submitted with an air which delighted her. Her tormenting "Thank you,

-Jack," was the last straw, so I calmly picked her up and carried her

-out, and almost to the dining room, where I set her down just in time

-to avoid the proprietor and three domestics issuing from the office.

-

-Sweetheart was half inclined to laugh, half indignant, and wholly

-scandalized. But she did not dare say anything, for we were at the

-dining-room door.

-

-There were some people there, but except for a slight inclination we

-did not notice each other. We had a small table to ourselves by the

-rose-bowered window.

-

-We were very hungry. Breakfast began with fresh sardines just caught,

-and ended with little Breton cakes and a demi-tasse. I finished first;

-I always do, because the wretched habit of bolting my food, contracted

-while studying under Bouguereau at Julian's, clings to me yet. Oh,

-I shall have a merry time paying for it when I am forty! I began, as

-usual, to tease Sweetheart.

-

-"If you continue to eat like this, dear, you will never be able to wear

-your new frocks. This one seems a trifle too tight now."

-

-Sweetheart, who prided herself as much on her figure as on her lovely

-face, repelled the insult with disdain and nibbled her Breton biscuit

-defiantly. When at last she condescended to rise, we strolled out

-under the trees in front of the hotel, and sat down on the low stone

-wall surrounding the garden. The noon sun hung in the zenith, flooding

-the town with a dazzling downpour. Sunbeams glanced and danced on

-the water; sunbeams filtered through the foliage; sunbeams stole

-under Sweetheart's big straw hat, searching the depths of the gray

-eyes. Sunbeams played merry mischief with my ears and neck, which

-were beginning to sting in the first sunburn of the year. Through the

-square the white-coiffed women passed and repassed; small urchins with

-silver-buckled hatbands roamed about the bridge and market-place until

-collected and trooped off to school by a black-robed Jesuit frere;

-and in the shade of the trees a dozen sprawling men in Breton costume

-smoked their microscopical pipes and watched the water.

-

-"They are an industrious race," said I with fine irony, watching a

-happy inebriate pursuing a serpentine course toward the cafe opposite.

-

-Sweetheart, who was as patriotic a little girl as ever hummed the

-Marseillaise, and adopted France as long as she lived in it, was up in

-arms in an instant.

-

-"I have read," she said with conviction, "that the Bretons are a brave,

-industrious race. They are French."

-

-"They speak a different language," I said--"not a word of French in it."

-

-"They are French," repeated Sweetheart, with an inflection which

-decided me to shun the subject until I could unpack my guide-book.

-

-We sat a little while longer under the trees, until we both began

-nodding and mutually accused each other. Then Sweetheart went up to

-the room to take a nap, and I, scorning such weakness, lay down in a

-steamer chair under our window and fell fast asleep in no time.

-

-I was aroused by a big pink rose which hit me squarely on the mouth.

-Sweetheart was perched in the window seat above, and as I looked up she

-sent a shower of blossoms down upon me.

-

-"Jack, you lazy creature, it's five o'clock, and I'm dressed and ready

-for a walk!"

-

-"So am I," I said, jumping up.

-

-"But not like that. You must come up and make yourself nice for dinner."

-

-"Nice? What's the matter with these tweeds? Aren't these new stockings

-presentable?"

-

-"Look at your hair!" she said evasively. "Come up this minute and brush

-it."

-

-I went, and was compelled to climb into a white collar and shirt, and

-trousers of an English cut. But before we had gone far along the great

-military road that climbed the heights above the little river, I took

-Sweetheart's hand in mine and imparted to her my views and intentions

-upon the subject of my costume for the future.

-

-"You see, dearest, we are here in Brittany for three reasons. The

-first is, that I should paint outdoors. The second is, that we should

-economize like the deuce. The third is, our shadows----"

-

-"I know," she interrupted faintly. "Never mind, Jack, dear."

-

-We walked silently for a while, hand clasping hand very tightly, for we

-were both thinking of the third reason.

-

-I broke the silence first, speaking cheerfully, and she looked up with

-a quick smile while the shadow fell from her brow.

-

-"You see, dear, in this place, where we are going, there are no people

-but peasants. Your frocks are all right for a place like this; we

-must both wear our free-and-easy togs--I for painting, and you for

-scrambling about after your wild flowers or fishing with me. If you get

-tired of seeing me in corduroys or tweeds, I'll dress for you when you

-think you can't stand it any longer."

-

-"Oh, Jack, I do like your knickerbockers----"

-

-"And you shall wear your most gorgeous gown for me----"

-

-"Indeed I won't," she laughed, adding impulsively, "indeed I

-will--every day, if you wish it!"

-

-At the top of the hill stood an ancient Ursuline convent surrounded

-by a high wall, which also inclosed the broad acres of the wealthy

-sisterhood. We sat down by the roadside hedge and looked across the

-valley, where the hurrying river had ceased to hasten and now lingered

-in placid pools and long, deep reaches. The sun had set behind the

-forest, and the sky threw a purple light over woods and meadow. The

-grassy pools below were swept by flocks of whistling martins and

-swallows. One or two white gulls flapped slowly toward the tide water

-below, and a young curlew, speeding high overhead, uttered a lonesome

-cry. The grass--the brilliant green grass of Brittany--had turned a

-deep metallic blue in the twilight. A pale primrose light grew and died

-in the sky, and the forest changed from rose to ashes. Then a dull red

-bar shot across the parting clouds in the west, the forest smouldered

-an instant, and the pools glowed crimson. Slowly the red bar melted

-away, the light died out among the branches, the pools turned sombre.

-Looking up, we saw the new moon flashing in the sky above our heads.

-Sweetheart sighed in perfect contentment.

-

-"It's beautiful!" I said, with another sigh.

-

-"Ah, yes," she murmured, "beautiful to you, and to me--to me, Jack, who

-have never before seen this land of Morbihan."

-

-After a while she said, "And the ocean--oh, how I long to see it! Is it

-near us, Jack?"

-

-"The river runs into it twenty kilometres below. We feel the tide at

-Quimperle." I did not add, "Baedeker."

-

-"I wonder," I said presently, "what are the feelings of a little

-American who sees this country--the real country--for the first time?"

-

-"I suppose you mean me," she said. "I don't know--I don't think I

-understand it yet, but I know I shall love it, and never want to go

-back."

-

-"Perhaps we never shall," I said. "The magic second may stretch into

-years that end at last as all ends."

-

-Then our hands met in that sudden nervous clasp which seemed to help

-and steady us when we were thinking of the real world, so long, so long

-forgotten.

-

-

-IX.

-

-I was awakened next morning by a spongeful of cold water in the face,

-which I hate. I started up to wreak vengeance upon Sweetheart, but she

-fled to the toilet room and locked herself in. From this retreat she

-taunted me until further sleep was out of the question, and I bowed

-to the inevitable--indignantly, when I saw my watch pointed to five

-o'clock.

-

-Sweetheart was perfectly possessed to row; so when I had bolted my

-coffee and sat watching her placidly sip hers, we decided to go down to

-the bank of the little stream and hire a boat. The boat was a wretched,

-shapeless affair, with two enormous oars and the remnants of rowlocks.

-It was the best boat in town, so we took it. I managed to get away

-from the bank, and, conscious of Sweetheart's open admiration, pulled

-boldly down the stream. It was easy work, for the tide was ebbing. The

-river up to the bridge was tidal, but above the bridge it leaped and

-flowed, a regular salmon stream. Sweetheart was so impatient to take

-the oars that I relinquished them and picked up my rod. The boat swung

-down the stream and under the high stone viaduct, where I insisted

-on anchoring and whipping the promising-looking water. The water was

-likely enough, and the sudden splash of a leaping grilse added to its

-likelihood. I was in hopes a grilse might become entangled with one of

-the flies, but though a big one shot up out of the water within five

-feet of Sweetheart, causing her to utter a suppressed scream, neither

-grilse nor trout rose to the beautiful lures I trailed about, and I

-only hooked two or three enormous dace, which came up like logs and

-covered the bottom of the boat with their coarse scales.

-

-Sweetheart had never seen a French trout uncooked, and scarcely shared

-my disappointment.

-

-"They are splendid fish," she repeated; "you are unreasonable."

-

-There was an ancient Breton squatting on the bank; from his sulky

-attitude I took him to be a poacher visiting his infernal set lines and

-snares; but I hailed him pleasantly with a bonjour, which he returned

-civilly enough.

-

-"Are there trout in this stream?"

-

-"About the bridge," he replied cautiously.

-

-"Have you caught any?"

-

-"I ain't fishing," he said, much alarmed.

-

-"What's that?" I demanded, pointing to as plump a trout as ever I saw,

-floating on the end of a string under the bank.

-

-"Where?" he asked, looking about him with affected concern.

-

-"There!"

-

-He looked around, everywhere except where I pointed. He examined the

-horizon, and the tree tops, as though he expected a fish on every twig.

-I poled the boat up to the bank and pointed out the fish.

-

-"Ma doui!" he exclaimed, "there _is_ a fish!"

-

-"Yes, a trout," I said.

-

-"Trout?" He burst into a forced laugh. "Trout! Ha! ha! Why, monsieur,

-that is a dace--a poor little dace!" He hastily jerked it up with a

-long homemade gaff which lay--of course quite by accident--at his feet.

-

-"A poor little dace!" he mumbled. "Of course, monsieur would not care

-to claim such a poor, coarse little fish; but I am only too glad to eat

-it--ah, yes, only too glad!"

-

-"You see," said Sweetheart impulsively, "that you are wrong. Give him

-our fish; that will make four dace for the poor fellow."

-

-I placed the three dace across the blade of my oar and held it out to

-the poacher. He took them as if he were really glad to get them. Then

-I said, "These are dace, and they don't have red spots."

-

-He stood as if ready to bolt, but I laughed, and settled back on my

-oars, saying: "You're a poacher; but I don't care a continental, and

-you can poach all day in this confounded country, where there is about

-one trout to the kilometre. Don't look scared. What do I care? Only

-don't tell me I'm unable to distinguish a trout when I can see the tip

-of his nose."

-

-I then sailed majestically out into the stream.

-

-Sweetheart wanted to know whether that was really a real poacher.

-She had read about them. Her ideal poacher was a young, stalwart,

-eagle-eyed giant, with a tangle of hair and a disposition toward

-assassination. The reality shocked her.

-

-"Anyway," she said, "you frightened the poor old thing. How rough men

-are!"

-

-We returned to the landing place with difficulty, for the tide was

-still on the ebb, and we got aground more than once. My hands were in

-a fine condition when at last I drove that wretched scow into the mud

-and lifted Sweetheart out to the firm bank. The evil-eyed old man who

-rented us the boat glanced sardonically at my rod and blistered hands,

-and I was glad enough to pay him all he asked and break away for the

-hotel.

-

-We had an hour to lunch in, pack, and be ready for the trap which

-was to bear us to our destination--the distant village of Faoeuet, in

-Morbihan.

-

-

-X.

-

-A long drive on a smooth white road, acres of gorse and broom, beech

-woods and oak thickets, and the "Heu! heu! Allo! Allons! en route!" of

-the Breton driver, these are my recollections of the ride to Faoeuet.

-There are others, too--the hedges heavy with bloom, the perfume of the

-wild honeysuckle, the continual bird chorus from every grove and every

-bramble patch--and Sweetheart's veil flying into my face.

-

-We have spoken of it since together, but she has few recollections

-of that journey. She only remembers it as her first steps into our

-heritage.

-

-And so we entered into our heritage, Sweetheart and I; and our heritage

-was very fair, for it lay everywhere about us. It was a world which

-we alone inhabited. Men said, "This land is Gloanec's," "This is

-Gurnalec's," "This is Kerdec's"; they spoke of "my woods" and "his

-meadows" and "their pastures." And how we laughed; for when we passed

-together through their lands, around us, far as the eye could reach,

-our heritage lay in the sunshine.

-

-

-XI.

-

-One day, when Sweetheart had been weeping--for we were thinking of the

-end to the magic second--I spoke of our heritage which swept far as the

-eye could reach across the moors of Faoeuet.

-

-She said: "The past is ours, Jack; the present is ours; the future----"

-

-We tried to smile, but our hearts were like lead. Yet we know that the

-future will also be ours. I know it as I write.

-

-

-XII.

-

-The letter from St. Gildas, bringing with it a breath of salt air, lay

-on the table before us. Sweetheart clasped her hands and looked at me.

-

-"I'm in favour of going at once," I said for the third time. Over by

-the wall were piled my canvases, the result of three months in Faoeuet.

-

-The first was a study of Sweetheart under the trees of the ancient

-orchard in the convent grounds. What trouble I had had with that

-canvas! I remembered the morning that the old gardener came over

-and stood behind me as I painted; and when I had replied to his

-"Good-morning," I recalled the pang his next words gave me:

-

-"I am so sorry, monsieur, but it is forbidden to enter the convent

-grounds."

-

-My canvas was almost finished, and, as the romancers have it, "my

-despair was great!" A month's work for nothing--or next to nothing!

-

-Sweetheart rose from her pose on the low bough of the apple tree and

-came over to my side. "Never mind, Jack; I shall go and ask the Mother

-Superior about it."

-

-I knew that she would win over the Mother Superior; and when, that

-evening, she came back radiant, crying, "She is lovely!--she says you

-may finish the picture, and I think you ought to go and thank her," I

-put on my cap, and stepping across the street, we rang at the gate.

-

-The old gardener let us in, and in a moment I stood before the latticed

-windows behind which some one was moving. In a low voice the invisible

-nun told us that the Superior granted to us the privilege of working in

-the orchard, but we must be careful of the grass, because it was almost

-time to cut it.

-

-"I am sure we may have confidence in you," she said.

-

-"We will not trample the grass, my sister, and I thank you for us both."

-

-The lattice trembled, was raised a little, and then fell.

-

-"You are English," said the hidden nun.

-

-"I am American, my sister."

-

-I looked at the lattice a moment, then dropped my eyes. I may have been

-mistaken, but I think she sighed.

-

-Sweetheart came closer to the lattice and murmured her thanks.

-

-There was a pause.

-

-Then came the voice again, sweet and gentle: "May Our Lady of Saint

-Gildas protect you"; and we went out by the little iron wicket.

-

-The next picture was another study of Sweetheart in the woods; the

-next, another study of Sweetheart; and the others were studies of the

-same young lady.

-

-The light in the room had grown dim, and I walked to the window which

-overlooked the convent chapel. The chapel windows were open; within,

-the nuns stood or knelt chanting. Three white-veiled figures were

-advancing to the altar, and the others, draped in black now knelt

-behind. I didn't think I had any business to look at them, so I did

-not. After all, they were cloistered nuns, and it was only on hot

-nights that they opened the chapel windows. Sweetheart was speaking

-beside my shoulder.

-

-"Poor things! The ones in white, they are the novices; they will never

-see parents or friends again. When they enter the gates they never

-leave--never; they are buried there."

-

-I said: "After all, we are much like them. We have left all; we have

-nothing now but each other, for the world is dead, and we are bound by

-vows which keep us within the narrow confines of our heritage."

-

-"But our heritage is everywhere--as far as we can see."

-

-"Ah, yes, but we can only see to the horizon. There is a world beyond."

-

-"I have renounced it," said Sweetheart faintly.

-

-

-XIII.

-

-The letter from St. Gildas had been lying on our table for a week

-before I thought of answering it, and even then it was Sweetheart who

-wrote:

-

-     "DEAR MR. STUART:

-

-     "Jack is too lazy to answer your kind note, so, in pure shame

-     for his discourtesy, I hasten to reply to your questions.

-

-     "First: Yes; we have been working very hard, and Jack's

-     pictures are charming, though he growls over them all day.

-

-     "Second: Yes; we intend to stay in Brittany this winter for

-     lots of reasons--one being economy, and another, Jack's

-     outdoor painting.

-

-     "Third: Yes; we are coming to St. Gildas.

-

-     "Fourth: To-morrow.

-

-     "Fifth: No; we had not heard of Mr. Clifford's affair with

-     the policeman; and oh, I am so sorry he was locked up and

-     fined! Jack laughs. I suspect he, too, was as wicked as you

-     all when he was a student, alone in Paris.

-

-     "Sixth: I know you are Jack's oldest and most intimate friend,

-     so I allow you more liberty than I do Messieurs Clifford and

-     Elliott; therefore I will answer your question as to whether

-     the honeymoon is not on the wane. No! no! no! There are three

-     answers to one question. See how generous I can be!"

-

-Sweetheart called me to see whether or not I approved. I did, and added

-my answer to Stuart's last question as follows: "No, you idiot!" Then

-I signed the note, and Sweetheart sealed and directed it.

-

-So we left for St. Gildas next morning before sunrise and in the rain.

-This leaving at such an unearthly hour was not my doing, but Sweetheart

-was determined, and rose by candlelight in spite of desperate

-opposition on my part. It was cold, and the rain beat against the

-windows.

-

-It was many kilometres to St. Gildas, but before we had gone six, the

-rain had ceased and the eastern sky flushed to a pale rose.

-

-"Thank goodness!" I said, "we shall have the sun."

-

-Then the daily repeated miracle of the coming of dawn was wrought

-before our eyes. The heavens glowed in rainbow tints; the shredded mist

-rising along the river was touched with purple and gold, and acres

-of meadow and pasture dripped precious stones. Shreds of the fading

-night-mist drifted among the tree tops, now tipped with fire, while in

-the forest depths faint sparkles came from some lost ray of morning

-light falling on wet leaves. Then of a sudden up shot the sun, and

-against it, black and gigantic, a peasant towered, leaning upon his

-spade.

-

-

-XIV.

-

-We were fast nearing the end of our long journey. The sun blazed on

-us from the zenith, and the wheels creaked with the heat of the white

-road. The driver leaned back, saying, "We enter Finistere here by this

-granite post." Presently he added, "The ocean!"

-

-There it lay, a basin of silver and blue. Sweetheart had started to her

-feet, speechless, one hand holding to my shoulder, the other clasped

-to her breast. And now, as the road wound through the hills and down

-to the coast, long stretches of white sand skirted the distant cliffs,

-and over the cliffs waved miles and miles of yellow gorse. A cluster of

-white and gray houses lay in the hollow to the left almost at the mouth

-of the river, and beyond, the waves were beating in the bar--beating

-the same rhythm which we were to hear so long there together, day and

-night. There was not a boat to be seen, not a creature, nor was there

-any sign of life save for the smoke curling from a cottage chimney

-below. The ocean lay sparkling beneath, and beyond its deeper blue

-melted into the haze on the horizon.

-

-Suddenly, in the road below, the figure of a man appeared, and at the

-same moment a pointer pup came gambolling up beside us in an ecstasy

-of self-abnegation and apology. I sprang out of the lumbering vehicle

-and lifted Sweetheart to the ground, and in an instant we were shaking

-hands with a stalwart young fellow in knickerbockers and jersey, who

-said we were a pretty pair not to have come sooner, and told Sweetheart

-he pitied her lot--meaning me.

-

-Then we walked arm in arm down a fragrant lane to the river bank, where

-the dearest old lady toddled out of the granite house to welcome us and

-show us our rooms. Sweetheart went with her, while I stopped an instant

-to chat with Stuart.

-

-"That is Madame Ylven," he said. "She is the most stunning peasant

-woman in Finistere, and you will want for nothing." Then, after a

-moment, "Good heavens! Jack, what a beauty your wife----" He stopped

-short, but added, "What a delicious little beauty Sweetheart has grown

-to be!"

-

-A white-coiffed maid came to the door, and said, "Will monsieur have

-the goodness to come? Madame wishes him to see the rooms."

-

-The wind blew from the south, and the thunder of the sea was in my ears

-as I mounted the stairs to our new quarters.

-

-Sweetheart met me at the door, saying, "It seems almost too much

-happiness to bear, but I feel that we are at home at last--alone

-together for all time."

-

-Alone together? The ocean at our threshold, the moors and forests at

-our back, and a good slate roof above us. Before me through the open

-door I could see the great old-fashioned room, warm in the afternoon

-sunlight--the room we were to live in so long, the room in which we

-were to pass the happiest and bitterest moments of our lives.

-

-She hesitated an instant before the threshold. I think we knew that we

-stood upon the threshold of our destiny. Then I said, half in earnest:

-"Are you afraid to cross with me into the unknown future? See, the room

-is filled with sunshine. Are you afraid?"

-

-She sprang across the threshold, and, turning to me, held out both

-hands.

-

-

-XV.

-

-The sun slipped lower and lower into the sea, until a distant tossing

-wave washed it out against the sky. Light died in the room, and shadows

-closed around us; yet it was in the darkness and shadows that we drew

-nearer to each other, then and after.

-

-

-XVI.

-

-Stuart stood under our window and yelled up at me, "Oh, Jack! I say,

-Jack!"

-

-Sweetheart, who was fussing over the half-unpacked trunk, went to the

-window and threw open the panes.

-

-"You don't mean to say you have had your coffee?" she said. "Jack isn't

-up yet."

-

-"Jack is up," I explained, coming to the window in pajamas. "Hello!"

-

-"I only wanted to say that I haven't had my coffee," he explained, "and

-I'm going to take it with you when you're ready."

-

-Sweetheart picked up her beret, and, passing a hatpin through it,

-turned to me with a warning, "I shall eat all the breakfast, monsieur!"

-and vanished down the stairs. A moment later I heard her clear voice

-below:

-

-  Sonnez le choeur,

-    Chasseur!

-  Sonnez la mort!

-

-Before I had finished dressing, Sweetheart tripped in with my coffee

-and toast.

-

-"Of course I've finished," she said, "and you don't deserve this.

-Mr. Stuart has gone off with his canvases, and says he'll see you at

-lunch."

-

-I swallowed the coffee and browsed on little squares of toast which

-she condescendingly buttered for me, and then, lighting a cigarette, I

-announced my intention of commanding an exploring expedition consisting

-of Sweetheart and myself. A scratching at the door and a patter of feet

-announced that I had been overheard.

-

-Sweetheart unlatched the door, and the pointer pup of the evening

-before charged into the room and covered us with boisterous caresses,

-which we took to indicate that he not only approved of the expedition,

-but intended to undertake the general supervision of it himself. I

-resigned the leadership at once.

-

-"His name," said Sweetheart in the tone of one who presents a

-distinguished guest, "is 'Luff.'"

-

-I gravely acknowledged the honour by patting his head.

-

-"I'm afraid," I said to Sweetheart, "that there is a bar sinister

-upon his escutcheon, but possibly it is only the indelible mark of the

-conquering British foxhound."

-

-Sweetheart said, "Nonsense!" and the expedition moved, Luff leading

-with a series of ear-splitting orders in the dog language which we

-perfectly understood.

-

-In ten minutes we stood on the cliffs, the salt wind whipping our

-faces. Saint-Gildas-des-Pres lay at our feet.

-

-"I know," observed Sweetheart calmly, "all about this place. Captain

-Ylven told me at breakfast."

-

-"Well," said I, "what's that island on the horizon?"

-

-Then she overwhelmed me with erudition, until I longed for Baedeker and

-revenge.

-

-"That is the Isle de Groix, and all about us is the Bay of Biscay. This

-little hamlet on the cliff is St. Julien, and if we follow the coast

-far enough we come to Lorient."

-

-"Follow the coast? Which way?"

-

-Sweetheart had forgotten, and I triumphed in silence, until she stamped

-her foot and marched off to assist Luff in investigating a suspicious

-hole in the cliff.

-

-I went to the edge of the plateau and looked over. The surf thundered

-against the rocks, tossing long strands of seaweed over the pebbly

-beach. A man with a wooden rake stood in the water up to his knees. He

-raked the seaweed from the breakers as a farmer rakes weeds from the

-lawn. The salt wind began to sting my lips and eyes. My throat felt dry

-and salty. I turned toward the hamlet of St. Gildas. I had not imagined

-it so small. Besides our house there were but three others clustered

-under the river bank. Behind it stretched woods and grain fields broken

-by patches of yellow gorse. Across the river stood a stone chapel

-almost lost in the miles of moorland. To the east and west the downs

-covered with gorse and heather rolled to the horizon. Here and there

-along the cliffs stood what appeared to be the ruins of ancient forts,

-and on a rock, just where the river sweeps out into the sea, rose a

-dirty white signal tower. The tower was low and squatty and wet. It

-looked like some saline excrescence which had slowly exuded from the

-brine-soaked rock. On the bar hundreds of white gulls rose and settled

-as the tide encroached; curlew were running along the foam-splashed

-shore under the eastern cliffs across the river.

-

-On our side of the river the cliffs were covered with blackthorn and

-hawthorn, with here and there a stunted oak, probably so placed by

-Providence as general rendezvous for all the small twittering birds of

-Finistere. Birds were everywhere. From the clouds came the ceaseless

-carol of skylarks; from the grain fields and the flowering gorse rose

-an unbroken chorus, taken up and repeated by flocks of microscopical

-songsters among the blackthorns on the cliffs.

-

-"This is paradise, this wilderness," I thought.

-

-Then, as I heard Sweetheart's mocking voice from the cliff:

-

-  O frere Jacques,

-  Dormez vous!

-

-"I'm not asleep!" I cried in answer. "What is it?"

-

-"Luff has unearthed a poor little mole, but I won't allow him to hurt

-it."

-

-"Jack, dear," she said, as I came up, "couldn't we keep it as a pet?

-See, the poor little thing is blind."

-

-As it was blind we called it "Love," which later was changed to

-"Cupid," and finally, when we discovered it true gormandizing

-character, for "Cupid" we substituted "Cupidity," by which name it

-flourished and fattened.

-

-"What a change," said Sweetheart sadly, "from Blind Love to Blind

-Greed!"

-

-The mole grew very fat.

-

-

-XVII.

-

-When the winds stir the leaves among the poplars, and the long shadows

-fall athwart the fields; when the winds rise at night, and the branches

-scrape and crack above the moonlit snow; when in the long hot days

-the earth is bathed in fragrance, and all the little creatures of

-the fields are silent; when in the still evenings the flowers perfume

-the air, and the gravel walks shine white in the moonlight; when the

-breezes quicken from the distant coast; when the sand shakes beneath

-the shock of the breakers, and every wave is plumed with white; when

-the calm eye of the beacon turns to mine, lingers, and turn away, and

-the surf is yeasty and thick; when I start at the sound of a voice from

-the cliffs, and my eyes are raised in vain; when the white gulls toss

-and drift in the storm-clouds, and the water hurries out in the black

-ebb tide; when I rise and look from the window; when I dress; when I

-work with pen and colour; when I rest; when I walk; when I sleep--there

-is one face before my eyes, one name on my lips. For the white shadow

-is turning gray, and God alone knows the end.

-

-

-XVIII.

-

-And God alone knows the end, for the mists are crowding, brooding

-like angry-browed clouds, and I hear the whistle of unseen winds, and

-my life-flame wavers and sinks and flares, blown hither and thither,

-tossing, fading, leaping, but fading, always fading.

-

-In a flash, like a printed picture on a screen, illuminated, keenly

-etched in the white glare, I see the bed, and the people around me,

-the black gowns, the pale eyes of the doctor, the sponge and basin, the

-rolls of lint.

-

-Voices, minute but clean-cut and clear as picked harp-strings, tinkle

-in my ears; the voice of the doctor, other voices, but always the

-voice of the doctor--"The splinter of bone on the brain; the splinter

-pressing on the tissues; the depression."

-

-The doctor! That is the man! That is the man who comes to my side, who

-follows, follows where I go, who seeks me throughout the world! I saw

-him as I lay flung on the turf, limp, unconscious, below the cliffs

-on the Aspen hills; I felt his presence in the studio; I heard him

-creeping at my heels across the gorse thickets of St. Gildas. And now

-he has come to cut short the magic second, to turn back time--back,

-back, into the old worn channels, rock-ribbed and salt with tears.

-

-As a leaf of written paper torn in two, so shall my life be torn in

-two; and the long tear shall mangle the chapter written in rose and

-gold.

-

-Then, too, my shadow, already turned from white to gray, shall fall

-with a deeper stain wherever I pass; and I shall see the yellow gorse

-glimmer and turn to golden-rod, and the poplars turn to oaks; and the

-twin towers of Notre Dame, filmy, lace-carved, and gray with centuries,

-shall dwindle as I look--dwindle and sway and turn to pines, singing

-pines that murmur to the winds, blowing across the Aspen hills.

-

-       *       *       *       *       *

-

-All that is fair shall pass away; all that I love, all that I fear

-for--these shall the doctor take away, lifting them from my memory on

-the point of a steel blade. What has he to give in return? A hell of

-vapour, distorting sight; a hell of sound, drowning the soul.

-

-       *       *       *       *       *

-

-Gigantic apparitions arise across the world of water, wavering like

-shadows on the clouds. Steel-clad, clothed in skins, casqued in steel,

-their winged heads bend and nod and move against the clouds. And even

-they are changing as clouds change shape. I see steel limbs turn red

-and naked. I see winged casques trail to the earth, feathered, painted

-in colours of earth.

-

-Iho! Inah! Eto! E-ho!

-

-The bridge of stars spans the vast lake of air; the sun and the moon

-travel over it.

-

-       *       *       *       *       *

-

-My shadow is turning dark; I can scarcely see the doctor, but now--God

-have mercy!--_I can touch him._

-

-       *       *       *       *       *

-

-All the high spectres are stooping from the clouds, bending above me to

-watch. I know them and their eyes of shadow--I know them now; Harpen

-that was to Chaske what Harpstina shall be to Hapeda; and Harka shall

-come after all with the voice of winter winds:

-

-"Ake u, ake u, ake u!"

-

-But the magic second shall never return.

-

-"Ma cante maseca!"

-

-       *       *       *       *       *

-

-Now they leave my bed, the people who crowded there under the shadowy

-forms of the spectres; now the doctor bends over; I see and feel him.

-His hands are tangled in the threads of time; he is cutting a thread;

-he----

-

-

-XIX.

-

-When I spoke to him first I spoke in the French language. Before he

-answered, the scream of a blue jay in the elms outside set my nerves

-aquiver, and I called for Donald and Walter.

-

-As I lay there I could see the Aspen hills from the window, heaps

-of crumpled gold bathed in sunshine. Over them sailed the froth from

-the silken milkweed; over them drifted the big brown-red butterflies,

-luminous as richest autumn leaves.

-

-Some one closed the door softly. The doctor had gone.

-

-The sunlight poured into the window, etching my shadow on the wall

-behind. Lying very still there I saw it motionless beside me. _The

-shadow was black._

-

-Somebody said in the next room, "Will he die?"

-

-"Die?" I said aloud.

-

-A bird twittered outside my window.

-

-The door opened again, noiselessly.

-

-"Sweetheart?" I whispered.

-

-"Yes, Jack."

-

-After a moment I said, "When do you go back to school?"

-

-"I? I finished school a year ago."

-

-"Come nearer."

-

-"I am here, Jack."

-

-"Time stopped a year ago."

-

-"A year ago to-day."

-

-The same gray eyes, the same face, paler, perhaps.

-

-"We have journeyed far," I sighed, "always together, but in those days

-our shadows were white as snow. Am I going to die? There are tears in

-your eyes."

-

-They fell on my cheek; her arms fell too, closer, closer, around my

-neck.

-

-"Life has begun," she said.

-

-"Life? What was the year that ends to-day? The magic second of life?"

-

-"A year of death, to me!"

-

-Ah, but her soul knows of a life in death! And she shall know it,

-too, when her shadow turns whiter than snow. For the Temple of Idols

-has closed its doors at the sound of a voice, and an idol of gilt has

-turned to flesh and blood.

-

-I-ho!

-

-So shall she know of the life in death when her soul and her body are

-one.

-

-

-

-

-PASSEUR.

-

-

-  O friends, I've served ye food and bed;

-    O friends, the mist is rising wet;

-  Then bide a moment, O my dead,

-    Where, lonely, I must linger yet!

-

-

-

-

-PASSEUR.

-

-  Because man goeth to his long home,

-  And the mourners go about the streets.

-

-

-When he had finished his pipe he tapped the brier bowl against the

-chimney until the ashes powdered the charred log smouldering across

-the andirons. Then he sank back in his chair, absently touching the hot

-pipe-bowl with the tip of each finger until it grew cool enough to be

-dropped into his coat pocket.

-

-Twice he raised his eyes to the little American clock ticking upon the

-mantel. He had half an hour to wait.

-

-The three candles that lighted the room might be trimmed to advantage;

-this would give him something to do. A pair of scissors lay open

-upon the bureau, and he rose and picked them up. For a while he stood

-dreamily shutting and opening the scissors, his eyes roaming about the

-room. There was an easel in the corner, and a pile of dusty canvases

-behind it; behind the canvases there was a shadow--that gray, menacing

-shadow that never moved.

-

-When he had trimmed each candle he wiped the smoky scissors on a paint

-rag and flung them on the bureau again. The clock pointed to ten; he

-had been occupied exactly three minutes.

-

-The bureau was littered with neckties, pipes, combs and brushes,

-matches, reels and fly-books, collars, shirt studs, a new pair of

-Scotch shooting stockings, and a woman's workbasket.

-

-He picked out all the neckties, folded them once, and hung them over

-a bit of twine that stretched across the looking-glass; the shirt

-studs he shovelled into the top drawer along with brushes, combs, and

-stockings; the reels and fly-books he dusted with his handkerchief

-and placed methodically along the mantel shelf. Twice he stretched out

-his hand toward the woman's workbasket, but his hand fell to his side

-again, and he turned away into the room staring at the dying fire.

-

-Outside the snow-sealed window a shutter broke loose and banged

-monotonously, until he flung open the panes and fastened it. The soft,

-wet snow, that had choked the window-panes all day, was frozen hard

-now, and he had to break the polished crust before he could find the

-rusty shutter hinge.

-

-He leaned out for a moment, his numbed hands resting on the snow, the

-roar of a rising snow-squall in his ears; and out across the desolate

-garden and stark hedgerow he saw the flat black river spreading through

-the gloom.

-

-A candle sputtered and snapped behind him; a sheet of drawing-paper

-fluttered across the floor, and he closed the panes and turned back

-into the room, both hands in his worn pockets.

-

-The little American clock on the mantel ticked and ticked, but the

-hands lagged, for he had not been occupied five minutes in all. He went

-up to the mantel and watched the hands of the clock. A minute--longer

-than a year to him--crept by.

-

-Around the room the furniture stood ranged--a chair or two of yellow

-pine, a table, the easel, and in one corner the broad curtained bed;

-and behind each lay shadows, menacing shadows that never moved.

-

-A little pale flame started up from the smoking log on the andirons;

-the room sang with the sudden hiss of escaping wood gases. After a

-little the back of the log caught fire; jets of blue flared up here and

-there with mellow sounds like the lighting of gas-burners in a row, and

-in a moment a thin sheet of yellow flame wrapped the whole charred log.

-

-Then the shadows moved; not the shadows behind the furniture--they

-never moved--but other shadows, thin, gray, confusing, that came and

-spread their slim patterns all around him, and trembled and trembled.

-

-He dared not step or tread upon them, they were too real; they meshed

-the floor around his feet, they ensnared his knees, they fell across

-his breast like ropes. Some night, in the silence of the moors, when

-wind and river were still, he feared these strands of shadow might

-tighten--creep higher around his throat and tighten. But even then he

-knew that those other shadows would never move, those gray shapes that

-knelt crouching in every corner.

-

-When he looked up at the clock again ten minutes had straggled past.

-Time was disturbed in the room; the strands of shadow seemed entangled

-among the hands of the clock, dragging them back from their rotation.

-He wondered if the shadows would strangle Time, some still night when

-the wind and the flat river were silent.

-

-There grew a sudden chill across the floor; the cracks of the boards

-let it in. He leaned down and drew his sabots toward him from their

-place near the andirons, and slipped them over his chaussons; and as he

-straightened up, his eyes mechanically sought the mantel above, where

-in the dusk another pair of sabots stood, little, slender, delicate

-sabots, carved from red beech. A year's dust grayed their surface; a

-year's rust dulled the silver band across the instep. He said this to

-himself aloud, knowing that it was within a few minutes of the year.

-

-His own sabots came from Mort-Dieu; they were shaved square and banded

-with steel. But in days past he had thought that no sabot in Mort-Dieu

-was delicate enough to touch the instep of the Mort-Dieu passeur. So he

-sent to the shore lighthouse, and they sent to Lorient, where the women

-are coquettish and show their hair under the coiffe, and wear dainty

-sabots; and in this town, where vanity corrupts and there is much lace

-on coiffe and collarette, a pair of delicate sabots was found, banded

-with silver and chiselled in red beech. The sabots stood on the mantel

-above the fire now, dusty and tarnished.

-

-There was a sound from the window, the soft murmur of snow blotting

-glass panes. The wind, too, muttered under the roof eaves. Presently it

-would begin to whisper to him from the chimney--he knew it--and he held

-his hands over his ears and stared at the clock.

-

-In the hamlet of Mort-Dieu the pines sing all day of the sea secrets,

-but in the night the ghosts of little gray birds fill the branches,

-singing of the sunshine of past years. He heard the song as he sat,

-and he crushed his hands over his ears; but the gray birds joined with

-the wind in the chimney, and he heard all that he dared not hear, and

-he thought all that he dared not hope or think, and the swift tears

-scalded his eyes.

-

-In Mort-Dieu the nights are longer than anywhere on earth; he knew

-it--why should he not know? This had been so for a year; it was

-different before. There were so many things different before; days and

-nights vanished like minutes then; the pines told no secrets of the

-sea, and the gray birds had not yet come to Mort-Dieu. Also, there was

-Jeanne, passeur at the Carmes.

-

-When he first saw her she was poling the square, flat-bottomed ferry

-skiff from the Carmes to Mort-Dieu, a red handkerchief bound across her

-silky black hair, a red skirt fluttering just below her knees. The next

-time he saw her he had to call to her across the placid river, "Ohe!

-Ohe, passeur!" She came, poling the flat skiff, her deep blue eyes

-fixed pensively on him, the scarlet skirt and kerchief idly flapping in

-the April wind. Then day followed day when the far call "Passeur!" grew

-clearer and more joyous, and the faint answering cry, "I come!" rippled

-across the water like music tinged with laughter. Then spring came,

-and with spring came love--love, carried free across the ferry from the

-Carmes to Mort-Dieu.

-

-The flame above the charred log whistled, flickered, and went out in

-a jet of wood vapour, only to play like lightning above the gas and

-relight again. The clock ticked more loudly, and the song from the

-pines filled the room. But in his straining eyes a summer landscape was

-reflected, where white clouds sailed and white foam curled under the

-square bow of a little skiff. And he pressed his numbed hands tighter

-to his ears to drown the cry, "Passeur! Passeur!"

-

-And now for a moment the clock ceased ticking. It was time to go--who

-but he should know it, he who went out into the night swinging his

-lantern? And he went. He had gone each night from the first--from that

-first strange winter evening when a strange voice had answered him

-across the river, the voice of the new passeur. He had never heard

-_her_ voice again.

-

-So he passed down the windy wooden stairs, lantern hanging lighted in

-his hand, and stepped out into the storm. Through sheets of drifting

-snow, over heaps of frozen seaweed and icy drift he moved, shifting his

-lantern right and left, until its glimmer on the water warned him. Then

-he called out into the night, "Passeur!" The frozen spray spattered

-his face and crusted the lantern; he heard the distant boom of breakers

-beyond the bar, and the noise of mighty winds among the seaward cliffs.

-

-"Passeur!"

-

-Across the broad flat river, black as a sea of pitch, a tiny light

-sparkled a moment. Again he cried, "Passeur!"

-

-"I come!"

-

-He turned ghastly white, for it was her voice--or was he crazy?--and

-he sprang waist deep into the icy current and cried out again, but his

-voice ended in a sob.

-

-Slowly through the snow the flat skiff took shape, creeping nearer

-and nearer. But she was not at the pole--he saw that; there was only a

-tall, thin man, shrouded to the eyes in oilskin; and he leaped into the

-boat and bade the ferryman hasten.

-

-Halfway across he rose in the skiff, and called, "Jeanne!" But the roar

-of the storm and the thrashing of icy waves drowned his voice. Yet he

-heard her again, and she called to him by name.

-

-When at last the boat grated upon the invisible shore, he lifted his

-lantern, trembling, stumbling among the rocks, and calling to her, as

-though his voice could silence the voice that had spoken a year ago

-that night. And it could not. He sank shivering upon his knees, and

-looked out into the darkness, where an ocean rolled across a world.

-Then his stiff lips moved, and he repeated her name; but the hand of

-the ferryman fell gently upon his head.

-

-And when he raised his eyes he saw that the ferryman was Death.

-

-

-

-

-THE KEY TO GRIEF.

-

-  The moving finger writes, and, having writ,

-    Moves on; nor all your piety nor wit

-  Shall lure it back to cancel half a line,

-    Nor all your tears wash out a word of it.

-

-                                        FITZGERALD.

-

-

-

-

-THE KEY TO GRIEF.

-

-  The wild hawk to the wind-swept sky

-    The deer to the wholesome wold,

-  And the heart of a man to the heart of a maid,

-    As it was in the days of old.

-

-                                        KIPLING.

-

-

-I.

-

-They were doing their work very badly. They got the rope around his

-neck, and tied his wrists with moose-bush withes, but again he fell,

-sprawling, turning, twisting over the leaves, tearing up everything

-around him like a trapped panther.

-

-He got the rope away from them; he clung to it with bleeding fists; he

-set his white teeth in it, until the jute strands relaxed, unravelled,

-and snapped, gnawed through by his white teeth.

-

-Twice Tully struck him with a gum hook. The dull blows fell on flesh

-rigid as stone.

-

-Panting, foul with forest mould and rotten leaves, hands and face

-smeared with blood, he sat up on the ground, glaring at the circle of

-men around him.

-

-"Shoot him!" gasped Tully, dashing the sweat from his bronzed brow; and

-Bates, breathing heavily, sat down on a log and dragged a revolver from

-his rear pocket. The man on the ground watched him; there was froth in

-the corners of his mouth.

-

-"Git back!" whispered Bates, but his voice and hand trembled. "Kent,"

-he stammered, "won't ye hang?"

-

-The man on the ground glared.

-

-"Ye've got to die, Kent," he urged; "they all say so. Ask Lefty

-Sawyer; ask Dyce; ask Carrots.--He's got to swing fur it--ain't he,

-Tully?--Kent, fur God's sake, swing fur these here gents!"

-

-The man on the ground panted; his bright eyes never moved.

-

-After a moment Tully sprang on him again. There was a flurry of leaves,

-a crackle, a gasp and a grunt, then the thumping and thrashing of two

-bodies writhing in the brush. Dyce and Carrots jumped on the prostrate

-men. Lefty Sawyer caught the rope again, but the jute strands gave

-way and he stumbled. Tully began to scream, "He's chokin' me!" Dyce

-staggered out into the open, moaning over a broken wrist.

-

-"Shoot!" shouted Lefty Sawyer, and dragged Tully aside. "Shoot, Jim

-Bates! Shoot straight, b' God!"

-

-"Git back!" gasped Bates, rising from the fallen log.

-

-The crowd parted right and left; a quick report rang

-out--another--another. Then from the whirl of smoke a tall form

-staggered, dealing blows--blows that sounded sharp as the crack of a

-whip.

-

-"He's off! Shoot straight!" they cried.

-

-There was a gallop of heavy boots in the woods. Bates, faint and dazed,

-turned his head.

-

-"Shoot!" shrieked Tully.

-

-But Bates was sick; his smoking revolver fell to the ground; his white

-face and pale eyes contracted. It lasted only a moment; he started

-after the others, plunging, wallowing through thickets of osier and

-hemlock underbrush.

-

-Far ahead he heard Kent crashing on like a young moose in November,

-and he knew he was making for the shore. The others knew too. Already

-the gray gleam of the sea cut a straight line along the forest edge;

-already the soft clash of the surf on the rocks broke faintly through

-the forest silence.

-

-"He's got a canoe there!" bawled Tully. "He'll be into it!"

-

-And he was into it, kneeling in the bow, driving his paddle to the

-handle. The rising sun gleamed like red lightning on the flashing

-blade; the canoe shot to the crest of a wave, hung, bows dripping in

-the wind, dropped into the depths, glided, tipped, rolled, shot up

-again, staggered, and plunged on.

-

-Tully ran straight out into the cove surf; the water broke against his

-chest, bare and wet with sweat. Bates sat down on a worn black rock and

-watched the canoe listlessly.

-

-The canoe dwindled to a speck of gray and silver; and when Carrots, who

-had run back to the gum camp for a rifle, returned, the speck on the

-water might have been easier to hit than a loon's head at twilight. So

-Carrots, being thrifty by nature, fired once, and was satisfied to save

-the other cartridges. The canoe was still visible, making for the open

-sea. Somewhere beyond the horizon lay the keys, a string of rocks bare

-as skulls, black and slimy where the sea cut their base, white on the

-crests with the excrement of sea birds.

-

-"He's makin' fur the Key to Grief!" whispered Bates to Dyce.

-

-Dyce, moaning, and nursing his broken wrist, turned a sick face out to

-sea.

-

-The last rock seaward was the Key to Grief, a splintered pinnacle

-polished by the sea. From the Key to Grief, seaward a day's paddle, if

-a man dared, lay the long wooded island in the ocean known as Grief on

-the charts of the bleak coast.

-

-In the history of the coast, two men had made the voyage to the Key to

-Grief, and from there to the island. One of these was a rum-crazed pelt

-hunter, who lived to come back; the other was a college youth; they

-found his battered canoe at sea, and a day later his battered body was

-flung up in the cove.

-

-So, when Bates whispered to Dyce, and when Dyce called to the others,

-they knew that the end was not far off for Kent and his canoe; and they

-turned away into the forest, sullen, but satisfied that Kent would get

-his dues when the devil got his.

-

-Lefty spoke vaguely of the wages of sin. Carrots, with an eye to

-thrift, suggested a plan for an equitable division of Kent's property.

-

-When they reached the gum camp they piled Kent's personal effects on a

-blanket.

-

-Carrots took the inventory: a revolver, two gum hooks, a fur cap, a

-nickel-plated watch, a pipe, a pack of new cards, a gum sack, forty

-pounds of spruce gum, and a frying pan.

-

-Carrots shuffled the cards, picked out the joker, and flipped it

-pensively into the fire. Then he dealt cold decks all around.

-

-When the goods and chattels of their late companion had been divided by

-chance--for there was no chance to cheat--somebody remembered Tully.

-

-"He's down there on the coast, starin' after the canoe," said Bates

-huskily.

-

-He rose and walked toward a heap on the ground covered by a blanket. He

-started to lift the blanket, hesitated, and finally turned away. Under

-the blanket lay Tully's brother, shot the night before by Kent.

-

-"Guess we'd better wait till Tully comes," said Carrots uneasily. Bates

-and Kent had been campmates. An hour later Tully walked into camp.

-

-He spoke to no one that day. In the morning Bates found him down on

-the coast digging, and said: "Hello, Tully! Guess we ain't much hell on

-lynchin'!"

-

-"Naw," said Tully. "Git a spade."

-

-"Goin' to plant him there?"

-

-"Yep."

-

-"Where he kin hear them waves?"

-

-"Yep."

-

-"Purty spot."

-

-"Yep."

-

-"Which way will he face?"

-

-"Where he kin watch fur that damned canoe!" cried Tully fiercely.

-

-"He--he can't see," ventured Bates uneasily. "He's dead, ain't he?"

-

-"He'll heave up that there sand when the canoe comes back! An' it's

-a-comin'! An' Bud Kent'll be in it, dead or alive! Git a spade!"

-

-The pale light of superstition flickered in Bates's eyes. He hesitated.

-

-"The--the dead can't see," he began; "kin they?"

-

-Tully turned a distorted face toward him.

-

-"Yer lie!" he roared. "My brother kin see, dead or livin'! An' he'll

-see the hangin' of Bud Kent! An' he'll git up outer the grave fur to

-see it, Bill Bates! I'm tellin' ye! I'm tellin' ye! Deep as I'll plant

-him, he'll heave that there sand and call to me, when the canoe comes

-in! I'll hear him; I'll be here! An' we'll live to see the hangin' of

-Bud Kent!"

-

-About sundown they planted Tully's brother, face to the sea.

-

-

-II.

-

-On the Key to Grief the green waves rub all day. White at the summit,

-black at the base, the shafted rocks rear splintered pinnacles,

-slanting like channel buoys. On the polished pillars sea birds

-brood--white-winged, bright-eyed sea birds, that nestle and preen and

-flap and clatter their orange-coloured beaks when the sifted spray

-drives and drifts across the reef.

-

-As the sun rose, painting crimson streaks criss-cross over the waters,

-the sea birds sidled together, huddling row on row, steeped in downy

-drowse.

-

-Where the sun of noon burnished the sea, an opal wave washed, listless,

-noiseless; a sea bird stretched one listless wing.

-

-And into the silence of the waters a canoe glided, bronzed by the

-sunlight, jewelled by the salt drops stringing from prow to thwart,

-seaweed a-trail in the diamond-flashing wake, and in the bow a man

-dripping with sweat.

-

-Up rose the gulls, sweeping in circles, turning, turning over rock and

-sea, and their clamour filled the sky, starting little rippling echoes

-among the rocks.

-

-The canoe grated on a shelf of ebony; the seaweed rocked and washed;

-the little sea crabs sheered sideways, down, down into limpid depths of

-greenest shadows. Such was the coming of Bud Kent to the Key to Grief.

-

-He drew the canoe halfway up the shelf of rock and sat down, breathing

-heavily, one brown arm across the bow. For an hour he sat there. The

-sweat dried under his eyes. The sea birds came back, filling the air

-with soft querulous notes.

-

-There was a livid mark around his neck, a red, raw circle. The salt

-wind stung it; the sun burned it into his flesh like a collar of

-red-hot steel. He touched it at times; once he washed it with cold salt

-water.

-

-Far in the north a curtain of mist hung on the sea, dense, motionless

-as the fog on the Grand Banks. He never moved his eyes from it; he knew

-what it was. Behind it lay the Island of Grief.

-

-All the year round the Island of Grief is hidden by the banks of mist,

-ramparts of dead white fog encircling it on every side. Ships give it

-wide berth. Some speak of warm springs on the island whose waters flow

-far out to sea, rising in steam eternally.

-

-The pelt hunter had come back with tales of forests and deer and

-flowers everywhere; but he had been drinking much, and much was

-forgiven him.

-

-The body of the college youth tossed up in the cove on the mainland

-was battered out of recognition, but some said, when found, one hand

-clutched a crimson blossom half wilted, but broad as a sap pan.

-

-So Kent lay motionless beside his canoe, burned with thirst, every

-nerve vibrating, thinking of all these things. It was not fear that

-whitened the firm flesh under the tan; it was the fear of fear. He

-must not think--he must throttle dread; his eyes must never falter, his

-head never turn from that wall of mist across the sea. With set teeth

-he crushed back terror; with glittering eyes he looked into the hollow

-eyes of fright. And so he conquered fear.

-

-He rose. The sea birds whirled up into the sky, pitching, tossing,

-screaming, till the sharp flapping of their pinions set the snapping

-echoes flying among the rocks.

-

-Under the canoe's sharp prow the kelp bobbed and dipped and parted; the

-sunlit waves ran out ahead, glittering, dancing. Splash! splash! bow

-and stern! And now he knelt again, and the polished paddle swung and

-dipped, and swept and swung and dipped again.

-

-Far behind, the clamour of the sea birds lingered in his ears, till

-the mellow dip of the paddle drowned all sound and the sea was a sea of

-silence.

-

-No wind came to cool the hot sweat on cheek and breast. The sun blazed

-a path of flame before him, and he followed out into the waste of

-waters. The still ocean divided under the bows and rippled innocently

-away on either side, tinkling, foaming, sparkling like the current in

-a woodland brook. He looked around at the world of flattened water, and

-the fear of fear rose up and gripped his throat again. Then he lowered

-his head, like a tortured bull, and shook the fear of fear from his

-throat, and drove the paddle into the sea as a butcher stabs, to the

-hilt.

-

-So at last he came to the wall of mist. It was thin at first, thin and

-cool, but it thickened and grew warmer, and the fear of fear dragged at

-his head, but he would not look behind.

-

-Into the fog the canoe shot; the gray water ran by, high as the

-gunwales, oily, silent. Shapes flickered across the bows, pillars of

-mist that rode the waters, robed in films of tattered shadows. Gigantic

-forms towered to dizzy heights above him, shaking out shredded shrouds

-of cloud. The vast draperies of the fog swayed and hung and trembled as

-he brushed them; the white twilight deepened to a sombre gloom. And now

-it grew thinner; the fog became a mist, and the mist a haze, and the

-haze floated away and vanished into the blue of the heavens.

-

-All around lay a sea of pearl and sapphire, lapping, lapping on a

-silver shoal.

-

-So he came to the Island of Grief.

-

-

-III.

-

-On the silver shoal the waves washed and washed, breaking like crushed

-opals where the sands sang with the humming froth.

-

-Troops of little shore birds, wading on the shoal, tossed their

-sun-tipped wings and scuttled inland, where, dappled with shadow from

-the fringing forest, the white beach of the island stretched.

-

-The water all around was shallow, limpid as crystal, and he saw the

-ribbed sand shining on the bottom, where purple seaweed floated, and

-delicate sea creatures darted and swarmed and scattered again at the

-dip of his paddle.

-

-Like velvet rubbed on velvet the canoe brushed across the sand. He

-staggered to his feet, stumbled out, dragged the canoe high up under

-the trees, turned it bottom upward, and sank beside it, face downward

-in the sand. Sleep came to drive away the fear of fear, but hunger,

-thirst, and fever fought with sleep, and he dreamed--dreamed of a

-rope that sawed his neck, of the fight in the woods, and the shots. He

-dreamed, too, of the camp, of his forty pounds of spruce gum, of Tully,

-and of Bates. He dreamed of the fire and the smoke-scorched kettle, of

-the foul odour of musty bedding, of the greasy cards, and of his own

-new pack, hoarded for weeks to please the others. All this he dreamed,

-lying there face downward in the sand; but he did not dream of the face

-of the dead.

-

-The shadows of the leaves moved on his blonde head, crisp with clipped

-curls. A butterfly flitted around him, alighting now on his legs,

-now on the back of his bronzed hands. All the afternoon the bees hung

-droning among the wildwood blossoms; the leaves above scarcely rustled;

-the shore birds brooded along the water's edge; the thin tide, sleeping

-on the sand, mirrored the sky.

-

-Twilight paled the zenith; a breeze moved in the deeper woods; a star

-glimmered, went out, glimmered again, faded, and glimmered.

-

-Night came. A moth darted to and fro under the trees; a beetle hummed

-around a heap of seaweed and fell scrambling in the sand. Somewhere

-among the trees a sound had become distinct, the song of a little

-brook, melodious, interminable. He heard it in his dream; it threaded

-all his dreams like a needle of silver, and like a needle it pricked

-him--pricked his dry throat and cracked lips. It could not awake him;

-the cool night swathed him head and foot.

-

-Toward dawn a bird woke up and piped. Other birds stirred, restless,

-half awakened; a gull spread a cramped wing on the shore, preened its

-feathers, scratched its tufted neck, and took two drowsy steps toward

-the sea.

-

-The sea breeze stirred out behind the mist bank; it raised the feathers

-on the sleeping gulls; it set the leaves whispering. A twig snapped,

-broke off, and fell. Kent stirred, sighed, trembled, and awoke.

-

-The first thing he heard was the song of the brook, and he stumbled

-straight into the woods. There it lay, a thin, deep stream in the gray

-morning light, and he stretched himself beside it and laid his cheek

-in it. A bird drank in the pool, too--a little fluffy bird, bright-eyed

-and fearless.

-

-His knees were firmer when at last he rose, heedless of the drops that

-beaded lips and chin. With his knife he dug and scraped at some white

-roots that hung half meshed in the bank of the brook, and when he had

-cleaned them in the pool he ate them.

-

-The sun stained the sky when he went down to the canoe, but the eternal

-curtain of fog, far out at sea, hid it as yet from sight.

-

-He lifted the canoe, bottom upwards, to his head, and, paddle and pole

-in either hand, carried it into the forest.

-

-After he had set it down he stood a moment, opening and shutting his

-knife. Then he looked up into the trees. There were birds there, if

-he could get at them. He looked at the brook. There were the prints of

-his fingers in the sand; there, too, was the print of something else--a

-deer's pointed hoof.

-

-He had nothing but his knife. He opened it again and looked at it.

-

-That day he dug for clams and ate them raw. He waded out into the

-shallows, too, and jabbed at fish with his setting pole, but hit

-nothing except a yellow crab.

-

-Fire was what he wanted. He hacked and chipped at flinty-looking

-pebbles, and scraped tinder from a stick of sun-dried driftwood. His

-knuckles bled, but no fire came.

-

-That night he heard deer in the woods, and could not sleep for

-thinking, until the dawn came up behind the wall of mist, and he rose

-with it to drink his fill at the brook and tear raw clams with his

-white teeth. Again he fought for fire, craving it as he had never

-craved water, but his knuckles bled, and the knife scraped on the flint

-in vain.

-

-His mind, perhaps, had suffered somewhat. The white beach seemed to

-rise and fall like a white carpet on a gusty hearth. The birds, too,

-that ran along the sand, seemed big and juicy, like partridges; and

-he chased them, hurling shells and bits of driftwood at them till he

-could scarcely keep his feet for the rising, plunging beach--or carpet,

-whichever it was. That night the deer aroused him at intervals. He

-heard them splashing and grunting and crackling along the brook. Once

-he arose and stole after them, knife in hand, till a false step into

-the brook awoke him to his folly, and he felt his way back to the

-canoe, trembling.

-

-Morning came, and again he drank at the brook, lying on the sand where

-countless heart-shaped hoofs had passed leaving clean imprints; and

-again he ripped the raw clams from their shells and swallowed them,

-whimpering.

-

-All day long the white beach rose and fell and heaved and flattened

-under his bright dry eyes. He chased the shore birds at times, till the

-unsteady beach tripped him up and he fell full length in the sand. Then

-he would rise moaning, and creep into the shadow of the wood, and watch

-the little song-birds in the branches, moaning, always moaning.

-

-His hands, sticky with blood, hacked steel and flint together, but so

-feebly that now even the cold sparks no longer came.

-

-He began to fear the advancing night; he dreaded to hear the big warm

-deer among the thickets. Fear clutched him suddenly, and he lowered his

-head and set his teeth and shook fear from his throat again.

-

-Then he started aimlessly into the woods, crowding past bushes,

-scraping trees, treading on moss and twig and mouldy stump, his bruised

-hands swinging, always swinging.

-

-The sun set in the mist as he came out of the woods on to another

-beach--a warm, soft beach, crimsoned by the glow in the evening clouds.

-

-And on the sand at his feet lay a young girl asleep, swathed in the

-silken garment of her own black hair, round limbed, brown, smooth as

-the bloom on the tawny beach.

-

-A gull flapped overhead, screaming. Her eyes, deeper than night,

-unclosed. Then her lips parted in a cry, soft with sleep, "Iho!"

-

-She rose, rubbing her velvet eyes. "Iho!" she cried in wonder; "Inah!"

-

-The gilded sand settled around her little feet. Her cheeks crimsoned.

-

-"E-ho! E-ho!" she whispered, and hid her face in her hair.

-

-

-IV.

-

-The bridge of the stars spans the sky seas; the sun and the moon are

-the travellers who pass over it. This was also known in the lodges of

-the Isantee, hundreds of years ago. Chaske told it to Harpam, and when

-Harpam knew he told it to Hapeda; and so the knowledge spread to Harka,

-and from Winona to Weharka, up and down, across and ever across, woof

-and web, until it came to the Island of Grief. And how? God knows!

-

-Weharka, prattling in the tules, may have told Ne-ka; and Ne-ka,

-high in the November clouds, may have told Kay-oshk, who told it to

-Shinge-bis, who told it to Skee-skah, who told it to Se-so-Kah.

-

-Iho! Inah! Behold the wonder of it! And this is the fate of all

-knowledge that comes to the Island of Grief.

-

-       *       *       *       *       *

-

-As the red glow died in the sky, and the sand swam in shadows, the girl

-parted the silken curtains of her hair and looked at him.

-

-"Eho!" she whispered again in soft delight.

-

-For now it was plain to her that he was the sun! He had crossed the

-bridge of stars in the blue twilight; he had come!

-

-"E-to!"

-

-She stepped nearer, shivering, faint with the ecstasy of this holy

-miracle wrought before her.

-

-He was the Sun! His blood streaked the sky at dawn; his blood stained

-the clouds at even. In his eyes the blue of the sky still lingered,

-smothering two blue stars; and his body was as white as the breast of

-the Moon.

-

-She opened both arms, hands timidly stretched, palm upward. Her face

-was raised to his, her eyes slowly closed; the deep-fringed lids

-trembled.

-

-Like a young priestess she stood, motionless save for the sudden quiver

-of a limb, a quick pulse-flutter in the rounded throat. And so she

-worshipped, naked and unashamed, even after he, reeling, fell heavily

-forward on his face; even when the evening breeze stealing over the

-sands stirred the hair on his head, as winds stir the fur of a dead

-animal in the dust.

-

-       *       *       *       *       *

-

-When the morning sun peered over the wall of mist, and she saw it was

-the sun, and she saw him, flung on the sand at her feet, then she knew

-that he was a man, only a man, pallid as death and smeared with blood.

-

-And yet--miracle of miracles!--the divine wonder in her eyes deepened,

-and her body seemed to swoon, and fall a-trembling, and swoon again.

-

-For, although it was but a man who lay at her feet, it had been easier

-for her to look upon a god.

-

-He dreamed that he breathed fire--fire, that he craved as he had never

-craved water. Mad with delirium, he knelt before the flames, rubbing

-his torn hands, washing them in the crimson-scented flames. He had

-water, too, cool scented water, that sprayed his burning flesh, that

-washed in his eyes, his hair, his throat. After that came hunger,

-a fierce rending agony, that scorched and clutched and tore at his

-entrails; but that, too, died away, and he dreamed that he had eaten

-and all his flesh was warm. Then he dreamed that he slept; and when he

-slept he dreamed no more.

-

-One day he awoke and found her stretched beside him, soft palms tightly

-closed, smiling, asleep.

-

-

-V.

-

-Now the days began to run more swiftly than the tide along the tawny

-beach; and the nights, star-dusted and blue, came and vanished and

-returned, only to exhale at dawn like perfume from a violet.

-

-They counted hours as they counted the golden bubbles, winking with

-a million eyes along the foam-flecked shore; and the hours ended, and

-began, and glimmered, iridescent, and ended as bubbles end in a tiny

-rainbow haze.

-

-There was still fire in the world; it flashed up at her touch and where

-she chose. A bow strung with the silk of her own hair, an arrow winged

-like a sea bird and tipped with shell, a line from the silver tendon of

-a deer, a hook of polished bone--these were the mysteries he learned,

-and learned them laughing, her silken head bent close to his.

-

-The first night that the bow was wrought and the glossy string attuned,

-she stole into the moonlit forest to the brook; and there they stood,

-whispering, listening, and whispering, though neither understood the

-voice they loved.

-

-In the deeper woods, Kaug, the porcupine, scraped and snuffed. They

-heard Wabose, the rabbit, pit-a-pat, pit-a-pat, loping across dead

-leaves in the moonlight. Skee-skah, the wood-duck, sailed past,

-noiseless, gorgeous as a floating blossom.

-

-Out on the ocean's placid silver, Shinge-bis, the diver, shook the

-scented silence with his idle laughter, till Kay-oshk, the gray gull,

-stirred in his slumber. There came a sudden ripple in the stream, a

-mellow splash, a soft sound on the sand.

-

-"Iho! Behold!"

-

-"I see nothing."

-

-The beloved voice was only a wordless melody to her.

-

-"Iho! Ta-hinca, the red deer! E-ho! The buck will follow!"

-

-"Ta-hinca," he repeated, notching the arrow.

-

-"E-to! Ta-mdoka!"

-

-So he drew the arrow to the head, and the gray gull feathers brushed

-his ear, and the darkness hummed with the harmony of the singing

-string.

-

-Thus died Ta-mdoka, the buck deer of seven prongs.

-

-

-VI.

-

-As an apple tossed spinning into the air, so spun the world above the

-hand that tossed it into space.

-

-And one day in early spring, Se-so-Kah, the robin, awoke at dawn, and

-saw a girl at the foot of the blossoming tree holding a babe cradled in

-the silken sheets of her hair.

-

-At its feeble cry, Kaug, the porcupine, raised his quilled head.

-Wabose, the rabbit, sat still with palpitating sides. Kay-oshk, the

-gray gull, tiptoed along the beach.

-

-Kent knelt with one bronzed arm around them both.

-

-"Iho! Inah!" whispered the girl, and held the babe up in the rosy

-flames of dawn.

-

-But Kent trembled as he looked, and his eyes filled. On the pale green

-moss their shadows lay--three shadows. But the shadow of the babe was

-white as froth.

-

-Because it was the firstborn son, they named it Chaske; and the girl

-sang as she cradled it there in the silken vestments of her hair; all

-day long in the sunshine she sang:

-

-    Wa-wa, wa-wa, wa-we--yea;

-  Kah-ween, nee-zheka Ke-diaus-ai,

-  Ke-gah nau-wai, ne-me-go S'ween,

-  Ne-baun, ne-baun, ne-daun-is ais.

-  E-we wa-wa, wa-we--yea;

-  E-we wa-wa, wa-we--yea.

-

-Out in the calm ocean, Shinge-bis, the diver, listened, preening his

-satin breast in silence. In the forest, Ta-hinca, the red deer, turned

-her delicate head to the wind.

-

-That night Kent thought of the dead, for the first time since he had

-come to the Key of Grief.

-

-"Ake-u! ake-u!" chirped Se-so-Kah, the robin. But the dead never come

-again.

-

-"Beloved, sit close to us," whispered the girl, watching his troubled

-eyes. "Ma-cante maseca."

-

-But he looked at the babe and its white shadow on the moss, and he only

-sighed: "Ma-cante maseca, beloved! Death sits watching us across the

-sea."

-

-Now for the first time he knew more than the fear of fear; he knew

-fear. And with fear came grief.

-

-He never before knew that grief lay hidden there in the forest. Now he

-knew it. Still, that happiness, eternally reborn when two small hands

-reached up around his neck, when feeble fingers clutched his hand--that

-happiness that Se-so-Kah understood, chirping to his brooding

-mate--that Ta-mdoka knew, licking his dappled fawns--that happiness

-gave him heart to meet grief calmly, in dreams or in the forest depths,

-and it helped him to look into the hollow eyes of fear.

-

-He often thought of the camp now; of Bates, his blanket mate; of Dyce,

-whose wrist he had broken with a blow; of Tully, whose brother he had

-shot. He even seemed to hear the shot, the sudden report among the

-hemlocks; again he saw the haze of smoke, he caught a glimpse of a tall

-form falling through the bushes.

-

-He remembered every minute incident of the trial: Bates's hand laid

-on his shoulder; Tully, red-bearded and wild-eyed, demanding his

-death; while Dyce spat and spat and smoked and kicked at the blackened

-log-ends projecting from the fire. He remembered, too, the verdict, and

-Tully's terrible laugh; and the new jute rope that they stripped off

-the market-sealed gum packs.

-

-He thought of these things, sometimes wading out on the shoals,

-shell-tipped fish spear poised: at such times he would miss his fish.

-He thought of it sometimes when he knelt by the forest stream listening

-for Ta-hinca's splash among the cresses: at such moments the feathered

-shaft whistled far from the mark, and Ta-mdoka stamped and snorted

-till even the white fisher, stretched on a rotting log, flattened his

-whiskers and stole away into the forest's blackest depths.

-

-When the child was a year old, hour for hour notched at sunset and

-sunrise, it prattled with the birds, and called to Ne-Ka, the wild

-goose, who called again to the child from the sky: "Northward!

-northward, beloved!"

-

-When winter came--there is no frost on the Island of Grief--Ne-Ka, the

-wild goose, passing high in the clouds, called: "Southward! southward,

-beloved!" And the child answered in a soft whisper of an unknown

-tongue, till the mother shivered, and covered it with her silken hair.

-

-"O beloved!" said the girl, "Chaske calls to all things living--to

-Kaug, the porcupine, to Wabose, to Kay-oshk, the gray gull--he calls,

-and they understand."

-

-Kent bent and looked into her eyes.

-

-"Hush, beloved; it is not _that_ I fear."

-

-"Then what, beloved?"

-

-"His shadow. It is white as surf foam. And at night--I--I have seen----"

-

-"Oh, what?"

-

-"The air about him aglow like a pale rose."

-

-"Ma cante maseca. The earth alone lasts. I speak as one dying--I know,

-O beloved!"

-

-Her voice died away like a summer wind.

-

-"Beloved!" he cried.

-

-But there before him she was changing; the air grew misty, and her hair

-wavered like shreds of fog, and her slender form swayed, and faded, and

-swerved, like the mist above a pond.

-

-In her arms the babe was a figure of mist, rosy, vague as a breath on

-a mirror.

-

-"The earth alone lasts. Inah! It is the end, O beloved!"

-

-The words came from the mist--a mist as formless as the ether--a mist

-that drove in and crowded him, that came from the sea, from the clouds,

-from the earth at his feet. Faint with terror, he staggered forward

-calling, "Beloved! And thou, Chaske, O beloved! Ake u! Ake u!"

-

-Far out at sea a rosy star glimmered an instant in the mist and went

-out.

-

-A sea bird screamed, soaring over the waste of fog-smothered waters.

-Again he saw the rosy star; it came nearer; its reflection glimmered in

-the water.

-

-"Chaske!" he cried.

-

-He heard a voice, dull in the choking mist.

-

-"O beloved, I am here!" he called again.

-

-There was a sound on the shoal, a flicker in the fog, the flare of a

-torch, a face white, livid, terrible--the face of the dead.

-

-He fell upon his knees; he closed his eyes and opened them. Tully stood

-beside him with a coil of rope.

-

-       *       *       *       *       *

-

-Iho! Behold the end! The earth alone lasts. The sand, the opal wave on

-the golden beach, the sea of sapphire, the dusted starlight, the wind,

-and love, shall die. Death also shall die, and lie on the shores of

-the skies like the bleached skull there on the Key to Grief, polished,

-empty, with its teeth embedded in the sand.

-

-

-

-

-A MATTER OF INTEREST.

-

-

-

-

-A MATTER OF INTEREST.

-

-  He that knows not, and knows not that he knows not, is a fool. Shun

-      him.

-  He that knows not, and knows that he knows not, is simple. Teach him.

-  He that knows, and knows not that he knows, is asleep. Wake him.

-  He that knows, and knows that he knows, is wise. Follow him.

-

-                                       _Arabian Proverb._

-

-

-I.

-

-Much as I dislike it, I am obliged to include this story in a volume

-devoted to fiction: I have attempted to tell it as an absolutely true

-story, but until three months ago, when the indisputable proofs were

-placed before the British Association by Professor James Holroyd,

-I was regarded as an impostor. Now that the Smithsonian Institute

-in Washington, the Philadelphia Zooelogical Society, and the Natural

-History Museum of New York city, are convinced that the story is

-truthful and accurate in every particular, I prefer to tell it my own

-way. Professor Holroyd urges me to do this, although Professor Bruce

-Stoddard, of Columbia College, is now at work upon a pamphlet, to be

-published the latter part of next month, describing scientifically the

-extraordinary discovery which, to the shame of the United States, was

-first accepted and recognised in England.

-

-Now, having no technical ability concerning the affair in question,

-and having no knowledge of either comparative anatomy or zooelogy, I

-am perhaps unfitted to tell this story. But the story is true; the

-episode occurred under my own eyes--here, within a few hours' sail of

-the Battery. And as I was one of the first persons to verify what has

-long been a theory among scientists, and, moreover, as the result of

-Professor Holroyd's discovery is to be placed on exhibition in Madison

-Square Garden on the twentieth of next month, I have decided to tell,

-as simply as I am able, exactly what occurred.

-

-I first wrote out the story on April 1, 1896. The North American

-Review, the Popular Science Monthly, the Scientific American, Nature,

-Forest and Stream, and the Fossiliferous Magazine in turn rejected it;

-some curtly informing me that fiction had no place in their columns.

-When I attempted to explain that it was not fiction, the editors of

-these periodicals either maintained a contemptuous silence, or bluntly

-notified me that my literary services and opinions were not desired.

-But finally, when several publishers offered to take the story as

-fiction, I cut short all negotiations and decided to publish it myself.

-Where I am known at all, it is my misfortune to be known as a writer

-of fiction. This makes it impossible for me to receive a hearing from a

-scientific audience. I regret it bitterly, because now, when it is too

-late, I am prepared to prove certain scientific matters of interest,

-and to produce the proofs. In this case, however, I am fortunate, for

-nobody can dispute the existence of a thing when the bodily proof is

-exhibited as evidence.

-

-This is the story; and if I write it as I write fiction, it is because

-I do not know how to write it otherwise.

-

-I was walking along the beach below Pine Inlet, on the south shore

-of Long Island. The railroad and telegraph station is at West Oyster

-Bay. Everybody who has travelled on the Long Island Railroad knows the

-station, but few, perhaps, know Pine Inlet. Duck shooters, of course,

-are familiar with it; but as there are no hotels there, and nothing

-to see except salt meadow, salt creek, and a strip of dune and sand,

-the summer-squatting public may probably be unaware of its existence.

-The local name for the place is Pine Inlet; the maps give its name as

-Sand Point, I believe, but anybody at West Oyster Bay can direct you

-to it. Captain McPeek, who keeps the West Oyster Bay House, drives duck

-shooters there in winter. It lies five miles southeast from West Oyster

-Bay.

-

-I had walked over that afternoon from Captain McPeek's. There was a

-reason for my going to Pine Inlet--it embarrasses me to explain it,

-but the truth is I meditated writing an ode to the ocean. It was out

-of the question to write it in West Oyster Bay, with the whistle of

-locomotives in my ears. I knew that Pine Inlet was one of the loneliest

-places on the Atlantic coast; it is out of sight of everything except

-leagues of gray ocean. Rarely one might make out fishing smacks

-drifting across the horizon. Summer squatters never visited it;

-sportsmen shunned it, except in winter. Therefore, as I was about to do

-a bit of poetry, I thought that Pine Inlet was the spot for the deed.

-So I went there.

-

-As I was strolling along the beach, biting my pencil reflectively,

-tremendously impressed by the solitude and the solemn thunder of

-the surf, a thought occurred to me: how unpleasant it would be if I

-suddenly stumbled on a summer boarder. As this joyless impossibility

-flitted across my mind, I rounded a bleak sand dune.

-

-A summer girl stood directly in my path.

-

-If I jumped, I think the young lady has pardoned me by this time. She

-ought to, because she also started, and said something in a very faint

-voice. What she said was "Oh!"

-

-She stared at me as though I had just crawled up out of the sea to bite

-her. I don't know what my own expression resembled, but I have been

-given to understand it was idiotic.

-

-Now I perceived, after a few moments, that the young lady was

-frightened, and I knew I ought to say something civil. So I said, "Are

-there any mosquitoes here?"

-

-"No," she replied, with a slight quiver in her voice; "I have only seen

-one, and it was biting somebody else."

-

-I looked foolish; the conversation seemed so futile, and the young

-lady appeared to be more nervous than before. I had an impulse to say,

-"Do not run; I have breakfasted," for she seemed to be meditating a

-plunge into the breakers. What I did say was: "I did not know anybody

-was here. I do not intend to intrude. I come from Captain McPeek's,

-and I am writing an ode to the ocean." After I had said this it seemed

-to ring in my ears like, "I come from Table Mountain, and my name is

-Truthful James."

-

-I glanced timidly at her.

-

-"She's thinking of the same thing," said I to myself. "What an ass I

-must appear!"

-

-However, the young lady seemed to be a trifle reassured. I noticed she

-drew a sigh of relief and looked at my shoes. She looked so long that

-it made me suspicious, and I also examined my shoes. They seemed to be

-fairly respectable.

-

-"I--I am sorry," she said, "but would you mind not walking on the

-beach?"

-

-This was sudden. I had intended to retire and leave the beach to her,

-but I did not fancy being driven away so abruptly.

-

-"I was about to withdraw, madam," said I, bowing stiffly; "I beg you

-will pardon any inconvenience----"

-

-"Dear me!" she cried, "you don't understand. I do not--I would

-not think for a moment of asking you to leave Pine Inlet. I merely

-ventured to request you to walk on the dunes. I am so afraid that your

-footprints may obliterate the impressions that my father is studying."

-

-"Oh!" said I, looking about me as though I had been caught in the

-middle of a flower-bed; "really I did not notice any impressions.

-Impressions of what--if I may be permitted?"

-

-"I don't know," she said, smiling a little at my awkward pose. "If you

-step this way in a straight line you can do no damage."

-

-I did as she bade me. I suppose my movements resembled the gait of

-a wet peacock. Possibly they recalled the delicate manoeuvres of the

-kangaroo. Anyway, she laughed.

-

-This seriously annoyed me. I had been at a disadvantage; I walk well

-enough when let alone.

-

-"You can scarcely expect," said I, "that a man absorbed in his own

-ideas could notice impressions on the sand. I trust I have obliterated

-nothing."

-

-As I said this I looked back at the long line of footprints stretching

-away in prospective across the sand. They were my own. How large they

-looked! Was that what she was laughing at?

-

-"I wish to explain," she said gravely, looking at the point of her

-parasol. "I am very sorry to be obliged to warn you--to ask you to

-forego the pleasure of strolling on a beach that does not belong to me.

-Perhaps," she continued, in sudden alarm, "perhaps this beach belongs

-to you?"

-

-"The beach? Oh, no," I said.

-

-"But--but you were going to write poems about it?"

-

-"Only one--and that does not necessitate owning the beach. I have

-observed," said I frankly, "that the people who own nothing write many

-poems about it."

-

-She looked at me seriously.

-

-"I write many poems," I added.

-

-She laughed doubtfully.

-

-"Would you rather I went away?" I asked politely.

-

-"I? Why, no--I mean that you may do as you please--except please do not

-walk on the _beach_."

-

-"Then I do not alarm you by my presence?" I inquired. My clothes

-were a bit ancient. I wore them shooting, sometimes. "My family is

-respectable," I added; and I told her my name.

-

-"Oh! Then you wrote 'Culled Cowslips' and 'Faded Fig-Leaves,' and

-you imitate Maeterlinck, and you---- Oh, I know lots of people that

-you know;" she cried with every symptom of relief; "and you know my

-brother."

-

-"I am the author," said I coldly, "of 'Culled Cowslips,' but 'Faded

-Fig-Leaves' was an earlier work, which I no longer recognise, and I

-should be grateful to you if you would be kind enough to deny that I

-ever imitated Maeterlinck. Possibly," I added, "he imitates me."

-

-"Now, do you know," she said, "I was afraid of you at first? Papa is

-digging in the salt meadows nearly a mile away."

-

-It was hard to bear.

-

-"Can you not see," said I, "that I am wearing a shooting coat?"

-

-"I do see--now; but it is so--so old," she pleaded.

-

-"It is a shooting coat all the same," I said bitterly.

-

-She was very quiet, and I saw she was sorry.

-

-"Never mind," I said magnanimously, "you probably are not familiar with

-sporting goods. If I knew your name I should ask permission to present

-myself."

-

-"Why, I am Daisy Holroyd," she said.

-

-"What! Jack Holroyd's little sister?"

-

-"Little!" she cried.

-

-"I didn't mean that," said I. "You know that your brother and I were

-great friends in Paris----"

-

-"I know," she said significantly.

-

-"Ahem! Of course," I said, "Jack and I were inseparable----"

-

-"Except when shut in separate cells," said Miss Holroyd coldly.

-

-This unfeeling allusion to the unfortunate termination of a

-Latin-Quarter celebration hurt me.

-

-"The police," said I, "were too officious."

-

-"So Jack says," replied Miss Holroyd demurely.

-

-We had unconsciously moved on along the sand hills, side by side, as we

-spoke.

-

-"To think," I repeated, "that I should meet Jack's little----"

-

-"Please," she said, "you are only three years my senior."

-

-She opened the sunshade and tipped it over one shoulder. It was white,

-and had spots and posies on it.

-

-"Jack sends us every new book you write," she observed. "I do not

-approve of some things you write."

-

-"Modern school," I mumbled.

-

-"That is no excuse," she said severely; "Anthony Trollope didn't do it."

-

-The foam spume from the breakers was drifting across the dunes, and the

-little tip-up snipe ran along the beach and teetered and whistled and

-spread their white-barred wings for a low, straight flight across the

-shingle, only to tip and skeep and sail on again. The salt sea wind

-whistled and curled through the crested waves, blowing in perfumed

-puffs across thickets of sweet bay and cedar. As we passed through the

-crackling juicy-stemmed marsh weed myriads of fiddler crabs raised

-their fore-claws in warning and backed away, rustling, through the

-reeds, aggressive, protesting.

-

-"Like millions of pigmy Ajaxes defying the lightning," I said.

-

-Miss Holroyd laughed.

-

-"Now I never imagined that authors were clever except in print," she

-said.

-

-She was a most extraordinary girl.

-

-"I suppose," she observed after a moment's silence--"I suppose I am

-taking you to my father."

-

-"Delighted!" I mumbled. "H'm! I had the honour of meeting Professor

-Holroyd in Paris."

-

-"Yes; he bailed you and Jack out," said Miss Holroyd serenely.

-

-The silence was too painful to last.

-

-"Captain McPeek is an interesting man," I said. I spoke more loudly

-than I intended; I may have been nervous.

-

-"Yes," said Daisy Holroyd, "but he has a most singular hotel clerk."

-

-"You mean Mr. Frisby?"

-

-"I do."

-

-"Yes," I admitted, "Mr. Frisby is queer. He was once a bill-poster."

-

-"I know it!" exclaimed Daisy Holroyd, with some heat. "He ruins

-landscapes whenever he has an opportunity. Do you know that he has a

-passion for bill-posting? He has; he posts bills for the pure pleasure

-of it, just as you play golf, or tennis, or billiards."

-

-"But he's a hotel clerk now," I said; "nobody employs him to post

-bills."

-

-"I know it! He does it all by himself for the pure pleasure of it. Papa

-has engaged him to come down here for two weeks, and I dread it," said

-the girl.

-

-What Professor Holroyd might want of Frisby I had not the faintest

-notion. I suppose Miss Holroyd noticed the bewilderment in my face, for

-she laughed, and nodded her head twice.

-

-"Not only Mr. Frisby, but Captain McPeek also," she said.

-

-"You don't mean to say that Captain McPeek is going to close his

-hotel!" I exclaimed.

-

-My trunk was there. It contained guarantees of my respectability.

-

-"Oh, no; his wife will keep it open," replied the girl. "Look! you can

-see papa now. He's digging."

-

-"Where?" I blurted out.

-

-I remembered Professor Holroyd as a prim, spectacled gentleman, with

-close-cut, snowy beard and a clerical allure. The man I saw digging

-wore green goggles, a jersey, a battered sou'wester, and hip-boots

-of rubber. He was delving in the muck of the salt meadow, his face

-streaming with perspiration, his boots and jersey splashed with

-unpleasant-looking mud. He glanced up as we approached, shading his

-eyes with a sunburnt hand.

-

-"Papa, dear," said Miss Holroyd, "here is Jack's friend, whom you

-bailed out of Mazas."

-

-The introduction was startling. I turned crimson with mortification.

-The professor was very decent about it; he called me by name at once.

-

-When he said this he looked at his spade. It was clear that he

-considered me a nuisance and wished to go on with his digging.

-

-"I suppose," he said, "you are still writing?"

-

-"A little," I replied, trying not to speak sarcastically. My output had

-rivaled that of "The Duchess"--in quantity, I mean.

-

-"I seldom read--fiction," he said, looking restlessly at the hole in

-the ground.

-

-Miss Holroyd came to my rescue.

-

-"That was a charming story you wrote last," she said. "Papa should read

-it--you should, papa; it's all about a fossil."

-

-We both looked narrowly at Miss Holroyd. Her smile was guileless.

-

-"Fossils!" repeated the professor. "Do you care for fossils?"

-

-"Very much," said I.

-

-Now I am not perfectly sure what my object was in lying. I looked at

-Daisy Holroyd's dark-fringed eyes. They were very grave.

-

-"Fossils," said I, "are my hobby."

-

-I think Miss Holroyd winced a little at this. I did not care. I went on:

-

-"I have seldom had the opportunity to study the subject, but, as a boy,

-I collected flint arrow-heads----"

-

-"Flint arrow-heads!" said the professor coldly.

-

-"Yes; they were the nearest things to fossils obtainable," I replied,

-marvelling at my own mendacity.

-

-The professor looked into the hole. I also looked. I could see nothing

-in it. "He's digging for fossils," thought I to myself.

-

-"Perhaps," said the professor cautiously, "you might wish to aid me

-in a little research--that is to say, if you have an inclination for

-fossils." The double-entendre was not lost upon me.

-

-"I have read all your books so eagerly," said I, "that to join you,

-to be of service to you in any research, however difficult and trying,

-would be an honour and a privilege that I never dared to hope for."

-

-"That," thought I to myself, "will do its own work."

-

-But the professor was still suspicious. How could he help it, when

-he remembered Jack's escapades, in which my name was always blended!

-Doubtless he was satisfied that my influence on Jack was evil. The

-contrary was the case, too.

-

-"Fossils," he said, worrying the edges of the excavation with his

-spade, "fossils are not things to be lightly considered."

-

-"No, indeed!" I protested.

-

-"Fossils are the most interesting as well as puzzling things in the

-world," said he.

-

-"They are!" I cried enthusiastically.

-

-"But I am not looking for fossils," observed the professor mildly.

-

-This was a facer. I looked at Daisy Holroyd. She bit her lip and fixed

-her eyes on the sea. Her eyes were wonderful eyes.

-

-"Did you think I was digging for fossils in a salt meadow?" queried

-the professor. "You can have read very little about the subject. I am

-digging for something quite different."

-

-I was silent. I knew that my face was a trifle flushed. I longed to

-say, "Well, what the devil are you digging for?" but I only stared into

-the hole as though hypnotized.

-

-"Captain McPeek and Frisby ought to be here," he said, looking first at

-Daisy and then across the meadows.

-

-I ached to ask him why he had subpoenaed Captain McPeek and Frisby.

-

-"They are coming," said Daisy, shading her eyes. "Do you see the speck

-on the meadows?"

-

-"It may be a mud hen," said the professor.

-

-"Miss Holroyd is right," I said. "A wagon and team and two men are

-coming from the north. There is a dog beside the wagon--it's that

-miserable yellow dog of Frisby's."

-

-"Good gracious!" cried the professor, "you don't mean to tell me that

-you see all that at such a distance?"

-

-"Why not?" I said.

-

-"I see nothing," he insisted.

-

-"You will see that I'm right, presently," I laughed.

-

-The professor removed his blue goggles and rubbed them, glancing

-obliquely at me.

-

-"Haven't you heard what extraordinary eyesight duck shooters have?"

-said his daughter, looking back at her father. "Jack says that they can

-tell exactly what kind of a duck is flying before most people could see

-anything at all in the sky."

-

-"It's true," I said; "it comes to anybody, I fancy, who has had

-practice."

-

-The professor regarded me with a new interest. There was inspiration in

-his eyes. He turned toward the ocean. For a long time he stared at the

-tossing waves on the beach, then he looked far out to where the horizon

-met the sea.

-

-"Are there any ducks out there?" he asked at last.

-

-"Yes," said I, scanning the sea, "there are."

-

-He produced a pair of binoculars from his coat-tail pocket, adjusted

-them, and raised them to his eyes.

-

-"H'm! What sort of ducks?"

-

-I looked more carefully, holding both hands over my forehead.

-

-"Surf ducks--scoters and widgeon. There is one bufflehead among

-them--no, two; the rest are coots," I replied.

-

-"This," cried the professor, "is most astonishing. I have good eyes,

-but I can't see a blessed thing without these binoculars!"

-

-"It's not extraordinary," said I; "the surf ducks and coots any novice

-might recognise; the widgeon and buffleheads I should not have been

-able to name unless they had risen from the water. It is easy to tell

-any duck when it is flying, even though it looks no bigger than a black

-pin-point."

-

-But the professor insisted that it was marvellous, and he said that I

-might render him invaluable service if I would consent to come and camp

-at Pine Inlet for a few weeks.

-

-I looked at his daughter, but she turned her back--not exactly in

-disdain either. Her back was beautifully moulded. Her gown fitted also.

-

-"Camp out here?" I repeated, pretending to be unpleasantly surprised.

-

-"I do not think he would care to," said Miss Holroyd without turning.

-

-I had not expected that.

-

-"Above all things," said I, in a clear, pleasant voice, "I like to camp

-out."

-

-She said nothing.

-

-"It is not exactly camping," said the professor. "Come, you shall see

-our conservatory. Daisy, come, dear! you must put on a heavier frock;

-it is getting toward sundown."

-

-At that moment, over a near dune, two horses' heads appeared, followed

-by two human heads, then a wagon, then a yellow dog.

-

-I turned triumphantly to the professor.

-

-"You are the very man I want," he muttered; "the very man--the very

-man."

-

-I looked at Daisy Holroyd. She returned my glance with a defiant little

-smile.

-

-"Waal," said Captain McPeek, driving up, "here we be! Git out, Frisby."

-

-Frisby, fat, nervous, and sentimental, hopped out of the cart.

-

-"Come!" said the professor, impatiently moving across the dunes. I

-walked with Daisy Holroyd. McPeek and Frisby followed. The yellow dog

-walked by himself.

-

-

-II.

-

-The sun was dipping into the sea as we trudged across the meadows

-toward a high dome-shaped dune covered with cedars and thickets of

-sweet bay. I saw no sign of habitation among the sand hills. Far as the

-eye could reach, nothing broke the gray line of sea and sky save the

-squat dunes crowned with stunted cedars.

-

-Then, as we rounded the base of the dune, we almost walked into the

-door of a house. My amazement amused Miss Holroyd, and I noticed also

-a touch of malice in her pretty eyes. But she said nothing, following

-her father into the house, with the slightest possible gesture to me.

-Was it invitation, or was it menace?

-

-The house was merely a light wooden frame, covered with some waterproof

-stuff that looked like a mixture of rubber and tar. Over this--in

-fact, over the whole roof--was pitched an awning of heavy sail-cloth.

-I noticed that the house was anchored to the sand by chains, already

-rusted red. But this one-storied house was not the only building

-nestling in the south shelter of the big dune. A hundred feet away

-stood another structure--long, low, also built of wood. It had rows on

-rows of round portholes on every side. The ports were fitted with heavy

-glass, hinged to swing open if necessary. A single big double door

-occupied the front.

-

-Behind this long, low building was still another, a mere shed. Smoke

-rose from the sheet-iron chimney. There was somebody moving about

-inside the open door.

-

-As I stood gaping at this mushroom hamlet the professor appeared at the

-door and asked me to enter. I stepped in at once.

-

-The house was much larger than I had imagined. A straight hallway ran

-through the centre from east to west. On either side of this hallway

-were rooms, the doors swinging wide open. I counted three doors on each

-side; the three on the south appeared to be bedrooms.

-

-The professor ushered me into a room on the north side, where I found

-Captain McPeek and Frisby sitting at a table, upon which were drawings

-and sketches of articulated animals and fishes.

-

-"You see, McPeek," said the professor, "we only wanted one more man,

-and I think I've got him.--Haven't I?" turning eagerly to me.

-

-"Why, yes," I said, laughing; "this is delightful. Am I invited to stay

-here?"

-

-"Your bedroom is the third on the south side; everything is ready.

-McPeek, you can bring his trunk to-morrow, can't you?" demanded the

-professor.

-

-The red-faced captain nodded, and shifted a quid.

-

-"Then it's all settled," said the professor, and he drew a sigh of

-satisfaction. "You see," he said, turning to me, "I was at my wit's end

-to know whom to trust. I never thought of you. Jack's out in China, and

-I didn't dare trust anybody in my own profession. All you care about is

-writing verses and stories, isn't it?"

-

-"I like to shoot," I replied mildly.

-

-"Just the thing!" he cried, beaming at us all in turn. "Now I can see

-no reason why we should not progress rapidly. McPeek, you and Frisby

-must get those boxes up here before dark. Dinner will be ready before

-you have finished unloading. Dick, you will wish to go to your room

-first."

-

-My name isn't Dick, but he spoke so kindly, and beamed upon me in such

-a fatherly manner, that I let it go. I had occasion to correct him

-afterward, several times, but he always forgot the next minute. He

-calls me Dick to this day.

-

-It was dark when Professor Holroyd, his daughter, and I sat down to

-dinner. The room was the same in which I had noticed the drawings of

-beast and bird, but the round table had been extended into an oval, and

-neatly spread with dainty linen and silver.

-

-A fresh-cheeked Swedish girl appeared from a further room, bearing the

-soup. The professor ladled it out, still beaming.

-

-"Now, this is very delightful!--isn't it, Daisy?" he said.

-

-"Very," said Miss Holroyd, with the faintest tinge of irony.

-

-"Very," I repeated heartily; but I looked at my soup when I said it.

-

-"I suppose," said the professor, nodding mysteriously at his daughter,

-"that Dick knows nothing of what we're about down here?"

-

-"I suppose," said Miss Holroyd, "that he thinks we are digging for

-fossils."

-

-I looked at my plate. She might have spared me that.

-

-"Well, well," said her father, smiling to himself, "he shall know

-everything by morning. You'll be astonished, Dick, my boy."

-

-"His name isn't Dick," corrected Daisy.

-

-The professor said, "Isn't it?" in an absent-minded way, and relapsed

-into contemplation of my necktie.

-

-I asked Miss Holroyd a few questions about Jack, and was informed that

-he had given up law and entered the diplomatic service--as what, I did

-not dare ask, for I know what our diplomatic service is.

-

-"In China," said Daisy.

-

-"Choo Choo is the name of the city," added her father proudly; "it's

-the terminus of the new trans-Siberian railway."

-

-"It's on the Yellow River," said Daisy.

-

-"He's vice-consul," added the professor triumphantly.

-

-"He'll make a good one," I observed. I knew Jack. I pitied his consul.

-

-So we chatted on about my old playmate, until Freda, the red-cheeked

-maid, brought coffee, and the professor lighted a cigar, with a little

-bow to his daughter.

-

-"Of course, you don't smoke," she said to me, with a glimmer of malice

-in her eyes.

-

-"He mustn't," interposed the professor hastily; "it will make his hand

-tremble."

-

-"No, it doesn't," said I, laughing; "but my hand will shake if I don't

-smoke. Are you going to employ me as a draughtsman?"

-

-"You'll know to-morrow," he chuckled, with a mysterious smile at his

-daughter.--"Daisy, give him my best cigars; put the box here on the

-table. We can't afford to have his hand tremble."

-

-Miss Holroyd rose, and crossed the hallway to her father's room,

-returning presently with a box of promising-looking cigars.

-

-"I don't think he knows what is good for him," she said. "He should

-smoke only one every day."

-

-It was hard to bear. I am not vindictive, but I decided to treasure up

-a few of Miss Holroyd's gentle taunts. My intimacy with her brother was

-certainly a disadvantage to me now. Jack had apparently been talking

-too much, and his sister appeared to be thoroughly acquainted with my

-past. It was a disadvantage. I remembered her vaguely as a girl with

-long braids, who used to come on Sundays with her father and take tea

-with us in our rooms. Then she went to Germany to school, and Jack and

-I employed our Sunday evenings otherwise. It is true that I regarded

-her weekly visits as a species of infliction, but I did not think I

-ever showed it.

-

-"It is strange," said I, "that you did not recognise me at once, Miss

-Holroyd. Have I changed so greatly in five years?"

-

-"You wore a pointed French beard in Paris," she said--"a very downy

-one. And you never stayed to tea but twice, and then you only spoke

-once."

-

-"Oh!" said I blankly. "What did I say?"

-

-"You asked me if I liked plums," said Daisy, bursting into an

-irresistible ripple of laughter.

-

-I saw that I must have made the same sort of an ass of myself that most

-boys of eighteen do.

-

-It was too bad. I never thought about the future in those days. Who

-could have imagined that little Daisy Holroyd would have grown up

-into this bewildering young lady? It was really too bad. Presently the

-professor retired to his room, carrying with him an armful of drawings,

-and bidding us not to sit up late. When he closed his door Miss Holroyd

-turned to me.

-

-"Papa will work over those drawings until midnight," she said, with a

-despairing smile.

-

-"It isn't good for him," I said. "What are the drawings?"

-

-"You may know to-morrow," she answered, leaning forward on the table

-and shading her face with one hand. "Tell me about yourself and Jack in

-Paris."

-

-I looked at her suspiciously.

-

-"What! There isn't much to tell. We studied. Jack went to the law

-school, and I attended--er--oh, all sorts of schools."

-

-"Did you? Surely you gave yourself a little recreation occasionally?"

-

-"Occasionally," I nodded.

-

-"I am afraid you and Jack studied too hard."

-

-"That may be," said I, looking meek.

-

-"Especially about fossils."

-

-I couldn't stand that.

-

-"Miss Holroyd," I said, "I do care for fossils. You may think that I am

-a humbug, but I have a perfect mania for fossils--now."

-

-"Since when?"

-

-"About an hour ago," I said airily. Out of the corner of my eye I saw

-that she had flushed up. It pleased me.

-

-"You will soon tire of the experiment," she said with a dangerous smile.

-

-"Oh, I may," I replied indifferently.

-

-She drew back. The movement was scarcely perceptible, but I noticed it,

-and she knew I did.

-

-The atmosphere was vaguely hostile. One feels such mental conditions

-and changes instantly. I picked up a chessboard, opened it, set up the

-pieces with elaborate care, and began to move, first the white, then

-the black. Miss Holroyd watched me coldly at first, but after a dozen

-moves she became interested and leaned a shade nearer. I moved a black

-pawn forward.

-

-"Why do you do that?" said Daisy.

-

-"Because," said I, "the white queen threatens the pawn."

-

-"It was an aggressive move," she insisted.

-

-"Purely defensive," I said. "If her white highness will let the pawn

-alone, the pawn will let the queen alone."

-

-Miss Holroyd rested her chin on her wrist and gazed steadily at the

-board. She was flushing furiously, but she held her ground.

-

-"If the white queen doesn't block that pawn, the pawn may become

-dangerous," she said coldly.

-

-I laughed, and closed up the board with a snap.

-

-"True," I said, "it might even take the queen." After a moment's

-silence I asked, "What would you do in that case, Miss Holroyd?"

-

-"I should resign," she said serenely; then realizing what she had said,

-she lost her self-possession for a second, and cried: "No, indeed! I

-should fight to the bitter end! I mean----"

-

-"What?" I asked, lingering over my revenge.

-

-"I mean," she said slowly, "that your black pawn would never have the

-chance--never! I should take it immediately."

-

-"I believe you would," said I, smiling; "so we'll call the game yours,

-and--the pawn captured."

-

-"I don't want it," she exclaimed. "A pawn is worthless."

-

-"Except when it's in the king row."

-

-"Chess is most interesting," she observed sedately. She had completely

-recovered her self-control. Still I saw that she now had a certain

-respect for my defensive powers. It was very soothing to me.

-

-"You know," said I gravely, "that I am fonder of Jack than of anybody.

-That's the reason we never write each other, except to borrow things. I

-am afraid that when I was a young cub in France I was not an attractive

-personality."

-

-"On the contrary," said Daisy, smiling, "I thought you were very big

-and very perfect. I had illusions. I wept often when I went home and

-remembered that you never took the trouble to speak to me but once."

-

-"I was a cub," I said; "not selfish and brutal, but I didn't understand

-schoolgirls. I never had any sisters, and I didn't know what to say to

-very young girls. If I had imagined that you felt hurt----"

-

-"Oh, I did--five years ago. Afterward I laughed at the whole thing."

-

-"Laughed?" I repeated, vaguely disappointed.

-

-"Why, of course. I was very easily hurt when I was a child. I think I

-have outgrown it."

-

-The soft curve of her sensitive mouth contradicted her.

-

-"Will you forgive me now?" I asked.

-

-"Yes. I had forgotten the whole thing until I met you an hour or so

-ago."

-

-There was something that had a ring not entirely genuine in this

-speech. I noticed it, but forgot it the next moment.

-

-"Tiger cubs have stripes," said I. "Selfishness blossoms in the cradle,

-and prophecy is not difficult. I hope I am not more selfish than my

-brothers."

-

-"I hope not," she said, smiling.

-

-Presently she rose, touched her hair with the tip of one finger, and

-walked to the door.

-

-"Good-night," she said, courtesying very low.

-

-"Good-night," said I, opening the door for her to pass.

-

-

-III.

-

-The sea was a sheet of silver, tinged with pink. The tremendous arch of

-the sky was all shimmering and glimmering with the promise of the sun.

-Already the mist above, flecked with clustered clouds, flushed with

-rose colour and dull gold. I heard the low splash of the waves breaking

-and curling across the beach. A wandering breeze, fresh and fragrant,

-blew the curtains of my window. There was the scent of sweet bay in the

-room, and everywhere the subtile, nameless perfume of the sea.

-

-When at last I stood upon the shore, the air and sea were all aglimmer

-in a rosy light, deepening to crimson in the zenith. Along the beach I

-saw a little cove, shelving and all ashine, where shallow waves washed

-with a mellow sound. Fine as dusted gold the shingle glowed, and the

-thin film of water rose, receded, crept up again a little higher, and

-again flowed back, with the low hiss of snowy foam and gilded bubbles

-breaking.

-

-I stood a little while quiet, my eyes upon the water, the invitation of

-the ocean in my ears, vague and sweet as the murmur of a shell. Then I

-looked at my bathing suit and towels.

-

-"In we go!" said I aloud. A second later the prophecy was fulfilled.

-

-I swam far out to sea, and as I swam the waters all around me turned to

-gold. The sun had risen.

-

-There is a fragrance in the sea at dawn that none can name. Whitethorn

-abloom in May, sedges asway, and scented rushes rustling in an inland

-wind recall the sea to me--I can't say why.

-

-Far out at sea I raised myself, swung around, dived, and set out again

-for shore, striking strong strokes until the flecked foam flew. And

-when at last I shot through the breakers, I laughed aloud and sprang

-upon the beach, breathless and happy. Then from the ocean came another

-cry, clear, joyous, and a white arm rose in the air.

-

-She came drifting in with the waves like a white sea-sprite, laughing

-at me from her tangled hair, and I plunged into the breakers again to

-join her.

-

-Side by side we swam along the coast, just outside the breakers, until

-in the next cove we saw the flutter of her maid's cap strings.

-

-"I will beat you to breakfast!" she cried, as I rested, watching her

-glide up along the beach.

-

-"Done!" said I--"for a sea-shell!"

-

-"Done!" she called across the water.

-

-I made good speed along the shore, and I was not long in dressing,

-but when I entered the dining-room she was there, demure, smiling,

-exquisite in her cool, white frock.

-

-"The sea-shell is yours," said I. "I hope I can find one with a pearl

-in it."

-

-The professor hurried in before she could reply. He greeted me very

-cordially, but there was an abstracted air about him, and he called me

-Dick until I recognised that remonstrance was useless. He was not long

-over his coffee and rolls.

-

-"McPeek and Frisby will return with the last load, including your

-trunk, by early afternoon," he said, rising and picking up his bundle

-of drawings. "I haven't time to explain to you what we are doing,

-Dick, but Daisy will take you about and instruct you. She will give

-you the rifle standing in my room--it's a good Winchester. I have

-sent for an 'Express' for you, big enough to knock over any elephant

-in India.--Daisy, take him through the sheds and tell him everything.

-Luncheon is at noon.--Do you usually take luncheon, Dick?"

-

-"When I am permitted," I smiled.

-

-"Well," said the professor doubtfully, "you mustn't come back here

-for it. Freda can take you what you want. Is your hand unsteady after

-eating?"

-

-"Why, papa!" said Daisy. "Do you intend to starve him?"

-

-We all laughed.

-

-The professor tucked his drawings into a capacious pocket, pulled his

-sea boots up to his hips, seized a spade, and left, nodding to us as

-though he were thinking of something else.

-

-We went to the door and watched him across the salt meadows until a

-distant sand dune hid him.

-

-"Come," said Daisy Holroyd, "I am going to take you to the shop."

-

-She put on a broad-brimmed straw hat, a distractingly pretty

-combination of filmy cool stuffs, and led the way to the long low

-structure that I had noticed the evening before.

-

-The interior was lighted by the numberless little portholes, and I

-could see everything plainly. I acknowledge I was nonplussed by what I

-did see.

-

-In the centre of the shed, which must have been at least a hundred feet

-long, stood what I thought at first was the skeleton of an enormous

-whale. After a moment's silent contemplation of the thing I saw that

-it could not be a whale, for the frames of two gigantic bat-like wings

-rose from each shoulder. Also I noticed that the animal possessed

-legs--four of them--with most unpleasant-looking webbed claws fully

-eight feet long. The bony framework of the head, too, resembled

-something between a crocodile and a monstrous snapping turtle.

-The walls of the shanty were hung with drawings and blue prints. A

-man dressed in white linen was tinkering with the vertebrae of the

-lizardlike tail.

-

-"Where on earth did such a reptile come from?" I asked at length.

-

-"Oh, it's not real!" said Daisy scornfully; "it's papier-mache."

-

-"I see," said I--"a stage prop."

-

-"A what?" asked Daisy, in hurt astonishment.

-

-"Why, a--a sort of Siegfried dragon--a what's-his-name--er, Pfafner, or

-Peffer, or----"

-

-"If my father heard you say such things he would dislike you," said

-Daisy. She looked grieved, and moved toward the door. I apologized--for

-what, I knew not--and we became reconciled. She ran into her father's

-room and brought me the rifle, a very good Winchester. She also gave me

-a cartridge belt, full.

-

-"Now," she smiled, "I shall take you to your observatory, and when we

-arrive you are to begin your duty at once."

-

-"And that duty?" I ventured, shouldering the rifle.

-

-"That duty is, to watch the ocean. I shall then explain the whole

-affair--but you mustn't look at me while I speak; you must watch the

-sea."

-

-"This," said I, "is hardship. I had rather go without the luncheon."

-

-I do not think she was offended at my speech; still she frowned for

-almost three seconds.

-

-We passed through acres of sweet bay and spear grass, sometimes

-skirting thickets of twisted cedars, sometimes walking in the full

-glare of the morning sun, sinking into shifting sand where sun-scorched

-shells crackled under our feet, and sun-browned seaweed glistened,

-bronzed and iridescent. Then, as we climbed a little hill, the sea wind

-freshened in our faces, and lo! the ocean lay below us, far-stretching

-as the eye could reach, glittering, magnificent.

-

-Daisy sat down flat on the sand. It takes a clever girl to do that and

-retain the respectful deference due her from men. It takes a graceful

-girl to accomplish it triumphantly when a man is looking.

-

-"You must sit beside me," she said--as though it would prove irksome to

-me.

-

-"Now," she continued, "you must watch the water while I am talking."

-

-I nodded.

-

-"Why don't you do it, then?" she asked.

-

-I succeeded in wrenching my head toward the ocean, although I felt sure

-it would swing gradually round again in spite of me.

-

-"To begin with," said Daisy Holroyd, "there's a thing in that ocean

-that would astonish you if you saw it. Turn your head!"

-

-"I am," I said meekly.

-

-"Did you hear what I said?"

-

-"Yes--er--a thing in the ocean that's going to astonish me." Visions of

-mermaids rose before me.

-

-"The thing," said Daisy, "is a Thermosaurus!"

-

-I nodded vaguely, as though anticipating a delightful introduction to

-a nautical friend.

-

-"You don't seem astonished," she said reproachfully.

-

-"Why should I be?" I asked.

-

-"Please turn your eyes toward the water. Suppose a Thermosaurus should

-look out of the waves!"

-

-"Well," said I, "in that case the pleasure would be mutual."

-

-She frowned, and bit her upper lip.

-

-"Do you know what a Thermosaurus is?" she asked.

-

-"If I am to guess," said I, "I guess it's a jellyfish."

-

-"It's that big, ugly, horrible creature that I showed you in the shed!"

-cried Daisy impatiently.

-

-"Eh!" I stammered.

-

-"Not papier-mache either," she continued excitedly; "it's a real one."

-

-This was pleasant news. I glanced instinctively at my rifle and then at

-the ocean.

-

-"Well," said I at last, "it strikes me that you and I resemble a pair

-of Andromedas waiting to be swallowed. This rifle won't stop a beast,

-a live beast, like that Nibelungen dragon of yours."

-

-"Yes, it will," she said; "it's not an ordinary rifle."

-

-Then, for the first time, I noticed, just below the magazine, a

-cylindrical attachment that was strange to me.

-

-"Now, if you will watch the sea very carefully, and will promise not to

-look at me," said Daisy, "I will try to explain."

-

-She did not wait for me to promise, but went on eagerly, a sparkle of

-excitement in her blue eyes:

-

-"You know, of all the fossil remains of the great bat-like and

-lizard-like creatures that inhabited the earth ages and ages ago,

-the bones of the gigantic saurians are the most interesting. I think

-they used to splash about the water and fly over the land during the

-Carboniferous period; anyway, it doesn't matter. Of course, you have

-seen pictures of reconstructed creatures such as the Ichthyosaurus, the

-Plesiosaurus, the Anthracosaurus, and the Thermosaurus?"

-

-I nodded, trying to keep my eyes from hers.

-

-"And you know that the remains of the Thermosaurus were first

-discovered and reconstructed by papa?"

-

-"Yes," said I. There was no use in saying no.

-

-"I am glad you do. Now, papa has proved that this creature lived

-entirely in the Gulf Stream, emerging for occasional flights across an

-ocean or two. Can you imagine how he proved it?"

-

-"No," said I, resolutely pointing my nose at the ocean.

-

-"He proved it by a minute examination of the microscopical shells

-found among the ribs of the Thermosaurus. These shells contained little

-creatures that live only in the warm waters of the Gulf Stream. They

-were the food of the Thermosaurus."

-

-"It was rather slender rations for a thing like that, wasn't it? Did he

-ever swallow bigger food--er--men?"

-

-"Oh, yes. Tons of fossil bones from prehistoric men are also found in

-the interior of the Thermosaurus."

-

-"Then," said I, "you, at least, had better go back to Captain

-McPeek's----"

-

-"Please turn around; don't be so foolish. I didn't say there was a

-_live_ Thermosaurus in the water, did I?"

-

-"Isn't there?"

-

-"Why, no!"

-

-My relief was genuine, but I thought of the rifle and looked

-suspiciously out to sea.

-

-"What's the Winchester for?" I asked.

-

-"Listen, and I will explain. Papa has found out--how, I do not exactly

-understand--that there is in the waters of the Gulf Stream the body of

-a Thermosaurus. The creature must have been alive within a year or so.

-The impenetrable scale armour that covers its body has, as far as papa

-knows, prevented its disintegration. We know that it is there still, or

-was there within a few months. Papa has reports and sworn depositions

-from steamer captains and seamen from a dozen different vessels,

-all corroborating each other in essential details. These stories, of

-course, get into the newspapers--sea-serpent stories--but papa knows

-that they confirm his theory that the huge body of this reptile is

-swinging along somewhere on the Gulf Stream."

-

-She opened her sunshade and held it over her. I noticed that she

-deigned to give me the benefit of about one eighth of it.

-

-"Your duty with that rifle is this: If we are fortunate enough to see

-the body of the Thermosaurus come floating by, you are to take good

-aim and fire--fire rapidly every bullet in the magazine; then reload

-and fire again, and reload and fire as long as you have any cartridges

-left."

-

-"A self-feeding Maxim is what I should have," I said with gentle

-sarcasm. "Well, and suppose I make a sieve of this big lizard?"

-

-"Do you see these rings in the sand?" she asked.

-

-Sure enough, somebody had driven heavy piles deep into the sand all

-around us, and to the tops of these piles were attached steel rings,

-half buried under the spear grass. We sat almost exactly in the centre

-of a circle of these rings.

-

-"The reason is this," said Daisy: "every bullet in your cartridges

-is steel-tipped and armour-piercing. To the base of each bullet is

-attached a thin wire of pallium. Pallium is that new metal, a thread of

-which, drawn out into finest wire, will hold a ton of iron suspended.

-Every bullet is fitted with minute coils of miles of this wire. When

-the bullet leaves the rifle it spins out this wire as a shot from a

-life-saver's mortar spins out and carries the life line to a wrecked

-ship. The end of each coil of wire is attached to that cylinder under

-the magazine of your rifle. As soon as the shell is automatically

-ejected this wire flies out also. A bit of scarlet tape is fixed to

-the end, so that it will be easy to pick up. There is also a snap clasp

-on the end, and this clasp fits those rings that you see in the sand.

-Now, when you begin firing, it is my duty to run and pick up the wire

-ends and attach them to the rings. Then, you see, we have the body of

-the Thermosaurus full of bullets, every bullet anchored to the shore by

-tiny wires, each of which could easily hold a ton's strain."

-

-I looked at her in amazement.

-

-"Then," she added calmly, "we have captured the Thermosaurus."

-

-"Your father," said I at length, "must have spent years of labour over

-this preparation."

-

-"It is the work of a lifetime," she said simply.

-

-My face, I suppose, showed my misgivings.

-

-"It must not fail," she added.

-

-"But--but we are nowhere near the Gulf Stream," I ventured.

-

-Her face brightened, and she frankly held the sunshade over us both.

-

-"Ah, you don't know," she said, "what else papa has discovered. Would

-you believe that he has found a loop in the Gulf Stream--a genuine

-loop--that swings in here just outside of the breakers below? It is

-true! Everybody on Long Island knows that there is a warm current off

-the coast, but nobody imagined it was merely a sort of backwater from

-the Gulf Stream that formed a great circular mill-race around the

-cone of a subterranean volcano, and rejoined the Gulf Stream off Cape

-Albatross. But it is! That is why papa bought a yacht three years ago

-and sailed about for two years so mysteriously. Oh, I did want to go

-with him so much!"

-

-"This," said I, "is most astonishing."

-

-She leaned enthusiastically toward me, her lovely face aglow.

-

-"Isn't it?" she said; "and to think that you and papa and I are the

-only people in the whole world who know this!"

-

-To be included in such a triology was very delightful.

-

-"Papa is writing the whole thing--I mean about the currents. He also

-has in preparation sixteen volumes on the Thermosaurus. He said this

-morning that he was going to ask you to write the story first for some

-scientific magazine. He is certain that Professor Bruce Stoddard, of

-Columbia, will write the pamphlets necessary. This will give papa time

-to attend to the sixteen-volume work, which he expects to finish in

-three years."

-

-"Let us first," said I, laughing, "catch our Thermosaurus."

-

-"We must not fail," she said wistfully.

-

-"We shall not fail," I said, "for I promise to sit on this sand hill

-as long as I live--until a Thermosaurus appears--if that is your wish,

-Miss Holroyd."

-

-Our eyes met for an instant. She did not chide me, either, for not

-looking at the ocean. Her eyes were bluer, anyway.

-

-"I suppose," she said, bending her head and absently pouring sand

-between her fingers--"I suppose you think me a blue-stocking, or

-something odious?"

-

-"Not exactly," I said. There was an emphasis in my voice that made her

-colour. After a moment she laid the sunshade down, still open.

-

-"May I hold it?" I asked.

-

-She nodded almost imperceptibly.

-

-The ocean had turned a deep marine blue, verging on purple, that

-heralded a scorching afternoon. The wind died away; the odour of cedar

-and sweet bay hung heavy in the air.

-

-In the sand at our feet an iridescent flower beetle crawled, its

-metallic green and blue wings burning like a spark. Great gnats, with

-filmy, glittering wings, danced aimlessly above the young golden-rod;

-burnished crickets, inquisitive, timid, ran from under chips of

-driftwood, waved their antennae at us, and ran back again. One by one

-the marbled tiger beetles tumbled at our feet, dazed from the exertion

-of an aerial flight, then scrambled and ran a little way, or darted

-into the wire grass, where great brilliant spiders eyed them askance

-from their gossamer hammocks.

-

-Far out at sea the white gulls floated and drifted on the water, or

-sailed up into the air to flap lazily for a moment and settle back

-among the waves. Strings of black surf ducks passed, their strong wings

-tipping the surface of the water; single wandering coots whirled from

-the breakers into lonely flight toward the horizon.

-

-We lay and watched the little ring-necks running along the water's

-edge, now backing away from the incoming tide, now boldly wading

-after the undertow. The harmony of silence, the deep perfume, the

-mystery of waiting for that something that all await--what is it?

-love? death? or only the miracle of another morrow?--troubled me with

-vague restfulness. As sunlight casts shadows, happiness, too, throws a

-shadow, and the shadow is sadness.

-

-And so the morning wore away until Freda came with a cool-looking

-hamper. Then delicious cold fowl and lettuce sandwiches and champagne

-cup set our tongues wagging as only very young tongues can wag. Daisy

-went back with Freda after luncheon, leaving me a case of cigars, with

-a bantering smile. I dozed, half awake, keeping a partly closed eye

-on the ocean, where a faint gray streak showed plainly amid the azure

-water all around. That was the Gulf Stream loop.

-

-About four o'clock Frisby appeared with a bamboo shelter tent, for

-which I was unaffectedly grateful.

-

-After he had erected it over me he stopped to chat a bit, but the

-conversation bored me, for he could talk of nothing but bill-posting.

-

-"You wouldn't ruin the landscape here, would you?" I asked.

-

-"Ruin it!" repeated Frisby nervously. "It's ruined now; there ain't a

-place to stick a bill."

-

-"The snipe stick bills--in the sand," I said flippantly.

-

-There was no humour about Frisby. "Do they?" he asked.

-

-I moved with a certain impatience.

-

-"Bills," said Frisby, "give spice an' variety to Nature. They break the

-monotony of the everlastin' green and what-you-may-call-its."

-

-I glared at him.

-

-"Bills," he continued, "are not easy to stick, lemme tell you, sir.

-Sign paintin's a soft snap when it comes to bill-stickin'. Now, I guess

-I've stuck more bills in New York State than ennybody."

-

-"Have you?" I said angrily.

-

-"Yes, siree! I always pick out the purtiest spots--kinder filled chuck

-full of woods and brooks and things; then I h'ist my paste-pot onto a

-rock, and I slather that rock with gum, and whoop she goes!"

-

-"Whoop what goes?"

-

-"The bill. I paste her onto the rock, with one swipe of the brush for

-the edges and a back-handed swipe for the finish--except when a bill is

-folded in two halves."

-

-"And what do you do then?" I asked, disgusted.

-

-"Swipe twice," said Frisby with enthusiasm.

-

-"And you don't think it injures the landscape?"

-

-"Injures it!" he exclaimed, convinced that I was attempting to joke.

-

-I looked wearily out to sea. He also looked at the water and sighed

-sentimentally.

-

-"Floatin' buoys with bills onto 'em is a idea of mine," he observed.

-"That damn ocean is monotonous, ain't it?"

-

-I don't know what I might have done to Frisby--the rifle was so

-convenient--if his mean yellow dog had not waddled up at this juncture.

-

-"Hi, Davy, sic 'em!" said Frisby, expectorating upon a clamshell

-and hurling it seaward. The cur watched the flight of the shell

-apathetically, then squatted in the sand and looked at his master.

-

-"Kinder lost his spirit," said Frisby, "ain't he? I once stuck a bill

-onto Davy, an' it come off, an' the paste sorter sickened him. He was

-hell on rats--once!"

-

-After a moment or two Frisby took himself off, whistling cheerfully

-to Davy, who followed him when he was ready. The rifle burned in my

-fingers.

-

-It was nearly six o'clock when the professor appeared, spade on

-shoulder, boots smeared with mud.

-

-"Well," he said, "nothing to report, Dick, my boy?"

-

-"Nothing, professor."

-

-He wiped his shining face with his handkerchief and stared at the water.

-

-"My calculations lead me to believe," he said, "that our prize may be

-due any day now. This theory I base upon the result of the report from

-the last sea captain I saw. I can not understand why some of these

-captains did not take the carcass in tow. They all say that they tried,

-but that the body sank before they could come within half a mile. The

-truth is, probably, that they did not stir a foot from their course to

-examine the thing."

-

-"Have you ever cruised about for it?" I ventured.

-

-"For two years," he said grimly. "It's no use; it's accident when a

-ship falls in with it. One captain reports it a thousand miles from

-where the last skipper spoke it, and always in the Gulf Stream. They

-think it is a different specimen every time, and the papers are teeming

-with sea-serpent fol-de-rol."

-

-"Are you sure," I asked, "that it will swing in to the coast on this

-Gulf Stream loop?"

-

-"I think I may say that it is certain to do so. I experimented with

-a dead right whale. You may have heard of its coming ashore here last

-summer."

-

-"I think I did," said I with a faint smile. The thing had poisoned the

-air for miles around.

-

-"But," I continued, "suppose it comes in the night?"

-

-He laughed.

-

-"There I am lucky. Every night this month, and every day, too,

-the current of the loop runs inland so far that even a porpoise

-would strand for at least twelve hours. Longer than that I have not

-experimented with, but I know that the shore trend of the loop runs

-across a long spur of the submerged volcanic mountain, and that

-anything heavier than a porpoise would scrape the bottom and be carried

-so slowly that at least twelve hours must elapse before the carcass

-could float again into deep water. There are chances of its stranding

-indefinitely, too, but I don't care to take those chances. That is why

-I have stationed you here, Dick, my boy."

-

-He glanced again at the water, smiling to himself.

-

-"There is another question I want to ask," I said, "if you don't mind."

-

-"Of course not!" he said warmly.

-

-"What are you digging for?"

-

-"Why, simply for exercise. The doctor told me I was killing myself

-with my sedentary habits, so I decided to dig. I don't know a better

-exercise. Do you?"

-

-"I suppose not," I murmured, rather red in the face. I wondered whether

-he'd mention fossils.

-

-"Did Daisy tell you why we are making our papier-mache Thermosaurus?"

-he asked.

-

-I shook my head.

-

-"We constructed that from measurements I took from the fossil remains

-of the Thermosaurus in the Metropolitan Museum. Professor Bruce

-Stoddard made the drawings. We set it up here, all ready to receive the

-skin of the carcass that I am expecting."

-

-We had started toward home, walking slowly across the darkening dunes,

-shoulder to shoulder. The sand was deep, and walking was not easy.

-

-"I wish," said I at last, "that I knew why Miss Holroyd asked me not to

-walk on the beach. It's much less fatiguing."

-

-"That," said the professor, "is a matter that I intend to discuss with

-you to-night." He spoke gravely, almost sadly. I felt that something of

-unparalleled importance was soon to be revealed. So I kept very quiet,

-watching the ocean out of the corners of my eyes.

-

-

-IV.

-

-Dinner was ended. Daisy Holroyd lighted her father's pipe for him, and

-insisted on my smoking as much as I pleased. Then she sat down, and

-folded her hands like a good little girl, waiting for her father to

-make the revelation which I felt in my bones must be something out of

-the ordinary.

-

-The professor smoked for a while, gazing meditatively at his daughter;

-then, fixing his gray eyes on me, he said:

-

-"Have you ever heard of the kree--that Australian bird, half parrot,

-half hawk, that destroys so many sheep in New South Wales?"

-

-I nodded.

-

-"The kree kills a sheep by alighting on its back and tearing away

-the flesh with its hooked beak until a vital part is reached. You

-know that? Well, it has been discovered that the kree had prehistoric

-prototypes. These birds were enormous creatures, who preyed upon

-mammoths and mastodons, and even upon the great saurians. It has

-been conclusively proved that a few saurians have been killed by

-the ancestors of the kree, but the favourite food of these birds was

-undoubtedly the Thermosaurus. It is believed that the birds attacked

-the eyes of the Thermosaurus, and when, as was its habit, the mammoth

-creature turned on its back to claw them, they fell upon the thinner

-scales of its stomach armour and finally killed it. This, of course,

-is a theory, but we have almost absolute proofs of its correctness.

-Now, these two birds are known among scientists as the ekaf-bird and

-the ool-yllik. The names are Australian, in which country most of

-their remains have been unearthed. They lived during the Carboniferous

-period. Now it is not generally known, but the fact is, that in

-1801 Captain Ransom, of the British exploring vessel Gull, purchased

-from the natives of Tasmania the skin of an ekaf-bird that could not

-have been killed more than twenty-four hours previous to its sale. I

-saw this skin in the British Museum. It was labelled "unknown bird,

-probably extinct." It took me exactly a week to satisfy myself that it

-was actually the skin of an ekaf-bird. But that is not all, Dick, my

-boy," continued the professor excitedly. "In 1854, Admiral Stuart, of

-our own navy, saw the carcass of a strange gigantic bird floating along

-the southern coast of Australia. Sharks were after it, and, before a

-boat could be lowered, these miserable fish got it. But the good old

-admiral secured a few feathers and sent them to the Smithsonian. I saw

-them. They were not even labelled, but I knew that they were feathers

-from the ekaf-bird or its near relative, the ool-yllik."

-

-I had grown so interested that I had leaned far across the table.

-Daisy, too, bent forward. It was only when the professor paused for a

-moment that I noticed how close together our heads were--Daisy's and

-mine. I don't think she realized it. She did not move.

-

-"Now comes the important part of this long discourse," said the

-professor, smiling at our eagerness. "Ever since the carcass of our

-derelict Thermosaurus was first noticed, every captain who has seen

-it has also reported the presence of one or more gigantic birds in

-the neighbourhood. These birds, at a great distance, appeared to

-be hovering over the carcass, but on the approach of a vessel they

-disappeared. Even in midocean they were observed. When I heard about it

-I was puzzled. A month later I was satisfied that neither the ekaf-bird

-nor the ool-yllik was extinct. Last Monday I knew that I was right.

-I found forty-eight distinct impressions of the huge seven-toed claw

-of the ekaf-bird on the beach here at Pine Inlet. You may imagine my

-excitement. I succeeded in digging up enough wet sand around one of

-these impressions to preserve its form. I managed to get it into a soap

-box, and now it is there in my shop. The tide rose too rapidly for me

-to save the other footprints."

-

-I shuddered at the possibility of a clumsy misstep on my part

-obliterating the impression of an ool-yllik.

-

-"That is the reason that my daughter warned you off the beach," he said

-mildly.

-

-"Hanging would have been too good for the vandal who destroyed such

-priceless prizes!" I cried out in self-reproach.

-

-Daisy Holroyd turned a flushed face to mine, and impulsively laid her

-hand on my sleeve.

-

-"How could you know?" she said.

-

-"It's all right now," said her father, emphasizing each word with

-a gentle tap of his pipe-bowl on the table edge; "don't be hard on

-yourself, Dick, my boy. You'll do yeoman's service yet."

-

-It was nearly midnight, and still we chatted on about the Thermosaurus,

-the ekaf-bird, and the ool-yllik, eagerly discussing the probability of

-the great reptile's carcass being in the vicinity. That alone seemed to

-explain the presence of these prehistoric birds at Pine Inlet.

-

-"Do they ever attack human beings?" I asked.

-

-The professor looked startled.

-

-"Gracious!" he exclaimed, "I never thought of that. And Daisy running

-about out of doors! Dear me! it takes a scientist to be an unnatural

-parent!"

-

-His alarm was half real, half assumed; but all the same, he glanced

-gravely at us both, shaking his handsome head, absorbed in thought.

-Daisy herself looked a little doubtful. As for me, my sensations were

-distinctly queer.

-

-"It is true," said the professor, frowning at the wall, "that human

-remains have been found associated with the bones of the ekaf-bird--I

-don't know how intimately. It is a matter to be taken into most serious

-consideration."

-

-"The problem can be solved," said I, "in several ways. One is, to keep

-Miss Holroyd in the house----"

-

-"I shall not stay in!" cried Daisy indignantly.

-

-We all laughed, and her father assured her that she should not be

-abused.

-

-"Even if I did stay in," she said, "one of these birds might alight on

-Master Dick."

-

-She looked saucily at me as she spoke, but turned crimson when her

-father observed quietly, "You don't seem to think of me, Daisy."

-

-"Of course I do," she said, getting up and putting both arms around

-her father's neck; "but Dick--as--as you call him--is so helpless and

-timid."

-

-My blissful smile froze on my lips.

-

-"Timid!" I repeated.

-

-She came back to the table, making me a mocking reverence.

-

-"Do you think I am to be laughed at with impunity?" she said.

-

-"What are your other plans, Dick, my boy?" asked the

-professor.--"Daisy, let him alone, you little tease!"

-

-"One is, to haul a lot of cast-iron boilers along the dunes," I said.

-"If these birds come when the carcass floats in, and if they seem

-disposed to trouble us, we could crawl into the boilers and be safe."

-

-"Why, that is really brilliant!" cried Daisy.

-

-"Be quiet, my child! Dick, the plan is sound and sensible and perfectly

-practical. McPeek and Frisby shall go for a dozen loads of boilers

-to-morrow."

-

-"It will spoil the beauty of the landscape," said Daisy, with a

-taunting nod to me.

-

-"And Frisby will probably attempt to cover them with bill-posters," I

-added, laughing.

-

-"That," said Daisy, "I shall prevent, even at the cost of my life." And

-she stood up, looking very determined.

-

-"Children, children," protested the professor, "go to bed--you bother

-me."

-

-Then I turned deliberately to Miss Holroyd.

-

-"Good-night, Daisy," I said.

-

-"Good-night, Dick," she said, very gently.

-

-

-V.

-

-The week passed quickly for me, leaving but few definite impressions.

-As I look back to it now I can see the long stretch of beach burning

-in the fierce sunlight, the endless meadows, with the glimmer of

-water in the distance, the dunes, the twisted cedars, the leagues of

-scintillating ocean, rocking, rocking, always rocking. In the starlit

-nights the curlew came in from the sand-bars by twos and threes; I

-could hear their faint call as I lay in bed thinking. All day long the

-little ring-necks whistled from the shore. The plover answered them

-from distant lonely inland pools. The great white gulls drifted like

-feathers upon the sea.

-

-One morning, toward the end of the week, I, strolling along the dunes,

-came upon Frisby. He was bill-posting. I caught him red-handed.

-

-"This," said I, "must stop. Do you understand, Mr. Frisby?"

-

-He stepped back from his work, laying his head on one side, considering

-first me, then the bill that he had pasted on one of our big boilers.

-

-"Don't like the colour?" he asked. "It goes well on them boilers."

-

-"Colour! No, I don't like the colour either. Can't you understand that

-there are some people in the world who object to seeing patent-medicine

-advertisements scattered over a landscape?"

-

-"Hey?" he said perplexed.

-

-"Will you kindly remove that advertisement?" I persisted.

-

-"Too late," said Frisby; "it's sot."

-

-I was too disgusted to speak, but my disgust turned to anger when

-I perceived that, as far as the eye could reach, our boilers, lying

-from three to four hundred feet apart, were ablaze with yellow and red

-posters, extolling the "Eureka Liver Pill Company."

-

-"It don't cost 'em nothin'," said Frisby cheerfully; "I done it fur the

-fun of it. Purty, ain't it?"

-

-"They are Professor Holroyd's boilers," I said, subduing a desire

-to beat Frisby with my telescope. "Wait until Miss Holroyd sees this

-work."

-

-"Don't she like yeller and red?" he demanded anxiously.

-

-"You'll find out," said I.

-

-Frisby gaped at his handiwork and then at his yellow dog. After a

-moment he mechanically spat on a clamshell and requested Davy to "sic"

-it.

-

-"Can't you comprehend that you have ruined our pleasure in the

-landscape?" I asked more mildly.

-

-"I've got some green bills," said Frisby; "I kin stick 'em over the

-yeller ones----"

-

-"Confound it!" said I, "it isn't the colour!"

-

-"Then," observed Frisby, "you don't like them pills. I've got some

-bills of the 'Cropper Bicycle,' and a few of 'Bagley, the Gents'

-Tailor----'"

-

-"Frisby," said I, "use them all--paste the whole collection over your

-dog and yourself--then walk off the cliff."

-

-He sullenly unfolded a green poster, swabbed the boiler with paste,

-laid the upper section of the bill upon it, and plastered the whole

-bill down with a thwack of his brush. As I walked away I heard him

-muttering.

-

-Next day Daisy was so horrified that I promised to give Frisby an

-ultimatum. I found him with Freda, gazing sentimentally at his work,

-and I sent him back to the shop in a hurry, telling Freda at the same

-time that she could spend her leisure in providing Mr. Frisby with

-sand, soap, and a scrubbing brush. Then I walked on to my post of

-observation.

-

-I watched until sunset. Daisy came with her father to hear my report,

-but there was nothing to tell, and we three walked slowly back to the

-house.

-

-In the evenings the professor worked on his volumes, the click of his

-type-writer sounding faintly behind his closed door. Daisy and I played

-chess sometimes; sometimes we played hearts. I don't remember that we

-ever finished a game of either--we talked too much.

-

-Our discussions covered every topic of interest: we argued

-upon politics; we skimmed over literature and music; we settled

-international differences; we spoke vaguely of human brotherhood. I say

-we slighted no subject of interest--I am wrong; we never spoke of love.

-

-Now, love is a matter of interest to ten people out of ten. Why it was

-that it did not appear to interest us is as interesting a question

-as love itself. We were young, alert, enthusiastic, inquiring. We

-eagerly absorbed theories concerning any curious phenomena in Nature,

-as intellectual cocktails to stimulate discussion. And yet we did not

-discuss love. I do not say that we avoided it. No; the subject was too

-completely ignored for even that. And yet we found it very difficult to

-pass an hour separated. The professor noticed this, and laughed at us.

-We were not even embarrassed.

-

-Sunday passed in pious contemplation of the ocean. Daisy read a little

-in her prayer-book, and the professor threw a cloth over his typewriter

-and strolled up and down the sands. He may have been lost in devout

-abstraction; he may have been looking for footprints. As for me, my

-mind was very serene, and I was more than happy. Daisy read to me a

-little for my soul's sake, and the professor came up and said something

-cheerful. He also examined the magazine of my Winchester.

-

-That night, too, Daisy took her guitar to the sands and sang one or two

-Armenian hymns. Unlike us, the Armenians do not take their pleasures

-sadly. One of their pleasures is evidently religion.

-

-The big moon came up over the dunes and stared at the sea until the

-surface of every wave trembled with radiance. A sudden stillness fell

-across the world; the wind died out; the foam ran noiselessly across

-the beach; the cricket's rune was stilled.

-

-I leaned back, dropping one hand upon the sand. It touched another

-hand, soft and cool.

-

-After a while the other hand moved slightly, and I found that my own

-had closed above it. Presently one finger stirred a little--only a

-little--for our fingers were interlocked.

-

-On the shore the foam-froth bubbled and winked and glimmered in the

-moonlight. A star fell from the zenith, showering the night with

-incandescent dust.

-

-If our fingers lay interlaced beside us, her eyes were calm and serene

-as always, wide open, fixed upon the depths of a dark sky. And when her

-father rose and spoke to us, she did not withdraw her hand.

-

-"Is it late?" she asked dreamily.

-

-"It is midnight, little daughter."

-

-I stood up, still holding her hand, and aided her to rise. And when, at

-the door, I said good-night, she turned and looked at me for a little

-while in silence, then passed into her room slowly, with head still

-turned toward me.

-

-All night long I dreamed of her; and when the east whitened, I sprang

-up, the thunder of the ocean in my ears, the strong sea wind blowing

-into the open window.

-

-"She is asleep," I thought, and I leaned from the window and peered out

-into the east.

-

-The sea called to me, tossing its thousand arms; the soaring gulls,

-dipping, rising, wheeling above the sand-bar, screamed and clamoured

-for a playmate. I slipped into my bathing suit, dropped from the window

-upon the soft sand, and in a moment had plunged head foremost into the

-surf, swimming beneath the waves toward the open sea.

-

-Under the tossing ocean the voice of the waters was in my ears--a low,

-sweet voice, intimate, mysterious. Through singing foam and broad,

-green, glassy depths, by whispering sandy channels atrail with seaweed,

-and on, on, out into the vague, cool sea, I sped, rising to the top,

-sinking, gliding. Then at last I flung myself out of water, hands

-raised, and the clamour of the gulls filled my ears.

-

-As I lay, breathing fast, drifting on the sea, far out beyond the gulls

-I saw a flash of white, and an arm was lifted, signalling me.

-

-"Daisy!" I called.

-

-A clear hail came across the water, distinct on the sea wind, and at

-the same instant we raised our hands and moved toward each other.

-

-How we laughed as we met in the sea! The white dawn came up out of the

-depths, the zenith turned to rose and ashes.

-

-And with the dawn came the wind--a great sea wind, fresh, aromatic,

-that hurled our voices back into our throats and lifted the sheeted

-spray above our heads. Every wave, crowned with mist, caught us in a

-cool embrace, cradled us, and slipped away, only to leave us to another

-wave, higher, stronger, crested with opalescent glory, breathing

-incense.

-

-We turned together up the coast, swimming lightly side by side, but our

-words were caught up by the winds and whirled into the sky.

-

-We looked up at the driving clouds; we looked out upon the pallid waste

-of waters; but it was into each other's eyes we looked, wondering,

-wistful, questioning the reason of sky and sea. And there in each

-other's eyes we read the mystery, and we knew that earth and sky and

-sea were created for us alone.

-

-Drifting on by distant sands and dunes, her white fingers touching

-mine, we spoke, keying our tones to the wind's vast harmony. And we

-spoke of love.

-

-Gray and wide as the limitless span of the sky and the sea, the

-winds gathered from the world's ends to bear us on; but they were

-not familiar winds; for now, along the coast, the breakers curled and

-showed a million fangs, and the ocean stirred to its depths, uneasy,

-ominous, and the menace of its murmur drew us closer as we moved.

-

-Where the dull thunder and the tossing spray warned us from sunken

-reefs, we heard the harsh challenges of gulls; where the pallid surf

-twisted in yellow coils of spume above the bar, the singing sands

-murmured of treachery and secrets of lost souls agasp in the throes of

-silent undertows.

-

-But there was a little stretch of beach glimmering through the

-mountains of water, and toward this we turned, side by side. Around us

-the water grew warmer; the breath of the following waves moistened our

-cheeks; the water itself grew gray and strange about us.

-

-"We have come too far," I said; but she only answered: "Faster, faster!

-I am afraid!" The water was almost hot now; its aromatic odour filled

-our lungs.

-

-"The Gulf loop!" I muttered. "Daisy, shall I help you?"

-

-"No. Swim--close by me! Oh-h! Dick----"

-

-Her startled cry was echoed by another--a shrill scream, unutterably

-horrible--and a great bird flapped from the beach, splashing and

-beating its pinions across the water with a thundering noise.

-

-Out across the waves it blundered, rising little by little from the

-water, and now, to my horror, I saw another monstrous bird swinging in

-the air above it, squealing as it turned on its vast wings. Before I

-could speak we touched the beach, and I half lifted her to the shore.

-

-"Quick!" I repeated. "We must not wait."

-

-Her eyes were dark with fear, but she rested a hand on my shoulder, and

-we crept up among the dune grasses and sank down by the point of sand

-where the rough shelter stood, surrounded by the iron-ringed piles.

-

-She lay there, breathing fast and deep, dripping with spray. I had no

-power of speech left, but when I rose wearily to my knees and looked

-out upon the water my blood ran cold. Above the ocean, on the breast

-of the roaring wind, three enormous birds sailed, turning and wheeling

-among each other; and below, drifting with the gray stream of the Gulf

-loop, a colossal bulk lay half submerged--a gigantic lizard, floating

-belly upward.

-

-Then Daisy crept kneeling to my side and touched me, trembling from

-head to foot.

-

-"I know," I muttered. "I must run back for the rifle."

-

-"And--and leave me?"

-

-I took her by the hand, and we dragged ourselves through the wire grass

-to the open end of a boiler lying in the sand.

-

-She crept in on her hands and knees, and called to me to follow.

-

-"You are safe now," I cried. "I must go back for the rifle."

-

-"The birds may--may attack you."

-

-"If they do I can get into one of the other boilers," I said. "Daisy,

-you must not venture out until I come back. You won't, will you?"

-

-"No-o," she whispered doubtfully.

-

-"Then--good-by."

-

-"Good-by," she answered, but her voice was very small and still.

-

-"Good-by," I said again. I was kneeling at the mouth of the big iron

-tunnel; it was dark inside and I could not see her, but, before I was

-conscious of it, her arms were around my neck and we had kissed each

-other.

-

-I don't remember how I went away. When I came to my proper senses I was

-swimming along the coast at full speed, and over my head wheeled one of

-the birds, screaming at every turn.

-

-The intoxication of that innocent embrace, the close impress of her

-arms around my neck, gave me a strength and recklessness that neither

-fear nor fatigue could subdue. The bird above me did not even frighten

-me; I watched it over my shoulder, swimming strongly, with the tide now

-aiding me, now stemming my course; but I saw the shore passing quickly

-and my strength increased, and I shouted when I came in sight of the

-house, and scrambled up on the sand, dripping and excited. There was

-nobody in sight, and I gave a last glance up into the air where the

-bird wheeled, still screeching, and hastened into the house. Freda

-stared at me in amazement as I seized the rifle and shouted for the

-professor.

-

-"He has just gone to town, with Captain McPeek in his wagon," stammered

-Freda.

-

-"What!" I cried. "Does he know where his daughter is?"

-

-"Miss Holroyd is asleep--not?" gasped Freda.

-

-"Where's Frisby?" I cried impatiently.

-

-"Yimmie?" quavered Freda.

-

-"Yes, Jimmie; isn't there anybody here? Good heavens! where's that man

-in the shop?"

-

-"He also iss gone," said Freda, shedding tears, "to buy papier-mache.

-Yimmie, he iss gone to post bills."

-

-I waited to hear no more, but swung my rifle over my shoulder, and,

-hanging the cartridge belt across my chest, hurried out and up the

-beach. The bird was not in sight.

-

-I had been running for perhaps a minute when, far up on the dunes, I

-saw a yellow dog rush madly through a clump of sweet bay, and at the

-same moment a bird soared past, rose, and hung hovering just above

-the thicket. Suddenly the bird swooped; there was a shriek and a yelp

-from the cur, but the bird gripped it in one claw and beat its wings

-upon the sand, striving to rise. Then I saw Frisby--paste, bucket, and

-brush raised--fall upon the bird, yelling lustily. The fierce creature

-relaxed its talons, and the dog rushed on, squeaking with terror. The

-bird turned on Frisby and sent him sprawling on his face, a sticky

-mass of paste and sand. But this did not end the struggle. The bird,

-croaking wildly, flew at the prostrate billposter, and the sand whirled

-into a pillar above its terrible wings. Scarcely knowing what I was

-about, I raised my rifle and fired twice. A horrid scream echoed each

-shot, and the bird rose heavily in a shower of sand; but two bullets

-were embedded in that mass of foul feathers, and I saw the wires and

-scarlet tape uncoiling on the sand at my feet. In an instant I seized

-them and passed the ends around a cedar tree, hooking the clasps tight.

-Then I cast one swift glance upward, where the bird wheeled screeching,

-anchored like a kite to the pallium wires; and I hurried on across

-the dunes, the shells cutting my feet, and the bushes tearing my wet

-swimming suit, until I dripped with blood from shoulder to ankle. Out

-in the ocean the carcass of the Thermosaurus floated, claws outspread,

-belly glistening in the gray light, and over him circled two birds. As

-I reached the shelter I knelt and fired into the mass of scales, and at

-my first shot a horrible thing occurred: the lizardlike head writhed,

-the slitted yellow eyes sliding open from the film that covered them.

-A shudder passed across the undulating body, the great scaled belly

-heaved, and one leg feebly clawed at the air.

-

-The thing was still alive!

-

-Crushing back the horror that almost paralyzed my hands, I planted shot

-after shot into the quivering reptile, while it writhed and clawed,

-striving to turn over and dive; and at each shot the black blood

-spurted in long, slim jets across the water. And now Daisy was at my

-side, pale and determined, swiftly clasping each tape-marked wire to

-the iron rings in the circle around us. Twice I filled the magazine

-from my belt, and twice I poured streams of steel-tipped bullets into

-the scaled mass, twisting and shuddering on the sea. Suddenly the birds

-steered toward us. I felt the wind from their vast wings. I saw the

-feathers erect, vibrating. I saw the spread claws outstretched, and I

-struck furiously at them, crying to Daisy to run into the iron shelter.

-Backing, swinging my clubbed rifle, I retreated, but I tripped across

-one of the taut pallium wires, and in an instant the hideous birds were

-on me, and the bone in my forearm snapped like a pipestem at a blow

-from their wings. Twice I struggled to my knees, blinded with blood,

-confused, almost fainting; then I fell again, rolling into the mouth of

-the iron boiler.

-

-       *       *       *       *       *

-

-When I struggled back to consciousness Daisy knelt silently beside me,

-while Captain McPeek and Professor Holroyd bound up my shattered arm,

-talking excitedly. The pain made me faint and dizzy. I tried to speak

-and could not. At last they got me to my feet and into the wagon, and

-Daisy came, too, and crouched beside me, wrapped in oilskins to her

-eyes. Fatigue, lack of food, and excitement had combined with wounds

-and broken bones to extinguish the last atom of strength in my body;

-but my mind was clear enough to understand that the trouble was over

-and the Thermosaurus safe.

-

-I heard McPeek say that one of the birds that I had anchored to a cedar

-tree had torn loose from the bullets and winged its way heavily out

-to sea. The professor answered: "Yes, the ekaf-bird; the others were

-ool-ylliks. I'd have given my right arm to have secured them." Then

-for a time I heard no more; but the jolting of the wagon over the dunes

-roused me to keenest pain, and I held out my right hand to Daisy. She

-clasped it in both of hers, and kissed it again and again.

-

-       *       *       *       *       *

-

-There is little more to add, I think. Professor Bruce Stoddard has

-edited this story carefully. His own scientific pamphlet will be

-published soon, to be followed by Professor Holroyd's sixteen volumes.

-In a few days the stuffed and mounted Thermosaurus will be placed on

-free public exhibition in the arena of Madison Square Garden, the only

-building in the city large enough to contain the body of this immense

-winged reptile.

-

-When my arm came out of splints, Daisy and I---- But really that

-has nothing to do with a detailed scientific description of the

-Thermosaurus, which, I think, I shall add as an appendix to the book.

-If you do not find it there it will be because Daisy and I have very

-little time to write about Thermosaurians.

-

-But what I really want to tell you about is the extraordinary

-adventures of Captain McPeek and Frisby--how they produced a specimen

-of Samia Cynthia that dwarfed a hundred of Attacus Atlas, and how the

-American line steamer St. Louis fouled the thing with her screw.

-

-The more I think of it the more determined I am to tell it to you. It

-will be difficult to prevent me. And that is not fiction either.

-

-

-

-

-ENVOI.

-

-

-

-

-_ENVOI._

-

-

- _I._

-

- _When shadows pass across the grass

-  And April breezes stir the sedge,

-  Along the brimming river's edge

-    I trail my line for silver trout,

-  And smoke, and dream of you, my lass,

-    And wonder why we two fell out,

-    And how the deuce it came about._

-

- _II._

-

- _When swallows sheer the meadow-mere

-  And thickets thrill with thrushes' hymns,

-  Along the mill-pond's reedy rims

-    I trail my line for shining dace;

-  But how can finny fishes cheer

-    A fellow, if he find no grace

-    In your sweet eyes and your dear face?_

-

- _III._

-

- _Let thrushes wing their way and sing

-  Where cresses freshen pebbled nooks;

-  By silent rills and singing brooks

-    I pass my way alone, alas!

-  With your dear name the woodlands ring--

-    Your name is murmured by the grass,

-    By earth, by air, all-where I pass._

-

- _IV._

-

- _The painted bream may swim the stream--

-    I'll cast no line to-day, pardi!

-  In vain the river-ripples gleam,

-    In vain the thrushes' minstrelsy.

-  Vain is the wind that whispers, "Lo!

-  Thy fish are waiting--Angler, go!"_

-

- _V._

-

- _Will you forgive if I forgive?

-  Life is too sad, I think, to live

-  Alone, and dream and smoke and fish;

-  I'll say "Forgive" first--if you wish?_

-

- _VI._

-

- _For at that word, the Sorcery

-  Of Love shall change the earth and sky

-  To Paradise, with cherubim

-  Instead of birds on every limb._

-

- _VII._

-

- _Rivers shall sing our rhapsody;

-  The vaulted forest, tree by tree,

-  High hung with tapestry, shall glow

-  With golden pillars all a-row._

-

- _VIII._

-

- _And down the gilded forest aisle

-  Shy throngs of violets shall smile

-  And kiss your feet from tree to tree

-  While blue-bells droop in courtesy._

-

- _IX._

-

- _And if the sun incarnadine

-  The clouds--green leaves shall be your screen;

-  And if the clouds with jealousy

-  Should weep--we'll beg of some kind tree

-  A moment's hospitality._

-

- _X._

-

- _Good cheer is here, if you incline;

-  Moss-hidden springs shall bubble wine

-  While squirrels chuckle, rank on rank,

-  And strawberries from every bank

-  Shall blush to see how deep we drank._

-

- _XI._

-

- _Winds of the West shall cool our eyes

-  While every woodland creature tries

-  His voice a little, so that he

-  May know his notes more perfectly

-  When crickets start the symphony._

-

- _XII._

-

- _Through hazel glade and scented dell

-  Where brooklets ring a tinkling bell,

-  The forest orchestra shall swell,

-  Until the sun-soaked grasses ring

-  With crickets strumming string on string._

-

- _XIII._

-

- _Then, with your white hand daintily

-  Scarce touching mine, we'll leave our tree

-  And ramble slowly toward the West

-  Where our high castle's flaming crest,

-  Towering behind the setting sun,

-  Flings out its banners, one by one,

-  Signals of fire, that day is done._

-

- _XIV._

-

- _Deep in that palace we shall find

-  How blind we are, how blind! how blind!

-  And how he'll laugh, who holds the key

-  To the great portal's mystery!

-  And how his joyous laugh will ring

-  When you and I shall bid him fling

-  The gates ajar for you and me!_

-

- _XV._

-

- _Let shadows flee athwart the lea

-  When dark December strips the hedge

-  Along the icy river's edge;

-    Yet, if you will forgive me, lass,

-  The world shall bloom like spring to me,

-    Snow turn to dew upon the grass

-    And fagots blossom where you pass._

-

- _XVI._

-

- _Swallows shall sheer the frozen mere,

-  Dead reeds along the mill-pond's rims

-  Shall thrill with summer-thrushes' hymns,

-    While summer breezes blow apace,

-  If you will but forgive me, dear,

-    And let me find a moment's grace,

-    In your sweet eyes and your dear face._

-

-                                       _R. W. C._

-

-

-THE END.

-

-

-

-

-CORRECTIONS

-

-

-  page     original text                    correction

-  ix       [missing from contents]          THE KEY TO GRIEF      185

-  13       Yvette has gone to Bannelec.     Yvette has gone to Bannalec.

-  23       It was crowded with Britons,     It was crowded with Bretons,

-  29       doxens of similar red            dozens of similar red

-  93       the great moth dated             the great moth darted

-  103      among the beach trees.           among the beech trees.

-  104      leaves of beach and oak          leaves of beech and oak

-  135      Sacre garce!                     Sacree garce!

-  167      O frere Jaques,                  O frere Jacques,

-  180      carved from red beach.           carved from red beech.

-  181      their is much lace               there is much lace

-  181      chiselled in red beach.          chiselled in red beech.

-

-

-

-

-

-End of Project Gutenberg's The Mystery of Choice, by Robert William Chambers

-

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-

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-This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:

-        http://www.gutenberg.org/4/6/5/8/46581/

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